Ink & Sin

Chapter two : Smut & Steel

Three days. That’s how long it took for him to come back and for her to admit she’d wanted him to. Every second that passed since Lucian Moretti walked out of Rose & Quill had been soaked in tension, silence, and her own racing thoughts. Alessia had tried to bury herself in inventory, in the comforting scent of old books, in the routine of sweeping and dusting and pretending she was fine. But every shadow near the window, every customer who looked even remotely tall, dark, and confident made her heart jump. And then it happened. The bell above the door sang its usual sweet chime. Her spine stiffened before she even looked up. Lucian. As casually as if he belonged there. As confident as a man who knew she hadn’t stopped thinking about him. The suit today was charcoal. No tie. The top buttons of his shirt undone just enough to hint at the tattoos inked along the ridges of his collarbone. The look in his eyes was different. Focused. Sharp. Like he’d decided something. “You missed me,” he said, voice low, wickedly casual. She forced herself to look unimpressed. “You’re assuming I noticed you were gone.” He moved through the shop like a cat in a place full of birds—slow, controlled, dangerous. His hand dragged across the tops of shelves like he owned the dust on them. “I remember your blush,” he said, pausing near a romance display. “The way your voice trembled. Hard to forget that.” She rolled her eyes. “So you collect blushes now?” “Only the rare ones,” he said, flicking his gaze toward her chest. “The kind that hide filthy books behind poetry.” Her heart dropped to her stomach. “That shelf is private.” “So am I.” He stepped past her. She could smell him—leather, smoke, something woodsy. Her pulse kicked harder with each of his slow steps toward the corner shelf. He found it again. Of course he did. Pulled out the same book. Thumbed through the pages like a man reading her mind. "'Tamed by the Billionaire Wolf Prince,'" he read aloud. “Do they all come with growls and handcuffs?” “Lucian—” “Did you read this with your hand between your thighs, bookstore girl?” Her face flamed. “That’s none of your business.” “You’re right,” he said. “But I’m making it my business.” He moved closer, holding the book in one hand while the other slid across the shelf behind her, caging her in without touching. “You imagined someone taking you like this?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper. “Forcing you to let go of control?” “You don’t know me,” she whispered. “Don’t I?” “You’re just guessing. Playing games.” “Maybe,” he said. “But the way you’re breathing says I’m right.” She hated that he was. Hated how accurate he was. Hated how her thighs pressed together without her permission. He reached for a strand of her hair, twirling it between his fingers. “What would happen if I tied you to this shelf?” “Lucian—” “Would you beg?” Her mouth went dry. “Do you want me to?” “No,” she whispered. “But you’re not stopping me either.” She was trembling. Not from fear. From wanting. He didn’t touch her again. Didn’t need to. He leaned down until his mouth brushed her ear. “Say my name.” “Lucian.” “Louder.” “Lucian.” He exhaled slowly. “Good girl.” The words sent a rush through her body so fierce she had to grip the edge of the shelf. Then he pulled back. Left her standing there, heart racing, breath stolen. “You like control,” he said. “But you crave surrender.” “You’re wrong.” “I’m right. You don’t want a man who whispers poems. You want one who ruins you.” “You’re arrogant.” “And you’re a liar,” he said. “But I like liars. They’re always the loudest when they break.” She turned, chest heaving. “Why are you here?” “To see if I’m right about you.” “And?” “You’re worse than I thought.” “Worse?” “You’re pretending you don’t want me to bend you over this counter. But you’ve already imagined it. Twice.” “You’re disgusting.” “You’re dripping,” he said, voice deadly soft. She stared at him. “You don’t scare me.” “You should be terrified,” he said, brushing his thumb across her cheek. “Because I don’t just want to f**k you. I want to break open every fantasy you’ve ever buried and make you scream them into my mouth.” Her knees buckled. He caught her by the waist and steadied her. “Lucian—” “Let me show you,” he whispered. “What it feels like to stop pretending.” “And then what? You disappear?” “No,” he said. “I don’t leave what I claim.” “You think I’m a possession?” “No. You’re a prize.” Her throat closed up. “You’re insane.” “I’m honest.” She should have told him to go. Should have screamed. Should have thrown him out. Instead, she whispered, “What would you do to me?” He smiled slowly. “Tie you up. Make you beg. Teach you how to take everything you think you’re not supposed to want.” “And if I say no?” “I walk out. And we pretend none of this happened.” “And if I say yes?” “Then you won’t walk straight tomorrow.” Her breath hitched. “I…” “Say the word, Alessia.” “Yes.” The moment cracked. He grabbed her wrist gently, dragged her into the back room. Locked the door. “You can stop me anytime,” he said, unbuttoning his cuffs. “I won’t.” He pulled his tie from his neck and tied her wrists above her head to a pipe overhead. “Comfortable?” “I think so.” “Safe word is ink,” he said. “Say it and I’ll stop.” “Why do you care?” “Only monsters don’t.” And then his hands were on her. His mouth. His teeth. His voice was low, praising, cruel, and addictive. When she finally cried out his name, he kissed her like a reward. Untied her gently. Held her. And whispered, “Good girl.” She lay against him after, wrecked, panting. “Why me?” “Because you make me forget I’m a monster.” “And what am I?” “You’re the bookstore girl who let the wolf in.” “You won’t ruin me?” “No,” he said. “I’ll rebuild you.” And that terrified her more than anything.