Words weren't needed between us. Not anymore. 

The hunger in my kisses spoke louder than anything I could ever say. 

This was what I had always wanted—Lucien's hands on my body, his lips devouring mine, his touch branding me as his. 

Every kiss, every brush of his fingertips, it was everything I had craved for so long. 

For years, I had imagined this moment. 

And now, it was real. I finally got what I'd always wanted—Lucien, claiming me.

But no matter how much I told myself that, something still felt off.

I clung to Lucien as if he were my lifeline as if every touch was my last breath. 

Our mouths moved together, frantic and desperate, like we were starving for one another. 

I could feel the fire burning between us, the electric pull that seemed to grow stronger the longer our lips collided.

His lips were rough, desperate, and I lost myself in them for a moment.

The fire between us burned hotter and hotter, pulling me under. 

His lips were rough, but I didn't care—I wanted it, wanted him. 

I had waited so long to feel his hands roaming my skin like this, to have him pressed against me, claiming me.

And God, did he look beautiful while he did it.

His body hovered over mine, his muscles tense and rippling under his shirt. 

His jaw was set, eyes dark with a need I'd never seen before, making my heart race. 

The way his mouth moved against my skin, leaving a trail of heat along my neck, was intoxicating. 

The way his hands explored every inch of me, strong and possessive, made my knees weak. 

He was everything I had ever wanted.

I could feel him against me, hard and ready, the tension between us thick like smoke. 

His eyes were half-lidded, his lips parted as his breath came out in shallow bursts. 

And his face—God, his face. 

He looked wild, primal, like he was on the verge of losing control. 

The way his brow furrowed with intensity, the way his lips curved slightly, betraying how much he wanted me—it was beautiful. 

He was beautiful. Every part of him.

But something was wrong. The way he touched me, the way his hands roamed my body—it felt different. 

Mechanical. Hollow.

 As if he wasn't fully there, as if this moment wasn't about me, or us, at all.

His hands roamed over my body, rough and insistent, igniting every nerve in my skin like a damn wildfire that threatened to consume us both. 

Each kiss, each caress, only made the flames burn hotter, and I arched my body into him, desperate for more of him. 

"You're fucking perfect," he growled, his voice thick with desire as his hands roamed lower, gripping my ass and pulling me hard against him.

His touch was everywhere, branding me, claiming me in ways I had long craved but never allowed myself to admit.

I could feel his strength in the way he held me, the way he pulled me closer, as though he needed me just as much as I needed him. 

It was raw, primal, and intoxicating. 

His lips found my neck, leaving a trail of heat that made me gasp, my breath coming in shallow, uneven bursts.

The air around us crackled with tension, with lust so thick it was suffocating. I was drowning in it, in him, and I didn't want to come up for air. 

Every touch was like a spark, sending shockwaves through my body, pushing me closer and closer to the edge of something I couldn't control.

"Lucien..." His name fell from my lips, a breathless plea, but I wasn't sure what I was asking for. 

More? Less? I didn't know, and I didn't care. 

All that mattered was the heat between us, the desperate need that seemed to pulse in the air.

His hands gripped my waist, pulling me flush against his body, and I could feel him—hard, ready, pressing against me. 

My desire pooled low in my belly, a throbbing ache that begged for release. I ground against him shamelessly, seeking the friction that would push me over the edge.

"You drive me fucking insane," he growled, his voice rough and low, filled with barely controlled need. His hand slid lower, cupping my ass, pulling me harder against him, making me moan at the delicious pressure.

I could feel the tension building between us, a coiled spring ready to snap. 

His hands were everywhere—rough, demanding, and so damn possessive that it made me ache with an almost unbearable need. 

Every touch was like gasoline on a fire, igniting something inside me that I had kept buried for far too long.

His fingers dipped lower, brushing against my wetness, and I gasped, my body arching into his touch. 

He pushed my panties beside, as his hand made their way to my core, through the slit of my dress.

"You're soaked," he murmured against my skin, his breath hot and teasing. "That's great."

"Yes," I whispered, my voice barely a breath. I couldn't hide it, couldn't pretend I didn't want this, didn't want him. 

My body was betraying me, screaming for him in ways I could never take back.

The room was suffocating, filled with the heavy tension between us, so thick it felt like a physical force pushing down on me. 

But something shifted, something subtle, and it broke through the fog of lust. 

His desperation was palpable, but it wasn't the kind I thought it was. 

It wasn't need. It wasn't love. His kisses, though urgent, felt hollow, like they were meant to fill a void he couldn't name.

I've read tons of erotica and never have I ever read any of the guys saying this when the ask their girl if they are wet. Its usually, "All for me", "I'm gonna pound this soaking pussy so hard", etc.

Is this new, or am I mistaking his intensions?

His words felt for like a relief for him, than a need that I thought has consumed both of us,

Lucien's hands were on my hips, his body pressing me against the wall as he kissed me with a hunger that mirrored the heat between us. 

His lips were rough, desperate, and for a moment, I lost myself in it.

I pressed my palms against his chest, feeling the tension there, the coiled muscles that trembled slightly under my touch. 

His lips moved over my skin, but as much as my body responded, my mind began to unravel the truth that was too loud to ignore.

His fingers gripped tighter, his lips trailing down my neck. 

My body responded, wanting to give in, wanting to forget everything else. 

His mouth moved lower, his teeth grazing my collarbone, but his movements were mechanical, detached. 

A knot tightened in my stomach. What are we doing? 

My heart started racing for an entirely different reason now, the need to stop this overwhelming the need to keep going.

I tilted my head back against the wall, my fingers slipping into his hair, pulling him closer, desperate to feel something—anything other than this creeping sense of dread. 

But when I finally opened my eyes, I saw it.

The emptiness.

Lucien's eyes, usually so full of that dark, brooding intensity that made me ache, were vacant, glazed over. 

There was no passion in them. No real desire. 

He was doing this because he felt he had to.

Because it was easier than dealing with everything that lay between us.

This wasn't about desire. It wasn't even about love.

He was doing this because he felt he had to.

"Lucien," I whispered, my voice barely audible over the pounding of my heart. His hand slipped beneath my shirt, fingers grazing the sensitive skin of my waist, but I grabbed his wrist, stopping him.

He froze, lifting his head to meet my gaze, confusion flashing in his eyes. "What?" His voice was rough, thick with need.

I swallowed hard, my throat tight. "This is wrong."

His brows furrowed, the heat between us dimming as the weight of my words settled over him. "Wrong? What are you talking about?"

I took a shaky breath, trying to steady myself. "You don't have to do this, Lucien. You don't have to prove anything to me."

He stared at me, his confusion deepening. "Serafina, what—"

"You don't want this," I said, my voice trembling. "You don't want me. Not like this." The truth of it hit me all over again, and the ache in my chest felt unbearable. "You love her."

I lifted his chin, forcing him to meet my gaze. 

His eyes were dark, conflicted, but the vulnerability I usually saw in them was buried under layers of something else—something darker.

"You don't have to pretend with me," I said quietly, my voice breaking despite my best efforts to stay composed. "Not anymore."

The mention of Eleanor's name felt like a punch to my gut, but it was the truth. 

He didn't need to say it. I could see it in his eyes. 

He loved Eleanor, and no matter what he tried to do tonight, that wouldn't change.

Lucien's jaw tightened, his hands falling to his sides as he stepped back, creating space between us. "This isn't about Eleanor."

"Isn't it?" I asked, my voice a broken whisper. "Because it feels like you're trying to convince yourself of something, trying to drown out what's happening between us."

His silence was deafening.

My chest tightened, the words pouring out of me like a dam breaking. "You feel obligated to do this, don't you? You think this is what's expected of you—what Nonna would expect, what the mafia expects, what the family expects."

Lucien's face hardened, but his eyes betrayed him—flickering with something darker, something I couldn't name.

"And that's not fair to either of us," I whispered. "You don't have to do this out of duty, Lucien. I don't want that. Not like this. Not because you feel like you have no choice."

His eyes met mine, stormy and conflicted. "What about Nonna?" he asked, his voice low, strained. "What about the expectations? What about all the eyes watching us? You think this can just... go away?"

I winced at the mention of it, the pressure, the weight of their expectations on our shoulders. 

Of course, there were expectations—whispers behind closed doors, the constant scrutiny from the family, Nonna's looming presence like a shadow over our lives.

It hit me like a truck. This wasn't about me. This wasn't even about us. 

He was trying to fulfill some duty. To meet the expectations of everyone but himself.

And me? I was just a pawn in that game. Another step on the path to a future that wasn't mine to claim.

Tears stung my eyes, but I blinked them back. 

"You don't have to do this, Lucien," I said softly. "We can figure something out. We don't need to play into what they expect."

"And how do you suggest we do that?" His voice was sharp, and bitter, like he was fighting against something he didn't know how to defeat.

I met his gaze, my chest tight as I made my decision. "I'll tell them I'm infertile."

His eyes widened, shock crossing his face. "What?"

"I'll tell the mafia that I can't have children," I said, the words spilling out before I could stop them. "They'll back off. They won't push us into this any further. Nonna can't force you into something that doesn't exist."

Lucien's face hardened, but there was a flicker of something behind his eyes. "You'd do that? Lie for me?"

I just stared at him, my throat tightening. "I'd do it for both of us."

He blinked, stunned. His grip on my waist loosened as he searched my face as if he was trying to understand. "Why?" he asked, his voice hoarse, low. "Why would you do all this for me?"

I didn't answer. I couldn't. The truth was too much, too raw.

Instead, I looked away, my silence speaking louder than any words could. 

Because despite everything—despite knowing he loved Eleanor, despite knowing that this marriage was nothing but a strategic alliance—I still loved him. 

And that was my greatest weakness.

Lucien's jaw clenched, his eyes still locked on me as the weight of what I said sank in. 

But there was no anger in his gaze, no frustration. 

Just something deeper—something sad.

Without another word, I turned and left the room, the silence between us deafening. 

The door clicked shut behind me, and I knew, deep down, that nothing would ever be the same again. 

Not between us.

And that night, I didn't return.

The next morning, the tension between us was suffocating. 

The unspoken words hung in the air like a noose tightening around us both, yet neither of us dared to address what had happened the night before. 

Instead, we fell into a familiar routine—cold, distant, and pretending that everything was fine.

Lucien was already dressed when I stepped out of the bathroom, his back turned to me, adjusting his tie with sharp, frustrated movements. 

His jaw was clenched in that stubborn way he had when he was trying to suppress something—anger, regret, maybe even guilt. 

But whatever it was, it stayed buried beneath that hardened exterior he wore so well.

I felt his eyes on me as I gathered my things, but I didn't meet his gaze. 

I couldn't. Not after the way we had left things, not after the hollow intimacy that still lingered between us.

It hurt too much to even try to pretend that this was just another morning.

We had become strangers, tethered by duty, yet pulled apart by the very thing that was supposed to unite us—love. 

Love that felt like a distant memory, something we'd faked so long it barely existed anymore.

As we walked out to the car, his hand brushed against mine for a split second before he shoved it in his pocket. 

A gesture that once might have made my heart race now felt like an accident.

The silence between us was louder than anything we could have said.

It echoed in the car as we slid into our seats, the leather cold and unwelcoming. 

Lucien didn't bother opening the door for me this time. 

He was already behind the wheel, his eyes fixed on the road ahead.

The engine roared to life, breaking the heavy silence, but it did nothing to alleviate the tension between us. 

We drove in silence, the city passing by in a blur of gray buildings and people going about their lives, oblivious to the storm raging inside this car.

I glanced out the window, watching the streets go by, my mind replaying every moment of last night. 

How we had come so close to connecting, only to fall apart even more.

Lucien's grip on the steering wheel tightened as we hit a red light, his knuckles white from the pressure. 

I knew he was thinking about it too, but like me, he wasn't going to say a word. He wasn't going to acknowledge the fracture between us.

The truth was, neither of us cared anymore about what people saw in our relationship.

Not like we used to. 

It was just yesterday when every glance, every interaction, had been carefully curated, a performance for those watching—the perfect couple, powerful and united. 

But that illusion was gone now, and we didn't care to keep it up.

I could feel the eyes of our security detail from the trailing car behind us, their presence a constant reminder that we were always being watched. 

But it didn't matter. We weren't pretending anymore. 

If they saw us for what we were—broken, distant, and barely holding on—so be it.

I shifted slightly in my seat, casting a sideways glance at Lucien. 

His face was unreadable, eyes fixed ahead, his mind somewhere else entirely. 

He didn't acknowledge me, didn't even blink when I moved.

There was a time when the silence between us had been comfortable, when just being near him had been enough. 

Now, it felt like a chasm, one we couldn't cross even if we wanted to.

We passed by a couple walking hand in hand, laughing together as they crossed the street. 

I watched them, my heart aching with a longing I couldn't name. 

Once upon a time, that had been us. Or at least, the version of us I thought existed.

But that version was gone now, replaced by this cold, indifferent reality.

Another red light.

The car stopped, but Lucien's foot tapped impatiently against the brake, like he couldn't stand still, couldn't wait to be anywhere but here. 

I wanted to say something, to break the silence, but every word that came to mind felt useless, hollow, just like his kisses last night.

Instead, I settled back in my seat, crossing my arms, resigning myself to the fact that this was how it was now. 

We were two people bound together by the weight of our past, moving forward only because we had no other choice.

The car sped up again, and as the city blurred around us, I realized something bitter.

We had become a spectacle—a couple who no longer cared what anyone thought, not because we were above it, but because we had nothing left to fight for.

Let them look. Let them talk. It didn't matter anymore.

𝙰 𝚞 𝚝 𝚑 𝚘 𝚛 𝚜   𝙽 𝚘 𝚝 𝚎

SURPRISE SURPRISE

Also I want to thank all of you for reading this book and supporting my journey as a writer.

Your every vote, comment and view means the world to me.

Well, I have planned a lot for this book and the series, so make sure to stay till the end.

Also, this book has reached 1000 reads so I wanted to express my gratitude to y'all.

A special chapter will be posted soon, you guys can comment any ideas or inspos you have.

Or you can just inline comment on the options below with a  '🖤'

1] A SMUT CHAPTER.

2] LUCIEN AND SERAFINA'S CHILDHOOD AND THIER SHARED PAST.

3] A PLAYFUL BANTER BETWEEN THEM.

4] A CHAPTER FOCUSING MORE ON THE SIDE CHARECTERS LIKE, LUCA OR SYLVAIN

THANKS AGAIN!