LUCAS' POV
My body was a battlefield, battered, and aching, sprawled across Vincent's leather couch. Blood crusted my swollen face, lips split and stinging, my ankle throbbing despite the ghost of his earlier massage. The air was thick with tension, Vincent's broad shoulders rigid as he stood with his back to me, blood dripping from his bruised knuckles, the dented wall a raw testament to his fury. My words—desperate, unloved—had carved into him, slicing open the scar of his loveless childhood days, a truth I'd weaponized after eighteen months undercover. Guilt churned in my gut, heavy and sour, my unspoken apology burning my tongue as I stared at his silhouette, chest tight, his silence louder than any scream.
He turned, hazel eyes shadowed, smoldering with something dangerous, and grabbed a jar of ointment from his desk. My breath hitched as he dragged a chair closer, boots thudding against the hardwood, his scent—leather, smoke, and raw, primal sin—flooding my senses like a drug.
"Stay still," he growled, voice low and gravelly, a command that vibrated through my core.
His fingers dipped into the cream, and he leaned in, his thumb grazing my brusied cheek with a touch so feather-soft it sparked a jolt of heat through my battered body. I flinched, but his gaze pinned me—fierce, possessive, a predator claiming his prey.
His fingers trailed among my jaw, the ointment cool against my fevered skin, his breath hot and teasing, mere inches from my face. My pulse hammered, a traitor stirring low in my belly, my mind screaming, I'm a cop, detectives don't fall for criminals.
But his thumb reached my lips, brushing slow and deliberate, massaging cream into the split, igniting a fire that licked beneath my skin. I gasped, lips parting, a soft, raw moan slipping out, vulnerable and unbidden. His touch lingered, thumb circling, teasing the sensitive edge, and I shuddered, heat pooling, my dick twitching despite the pain radiating through me.
"Vincent," I whispered, voice cracking, eyes locked on his, the scar across his cheek stark, tattoos snaking from his half-unbuttoned shirt like a map of sin. His thumb stilled, his eyes darkening to molten hazel, a wicked smirk curling his lips, dripping with promise.
"You're filthy, Lucas," he purred, his voice a velvet taunt that wrapped around my spine, sending shivers racing. He leaned closer, thumb pressing harder against my lip, teasing the seam. "Blood, sweat, piss—you're a mess, pup. Strip. You need a shower."
The pet name—pup—dripped from his tongue like honey, laced with dominance, and my dick stirred, betraying me further.
My heart slammed against my ribs, confusion slicing through the haze of desire. "What?" I rasped, wincing as I shifted, ribs protesting. "Why the fuck—"
"Bath," he cut in, voice firm yet teasing, standing to tower over me, his presence a storm I couldn't escape. "You reek, Lucas. Take it all off. Now."
Defiance flared, but his gaze stripped me bare, my cop pride crumbling under the weight of his hunger. Shyly, I peeled off my torn shirt, my bruised chest exposed, skin prickling under his ravenous stare. I stood, shaky, fumbling with my jeans, boxers sliding down, leaving me bare and vulnerable, my dick half-hard, shame and heat colliding in my veins. I hobbled to the suite's bathroom, his boots echoing behind me, a predator stalking prey.
The bathroom gleamed, marble cold beneath my bare feet, steam rising as Vincent cranked the shower, water hissing like a serpent. I hesitated, pulse pounding, his presence filling the room like a thunderstorm. "Everything," he growled, nodding at the tattered remnants of my jeans.
My fingers trembled as I complied, fully naked, my dick now achingly hard, shame burning my cheeks as desire roared in my blood. I stepped into the shower, water scalding my bruises, a sharp hiss escaping my lips as the sting mingled with a strange, illicit pleasure.
Vincent shed his clothes with deliberate slowness, his shirt falling to reveal tattoos—snakes, skulls, roses—coiling over chiseled pecs, abs, and biceps, a canvas of violence and seduction. His pants dropped, and my breath caught, eyes locking on his dick—12 inches, thick, veined, rock-hard, a masterpiece of raw power.
Fuck, my mind groaned, inner voice worshipping, it's brutal, perfect, made to ruin. My dick throbbed, fully erect, my mind raging, No, I'm a cop, not his plaything. But my body didn't care, aching for his touch, his dominance.
He stepped into the shower, steam swirling around us, his broad frame dominating the space. His dick brushed my thigh, a deliberate tease, and I backed up, the glass cold against my spine, heart thundering. "Vincent, stop," I whispered, voice weak, but my dick pulsed, screaming for more.
"Stop what, pup?" he teased, his voice a dark, honeyed whisper that curled around my ear, shivers cascading down my spine. His hand gripped my hip, thumb digging into the flesh, possessive and unyielding. "You remember The Coral Sting, don't you, Lucas? Your moans, your sweet little pleas begging for me to wreck you?"
His lips grazed my ear, breath hot and ragged, sending shivers racing. "You screamed my name, loved every second of it, didn't you?"
I groaned, low and broken, a sound that echoed off the tiles, my mind chanting, cop, cop, cop, but my body surrendered, his words dragging me back to that night—grunts, sweat, his heat consuming me. His hand slid to my chest, fingers pinching my nipple, sharp and electric, sparking a gasp that tore from my throat.
"Fuck," I moaned, my head falling back, water streaming down my face, my resolve shattering like glass.
His mouth crashed onto mine, rough and ravenous, tasting of blood, ointment, and raw desperation. His tongue invaded, claiming every inch, and I kissed back, a pleading, breathy moan vibrating between us, my hands clawing at his shoulders, nails biting into his flesh.
He growled, a primal, guttural sound that made my dick twitch, his hand dropping to my thigh, fingers grazing the sensitive skin, teasing closer to where my dick ached for him. "So fucking hard for me, pup," he taunted, voice rasping, his breath hot against my lips.
His hand finally wrapped around my dick, grip tight and slick with water, thumb smearing precum in slow, torturous circles.
"Vincent, fuck—" I whimpered, the sound high and desperate, my hips bucking bucking into his hand, pleasure spiking sharp and overwhelming. He stroked slow, deliberately, his grip tightening, thumb teasing my slit, and my moans spilled—raw, shaky, pleading, "Please—fuck, please don't stop."
His smirk was wicked, eyes glinting with dark promises as he sank to his knees, water pounding against his broad back, steam curling around his tattooed form like a lover's caress.
His mouth hovered over my dick, breath hot and teasing, and I groaned, "Vincent, please," I gasped, the pet name slipping from my lips now, a desperate plea.
His lips parted, and he took me in—slow, hot, sucking, deep, his tongue swirling around the head, a slow, filthy slurp echoing off the marble.
I cried out, a raw, throaty moan, hands fisting in his wet hair, the sound of his mouth obscenely loud, filthy, driving me to the edge of madness. His throat tightened as he deepthroated me, his groans vibrating against my shaft, a low, primal rumble that made my knees buckle.
"Shit… feels so good," I moaned, voice shattering, pleasure and shame colliding as his tongue flicked my slit, teasing, gulping, his lips stretched tight around me.
His hand pumped the base of my dick, mouth relentless, sucking harder, harder, the sounds obscene filling the air with raw sin.
My moans were endless, vulnerable, pleading—"Mmmf—god, yeah—please, I'm fuck—" each sound sounded like a surrender to the pleasure building, sharp and relentless.
His eyes flicked up, locking with mine, dark and hungry, his lips swollen, glistening as he sucked, his throat working me, slurping and gulping, his groans vibrating through me. "Cum for me, pup," he growled around my dick, voice muffled but commanding, and his words sent me spiraling.
My body tensed, pleasure crashing through me like a storm, and I screamed, a guttural moan ripping free—"Nnghhh, fuck!"—as I came, hot and pulsing, my cum flooding his mouth, hot and pulsing.
He swallowed, gulping loud, his tongue milking me dry, slurping every last drop, the sounds obscene, his lips wet and slick as he pulled back, smirking, his 12-inch dick grazing my thigh, untouched, a silent threat.
He stood, water dripping from his chiseled frame, his hand gripping my ass, fingers digging into the flesh, possessive. "Turn around, pup," he whispered, voice dark and molten, fingers teasing my crack, water making it slick. "Let me taste you, Lucas, like I did before."
His finger circled, pressing lightly, no panic surged, my mind snapping awake, screaming criminal, no, stop. My body froze, then exploded. I shoved him, my chest heaving, swinging, my hand swinging, the slap connecting with his face, the cracking sharp against the tiles, his head jerking, shock flashing in his hazel eyes.
I staggered back, chest heaving, water cold, now cold, his stunned face searing into my mind, suspense choking the steam-filled air, my heart pounding, terrified of the fire I'd just ignited.