Chapter 5 The Kiss Of Power

The silence that followed was thick and intimate, saturated with the weight of what he didn't say. I should have asked what he meant. I should have demanded details-names, blood, what kind of retaliation he'd unleashed while I'd been locked in this gilded cage of marble and silk. But instead, all I could feel was the warmth of his lips lingering on my skin, the ghost of his mouth branding the spot over my scar like it meant something. My fingers curled slightly in his grasp, unsure if I wanted to hold on or pull away. Lucien made no move to release me.

His thumb traced over the raised line in my palm, a soft stroke that felt far more intimate than it should have. He wasn't gentle by nature. His power came from precision, from violence veiled in elegance. And yet here he was, looking at my hand like it was the most sacred thing he'd ever touched.

My voice was quiet when I finally spoke. "Was it enough?"

Lucien's eyes lifted to mine, unreadable and dark. "They'll think twice."

There was something final in his tone. Something cold. Something unrepentant.

"They'll think twice," he repeated, softer now, "because they'll remember what it costs to threaten what's mine."

A shiver slid down my spine-not just from his words, but from the certainty in them. Lucien wasn't just making a statement. He was declaring ownership. Over me.

I didn't know how to feel about that. I should have been angry. I should have railed against it. But the truth was, something in me curled inward at his words, something dark and hungry that didn't want to be safe... it wanted to be claimed.

He stepped closer.

"I know what you're thinking," he said.

I arched a brow. "Do you?"

His mouth twitched in the ghost of a smile, the kind that didn't quite reach his eyes. "You're wondering if you've made a deal with the devil."

"Have I?"

Lucien's fingers slid beneath my chin, tilting my face up to his. "You didn't make a deal, Ava. You gave me your word. Your blood. Your soul." His eyes bore into mine. "The difference is, devils lie. I don't."

My breath caught in my throat.

His hand dropped from my chin and came to rest at the side of my neck, his thumb brushing the fluttering pulse there. He felt it-my fear, my arousal, my confusion-and I hated how easily he read me, how completely he saw through the armor I'd spent years perfecting.

"I won't hurt you," he said. "Unless you ask me to."

The breath I'd been holding slipped free. It wasn't a promise of safety. It was a challenge. A dare.

"What do you want from me, Lucien?"

He didn't answer right away. Instead, he stepped behind me, slow and deliberate, until I felt his breath on my neck. One hand came to rest on my hip, grounding me, the other traced a slow line up my arm. I closed my eyes and let myself feel it-his presence, his power, the invisible chain wrapping tighter around my throat with every second I stood there.

"I want your fire," he murmured, lips grazing the shell of my ear. "Your defiance. Your pain. I want the parts of you no one else has touched."

His voice dropped lower, darker.

"I want the version of you even you're afraid of."

I turned slowly, facing him again, and what I saw in his eyes wasn't lust. It was obsession. It was hunger wrapped in silk and gunmetal. A hunger that had no intention of fading.

He kissed me. Not tender. Not rushed. Just inevitable.

His mouth was heat and violence, a seductive storm that ripped through me with terrifying ease. My hands found his shoulders, fingers digging into his shirt as I fought against the tide and lost completely.

He lifted me in one smooth motion and carried me to the edge of the desk, setting me down like I was both precious and breakable. Then he stepped between my legs, palms sliding up my thighs with deliberate slowness, and kissed the hollow beneath my jaw. My head tipped back as his mouth traveled lower, tongue flicking against skin, lips trailing fire in their wake.

"I've wanted to taste you since the moment you walked into that gala," he whispered. "So poised. So untouchable. But you looked at me like you already knew."

"Knew what?"

He smiled against my throat. "That I'd ruin you."

His hands found the hem of my blouse, pushing it upward inch by inch. Every second felt like a decision, a test I couldn't fail. He slid it over my head, baring me to the cool air and his heated gaze. My breath hitched.

"You're beautiful when you surrender," he said, tone dangerously calm.

"I'm not surrendering," I whispered.

His grin deepened. "No. Not yet."

Then he kissed me again-deep and unrelenting, fingers tangling in my hair as if he needed to hold me still while he unraveled me from the inside out.

He didn't rush. Lucien never did anything without purpose. His movements were measured, precise - the calculated dismantling of control one heartbeat at a time.

He kissed down my sternum, lips brushing the center of my chest like a prayer to something dark and holy. I could feel my pulse thundering beneath his mouth, like it knew something my mind hadn't caught up with yet - that nothing in my life would ever be untouched by him again.

His mouth traveled lower, tongue drawing heat across my skin. Every stroke, every pause, every graze of teeth was a promise of both pleasure and punishment. I closed my eyes and let him map my body like uncharted territory, felt the way his hands gripped my thighs and spread them wider with the kind of authority that left no room for negotiation.

"Lucien-"

"Say it again."

My voice was a whisper. "Lucien."

He hummed low in his throat, satisfied. "Good girl."

Two words. That's all it took. My stomach clenched and my breath stuttered because it wasn't just the words - it was the way he said them. Like praise wrapped in power, like a reward earned at a cost I hadn't begun to understand.

His hands slid higher, thumbs brushing the edges of my panties like he was testing the boundary between mercy and indulgence. When his fingers curled into the waistband and tugged them down, I didn't stop him. Couldn't. The cold air kissed my skin and his mouth followed.

The first stroke of his tongue on my clits shattered something in me.

I arched into him, hips canting forward, fingers clawing at the desk's edge and my other hand in his hair pulling him closer as his mouth worshiped me with maddening slowness. He licked, tasted, devoured - not like a man offering pleasure, but like a king taking tribute.

Every nerve ending in my body came alive under his mouth. His grip tightened on my thighs when I moaned, not letting me escape even as I trembled under his touch. When I tried to pull away, to breathe, to think, he simply growled against me and pulled me closer, dragging me back to the edge of his madness - sliding his tongue in and out of me and stroking my clits.

"You're mine," he murmured between strokes. "Every. Fucking. Inch."

I shattered on his tongue.

My climax hit hard, brutal, pulsing through me like a curse. He didn't let up. He licked through every tremor, holding me still while I broke open for him.

When he finally lifted his head, his mouth was slick with me, and his eyes - God, his eyes - were dark with something between triumph and obsession.

He stood between my legs, fingers brushing my jaw as he forced me to look at him.

"I told you," he said softly, "this isn't a game I play to lose."

Before I could answer, he kissed me. Full. Deep. Letting me taste myself on his tongue like a final signature on our pact. My head spun, dizzy with the scent of him, the taste of my own surrender, the press of his body against mine.

Lucien was hard - painfully so - but he made no move to take more than I gave.

Instead, he leaned in and whispered against my mouth, "You came for me, Ava. That's the beginning. Not the end."

I should have felt victorious. Empowered. Like I'd taken something back for myself in the storm he conjured between my legs.

But the truth was, I felt undone.

Lucien didn't just touch my body. He reached inside something deeper - the part of me I'd buried under years of cold survival, the place that wanted to be devoured, not saved. I could still feel his tongue, his breath, his voice echoing through my limbs like a brand that wouldn't fade.

He watched me as I pulled my blouse back on with trembling fingers, his arms folded, his shirt still pristine, his expression unreadable. The only hint of disarray was the dark, feral gleam in his eyes.

"I want to hate you," I said quietly, the truth of it trembling on my lips.

Lucien tilted his head. "You're allowed to. Just don't lie to yourself about why."

"And why is that?" I challenged, but my voice lacked venom. It was breathy. Raw.

"Because it's not me you hate," he said, stepping forward until my back met the edge of the desk again. "It's the way I make you feel."

My heart stuttered.

"And how's that?" I whispered.

"Unchained."

He reached out and hooked a finger under my chin, lifting my gaze to his. "You've built a life on control. On silence. On pretending none of it gets to you. But I do. I get to you."

I didn't deny it. What would be the point?

Lucien lowered his head to mine again, but this kiss was different - slower, deeper. It wasn't a demand; it was a promise.

When he pulled away, his breath still mingling with mine, he murmured, "This wasn't about sex, Ava. This was about the first thread coming loose. And you know what happens when you pull one thread?"

"You unravel," I said hoarsely.

A cruel smile touched his lips. "Exactly."

I stepped back like his touch burned - because it did. "So what now? You conquered me and now you go back to playing god in your tower?"

"No," he said. "Now we move forward."

I laughed, but it was bitter. "Forward to what?"

His gaze narrowed. "To war."

The word landed like a blade between us.

"You think tonight was chaos," he said. "That was a whisper. There are eyes on us now, Ava. Threats. Alliances shifting. And you-" he stepped closer again, eyes narrowing- "you're not just some pawn I pulled from the wreckage. You're the lever."

I frowned. "The what?"

"The piece they didn't see coming. The pressure point. They'll come for you to get to me."

My pulse skittered. "Who's they?"

He paused, then answered in a voice carved from stone. "Everyone."

For the first time since I met him, I saw it-how alone he was. Not weak. Not exposed. But... surrounded by shadows, and yet untouched by any light. A fortress of a man who trusted no one and punished everyone. A man who used power as armor and silence as a blade.

"You brought me into your world to use me," I said.

Lucien's jaw tensed. "At first."

"And now?"

He looked at me then-really looked. And something shifted in his eyes. It wasn't softness. It wasn't vulnerability. It was recognition. Like he saw the storm inside me and welcomed it.

"Now," he said, "I'm not sure who's using who."

He brushed past me, moving toward the decanter on the far side of the room. He poured two glasses of something dark and aged, then turned and handed one to me.

I took it.

He clinked his glass against mine and said, "To the beginning."

I drank. It burned like fire down my throat. Fitting.

Morning came in silence.

The suite was hushed, touched by a soft grey light leaking through the floor-to-ceiling curtains. I lay awake in the bed that wasn't mine, wrapped in the crisp scent of Lucien's sheets, the warmth of the night still clinging to my skin like smoke.

He hadn't stayed.

Sometime in the night, he'd slipped out-leaving only the lingering imprint of his presence and the bitter truth that no matter what happened between us, I would always wake up alone.

I rose slowly, every muscle aching-not just from what we'd done, but from what it meant. My blouse was folded neatly on the nearby chair. My underwear was gone. A silk robe replaced it, jet black, with a note in looping penmanship that read:

"You'll wear this until I say otherwise. - L"

I didn't know whether to laugh or scream.

Downstairs, the house had changed. The warmth of night had evaporated, replaced by clinical stillness. The guards who lined the corridor didn't speak. One opened the door to a room I hadn't seen yet - a breakfast spread waiting beneath a stained-glass skylight.

Lucien sat at the head of the long dining table, a sleek phone in one hand, coffee in the other. He was dressed in all black, sharp as sin, his sleeves rolled just enough to show the faint edge of a tattoo curling around his wrist.

He looked up the moment I entered.

My bare feet padded softly over the marble as I approached. The silence between us was heavy with memory.

He didn't ask if I slept.

He didn't apologize for disappearing.

Instead, he said, "Sit."

I did.

He nodded to the coffee. "You'll need it."

"For what?" I asked.

His gaze flicked to the monitor embedded in the wall behind me. A live feed blinked into view - grainy, shaky footage of a man's body dumped outside a club I recognized. One of Vasile's.

Blood pooled beneath him. A message card was pinned to his chest.

Lucien's voice was low. "That was my warning."

"To who?"

He turned toward me then, full attention pressing like a weight. "To everyone who thinks touching you doesn't come with consequences."

My throat tightened.

"You're escalating," I said.

"No," he replied, sipping his coffee. "I'm leveling the field."

I studied him. "Is this how it works? Blood for blood until there's nothing left but ruin?"

He smiled faintly. "Ruin is subjective."

My appetite vanished.

Still, I forced myself to eat. It was a strange sort of defiance - to maintain civility while seated across from a man who could kill before breakfast and still fold his napkin neatly.

He watched me finish a bite of toast before saying, "You're coming with me today."

"Where?"

His grin was slow and dark. "To meet my lawyers."

I blinked. "Why?"

He leaned in, elbows on the table. "Because if someone tries to take you, I want it on record that they'll be stealing from me."

My breath caught.

"You're drafting a contract?" I asked. "For me?"

"Ownership," he said, like it was the most natural thing in the world. "On paper. For now."

I stared at him, searching for the man I thought I saw last night - the one who kissed my scar like it meant something.

But this wasn't that man. This was Lucien Vale, CEO of Moretti Global. Crime lord in a Brioni suit. And he wanted my body, my name, my very breath-signed, sealed, delivered.

"I'm not a thing," I whispered.

His voice softened. "No. You're a weapon."

There was something almost reverent in the way he said it, like I was a blade he'd been waiting his whole life to wield.

"I'll never belong to you," I said.

He stood then, towering above me, eyes burning like coal. "But you'll stand beside me," he said. "Or this world will eat you alive."

The black car pulled into the underground garage like it had swallowed the night and brought it with us. Lucien stepped out first, his frame cutting through the shadows like a guillotine. I followed in silence, the silk robe long gone-replaced by a dress I hadn't picked, heels I didn't choose, and a diamond choker tight around my throat.

A single word engraved in the pendant:

MORETTI

"Do I look like a prisoner?" I asked, voice low as we walked.

Lucien didn't glance at me. "You look like a queen."

Guards flanked the corridor. Eyes forward. Armed to the teeth. But none of them looked directly at me. Not like they feared me. Like I was sacred. Or cursed.

The room we entered next felt like stepping into a lion's den dressed for a gala.

A long glass conference table glinted under harsh lights. At least ten men sat around it, all in dark suits, all watching Lucien with something between reverence and fear. None smiled. Some barely breathed.

They stood when he did.

Lucien's tone was glacial. "Sit."

They obeyed.

He gestured for me to take the chair at his right, then placed a single document before me. His lawyer slid it across the table.

Ownership clause. Legal guardianship. Non-disclosure. Terms of protection. All cloaked in enough legitimate business language to make it impenetrable to the untrained eye.

Lucien placed a pen beside my hand.

"Read it," he said.

I did. Every word tasted like submission. Every line tethered me closer to him. But buried in the fine print was something unexpected-something that felt dangerously close to mercy.

If I walked away, he would protect me once. Just once. A single extraction, no questions, no blood.

My escape clause.

I looked at him. "You added this."

"I did."

"Why?"

His jaw clenched. "Because I want you to choose me-even when you don't have to."

The men around the table didn't move. Didn't speak. But the weight of what Lucien had just done registered like a silent bomb. He had given me the power to walk.

No one gave power in this room. Not without price.

"I'm not yours," I whispered, the pen shaking in my hand.

Lucien's gaze didn't waver. "Not yet."

I signed.

A collective exhale followed, but not from Lucien. He was still. Carved from will alone.

He stood, came around the table, pulled me up from the chair. Before I could speak, he kissed me - hard, in front of them all. A branding. A proclamation.

It was not soft. It was not kind.

It was final.

When he pulled back, he whispered against my lips, "Now they know."

"What?"

"You're mine."

He took my hand. Laced our fingers together. Turned to face the men at the table and said,

"The blood pact is sealed."

No one questioned him.

Because no one dared.