Chapter 9 - The Master Suite
The master suite on the top floor of the Moretti estate was a sanctuary of dark wood, low amber light, and absolute quiet.
Lucian closed the heavy double doors behind them, locking them with a single, sharp turn of the brass deadbolt.
He turned around.
Camille stood in the center of the room, her wool coat dropped to the floor, standing in her green satin gown like an emerald jewel in the dark.
Lucian didn't hesitate. He walked across the room, his movements fluid and focused, and took her in his arms again.
His mouth found hers with a fierce, intoxicating passion. He backed her slowly toward the massive, carved four-poster bed, his hands unzipping the green gown with practiced, steady fingers.
The dress slid down her shoulders, pooling around her feet in a whisper of heavy satin.
Lucian pulled back, his breath catching in his throat as he looked at her.
She stood before him in a black lace corset and stockings, her voluptuous hips, full thighs, and soft, beautiful curves illuminated by the amber firelight from the hearth.
Camille felt a momentary flash of her old vulnerability—the voice from her youth telling her she was too much, too wide, too soft.
Lucian saw the tiny flicker of uncertainty in her eyes.
He dropped to his knees in front of her.
Camille gasped softly. "Lucian—"
"You are perfection," Lucian growled, his long fingers wrapping around her hips, his head leaning forward to press a burning kiss directly to the soft curve of her stomach. "You are absolute, breathtaking perfection."
He kissed his way down her thigh, his hands tracing the full, magnificent shape of her body with a reverence that felt almost religious. He worshiped every inch of her—her waist, her breasts, the soft rise of her hips, the warmth of her skin—until Camille was trembling, her hands gripping his broad shoulders as waves of heat crashed through her body.
When he stood back up, he shed his tuxedo jacket and shirt in two swift movements, revealing the broad, tattooed expanse of his chest, thick with muscle and crossed by three pale scars from his youth.
He lifted her onto the high mattress as if she weighed nothing at all.
When he came into her, it was slow, deep, and complete.
Camille let out a high, sharp cry that was lost against his mouth as he pulled her tight against his chest. He moved with a heavy, relentless rhythm that drove every thought from her mind, leaving only the sound of their breathing, the heat of their skin, and the overwhelming, terrifying reality of their connection.
"Look at me, Camille," Lucian demanded, his voice thick with pleasure, his gray eyes locked onto hers as he moved within her.
She opened her eyes, looking up into the face of the most dangerous man in Chicago, and saw no crime boss. She saw a man who was completely, entirely undone by her love.
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"You are mine," Lucian whispered, his fingers tangling in her dark hair as he drove them both over the edge. "You are mine, Camille."
"Yes," she cried out, her body shattering around him as she wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him down into the storm with her. "Yes, Lucian!"
