“I’ll prove it. Tell me how, and I will. I have no more secrets, nothing left to hide. I can’t strip myself any more bare for you. I’ve given you everything, I swear it.”
But she was wrong. She wasn’t stripped bare. She hadn’t given him everything. That robe covered her. He wasn’t inside her. But as badly as he wanted her, what would taking her to bed again prove? She would welcome him. Her peaked nipples alone proved that. And fuck, he could smell her pussy. The juicy, ripe flesh would be plump and needy, waiting just for him. No denying how urgently he wanted her again. She was an addiction, a disease with no cure.
Fucking her now would prove nothing but it would make him feel damn good—until he remembered that they had no trust left between them.
Mitchell Thorpe’s voice rang in his head. The hours they’d talked about trust and control, and the essential need for them in any sort of power exchange. And as an idea rolled through Lucan’s head, he smiled.
If Anka wanted to prove her trust, then by God, he’d let her try.
“Take off your robe, get on the bed, and spread yourself wide for me.”
She blinked at him, wide eyed. “Lucan?”
“Do it now, or I leave. Your choice. Either do as I say and prove your trust, or I walk out and everything is over.”
Her whole body trembled as she stared at him, trying with all her might to decipher his thoughts. Or maybe she was willing him to be merciful. That wasn’t going to happen. They needed his resolve more than she needed his compassion.
Finally, Anka swallowed and unbelted the silken robe. The flimsy black scrap fell to the carpet. The sight of her lush, naked body, even after spending an entire night wrapped around her, nearly undid him. Slowly, she backed to the bed and lay across it, arms and legs spread.
He sauntered over, forcing himself to move slowly, control his temper and think carefully before he acted. At the foot of his bed, he stood between her spread legs and stared, his eyes heavy-lidded. Carnal fire singed him down to the core. He would demand everything from her. If she gave it, maybe…maybe they could talk.
“What is your least favorite implement of punishment? You’d better tell me the truth.”
“I-I don’t know. Shock most often used a crop. I’m certain I would hate a whip. No one but Mathias has ever used one on me. They terrify me.”
He knew nothing about wielding one, but it would both take her to the edge of her fear and force her to decide whether she genuinely trusted him.
With a snap, he conjured a whip. A tightly braided leathery strip, black, long and lethal-looking. He coiled it in his fist and held it up to her. Instantly, Anka gasped at the sight, her eyes wide and pleading. “No. Please…”
“Make your choice. Either stand up, walk to the wall, and put your face against it or get dressed and leave. Choose now.”
“Lucan…”
“You trust me or you don’t, Anka. Will I really hurt you?”
“You’re angry.” She sniffled back fresh tears.
“I’m in control of my temper. I would never lift a finger to you in anger. Ever. But I can tell you that until the stars fall from the sky. You could tell me you believed me, but you have no more faith in me now than I do in you. So pick.”
He watched Anka quiver in fear as she got to her feet. She glanced at the robe, and for a moment, he felt sure that she would put it on and go.
“If you touch that robe, we’re done.”
She turned to him then, her beseeching gaze nearly unraveling his good intentions. If he let her put any sort of barriers between them again, Lucan feared they would be impossible to tear down. She had to give him her trust or they had no business being together.
Just when he thought for certain she was going to grab the robe and shelter herself with it, she headed straight for the wall. Stunned and a bit elated, he watched the sun streaming through the window glow off her bare skin as she swayed toward the wall, then stopped, placing her forehead against it. She clenched her fists. God, she was terrified. Lucan couldn’t miss the fear bouncing off of her. Again, some stubborn, lovesick part of him wanted to coddle and protect her, make the whip go away and hold her. But inside, he still reeled in disbelief that she’d kept such a huge bombshell from him for a century. They wouldn’t survive another hour if he couldn’t believe that they could build trust again.
Lucan followed her to the wall, stopping behind her. He couldn’t resist the urge to press against her, rub his throbbing shaft into the cleft of her backside. Damn it, how badly he ached to touch her again.
“Good, Anka. Are you afraid?”
“Y-yes.”
At least she’d been honest this time. He wanted her to know that he appreciated how difficult it was for her to make herself vulnerable to him. It raised his hopes a bit, showed that she trusted him on some level.
“Thank you for that.”
“Lucan.” Anka spoke his name like a plea as she eased back against his chest, arching her head to rest on his shoulder.
Their gazes connected, and the jolt kicked him all the way to his soul. He itched to touch her, cast aside the whip, and simply feel his way over her body until she surrendered and he possessed her. But trust must come before comfort, before reassurance, before pleasure.
He brought the whip up in front of her, and she gasped, tried to shrink away. She looked furiously for an escape, but between his body and his arms trapping her against the wall, he didn’t give her one. “You know what this is, Anka. You know what it can do.”
She looked at him over her shoulder, her lips quivering as she held in tears. But she nodded. “Yes.”
“You know the pain it can give.”
Anka squeezed her eyes shut as if she could stop the horrific memories from bombarding her. “Yes.”
“I want to be clear. You’re giving yourself over to me and this whip now?”
She looked like she fought for courage. “If that’s what it takes to earn your trust again, y-yes.”
Her voice trembled, but she fought hard to give him what he needed, and the man inside him reveled. Not only must he believe that she would give him all her problems in the future, she had to know that she could.
Lucan uncoiled the whip slowly, letting it slide over the skin of her back and arse. She sucked in a harsh breath and tensed. But she didn’t say a word as he smoothed it over her nape, trailed it over her shoulder, let it drape between her breasts.
“Still afraid?”
“Yes.”
Of it or him? He had to answer that question, get her to separate them in her mind so that she could focus on him alone.
He retracted the leather, gripping it by the handle, then set the rest of the coiled length in front of her. “Touch it.”
“W-what?”
“Touch it. Put your fingers around it. Caress it. Explore it.”
She hesitated, her fists clenching defiantly.