Midnight Claim
By BloodRose
The clock struck midnight as rain lashed against the high-rise windows, the storm outside a perfect mirror to the tension thrumming in Jasleen’s veins. She shouldn’t have come. She had told herself she wouldn’t. That she’d resist the pull of him. Yet here she was, perched on the edge of his bed, waiting.
A slow shiver rolled down her spine as the heavy oak doors creaked open. He was here. Lucian stepped inside, his presence undeniable, unshakable. He was older, every inch of him carved by experience and control. Dressed in black, the top buttons of his shirt undone, he exuded the kind of power that didn’t need to be spoken—it was simply felt.
His sharp eyes dragged over her form, assessing, owning. “You’re late.” His voice was deep, smooth, undeniably commanding. Jasleen swallowed. “I never said I was coming.” A slow, knowing smirk. “Yet here you are.” His gloved fingers traced her jaw, tilting her chin up. “Did you miss me?” His breath ghosted over her lips, teasing, never rushing.
Her thighs pressed together. He always did this to her. “Yes.” It was barely a whisper. Lucian’s smirk deepened. “I know.” Heat coiled low in her belly at the quiet confidence in his voice. “You’ve been running,” he murmured, fingers skimming down her throat, lower, toying with the silk tie of her robe. “But we both know you belong right here.” Jasleen exhaled shakily as the robe slid open, exposing bare, heated skin beneath. “Say it.” His voice was velvet and steel. She hesitated. Lucian’s grip tightened, gloved fingers catching her chin, demanding her surrender.
“Say it, Jasleen.” A shudder racked her. “I… I belong to you.” A dark, satisfied chuckle. “That’s right, baby girl.” And in one swift motion, he pinned her to the bed. Jasleen gasped, wrists caught above her head in a firm, unyielding grip. Lucian’s weight pressed her into the mattress, his mature strength and dominance undeniable. And as his mouth finally claimed hers—hungry, possessive, devastating—Jasleen knew she was lost.
She was already trembling when he dragged her up and slammed her against the wall, wrists pinned with one strong hand. His voice was rough against her ear. "You wanted to be my good little toy tonight, didn’t you?" She nodded, breath ragged, body arching instinctively toward him. He smirked. “Then why are you grinding like a needy slut? Did I say you could move?”
"N-No, Sir…” “Exactly. So stand still.” His fingers skimmed down, hovering just shy of her dripping heat. “You’re so wet and I haven’t even touched you. Pathetic.” She whimpered, aching. “You want to come, don’t you?” “Yes, Sir… please…” “Too bad. You’ll come when I say. If I say.” His smirk was cruel. “Beg.” “Please… please let me come…”
“You’ll thank me for every second I don’t let you,” he hissed, dragging her to her knees. “Now open your mouth.” She obeyed. He slid two fingers into her mouth, coated in her own arousal. She moaned around them, eyes locked on him. He grinned, belt coming undone. “Let’s see how much of me you can take.”
He didn’t ease in. He fucked her mouth hard, relentless, choking her on every thrust. Tears streamed down her cheeks. She moaned, spit trailing down her chin, desperate and ruined. “Choking on cock and loving it,” he growled, gripping her head tight. “You don’t even deserve to come yet.”
Then he yanked her up, threw her over the table. One brutal thrust—and she cried out, finally filled. He slammed into her again and again, fucking her through denial, through surrender. His hand wrapped tight around her throat. “Don’t come,” he growled. She was shaking. Barely coherent. “Please, Sir, please let me—” “Beg louder.”
“Please! I’ll do anything—just let me come!” He grunted, deep and rough. “Come now. Let me hear you scream for me.” And she did. Body writhing, sobbing, she came undone around him. He followed soon after, pulling out and finishing across her back with a groan of raw satisfaction.
When it was over, she lay ruined—marked, claimed, trembling. Lucian leaned in close. “Next time,” he whispered, “I’ll break you a little more.” And Jasleen? She smiled. She wanted him to.
A slow shiver rolled down her spine as the heavy oak doors creaked open. He was here. Lucian stepped inside, his presence undeniable, unshakable. He was older, every inch of him carved by experience and control. Dressed in black, the top buttons of his shirt undone, he exuded the kind of power that didn’t need to be spoken—it was simply felt.
His sharp eyes dragged over her form, assessing, owning. “You’re late.” His voice was deep, smooth, undeniably commanding. Jasleen swallowed. “I never said I was coming.” A slow, knowing smirk. “Yet here you are.” His gloved fingers traced her jaw, tilting her chin up. “Did you miss me?” His breath ghosted over her lips, teasing, never rushing.
Her thighs pressed together. He always did this to her. “Yes.” It was barely a whisper. Lucian’s smirk deepened. “I know.” Heat coiled low in her belly at the quiet confidence in his voice. “You’ve been running,” he murmured, fingers skimming down her throat, lower, toying with the silk tie of her robe. “But we both know you belong right here.” Jasleen exhaled shakily as the robe slid open, exposing bare, heated skin beneath. “Say it.” His voice was velvet and steel. She hesitated. Lucian’s grip tightened, gloved fingers catching her chin, demanding her surrender.
“Say it, Jasleen.” A shudder racked her. “I… I belong to you.” A dark, satisfied chuckle. “That’s right, baby girl.” And in one swift motion, he pinned her to the bed. Jasleen gasped, wrists caught above her head in a firm, unyielding grip. Lucian’s weight pressed her into the mattress, his mature strength and dominance undeniable. And as his mouth finally claimed hers—hungry, possessive, devastating—Jasleen knew she was lost.
She was already trembling when he dragged her up and slammed her against the wall, wrists pinned with one strong hand. His voice was rough against her ear. "You wanted to be my good little toy tonight, didn’t you?" She nodded, breath ragged, body arching instinctively toward him. He smirked. “Then why are you grinding like a needy slut? Did I say you could move?”
"N-No, Sir…” “Exactly. So stand still.” His fingers skimmed down, hovering just shy of her dripping heat. “You’re so wet and I haven’t even touched you. Pathetic.” She whimpered, aching. “You want to come, don’t you?” “Yes, Sir… please…” “Too bad. You’ll come when I say. If I say.” His smirk was cruel. “Beg.” “Please… please let me come…”
“You’ll thank me for every second I don’t let you,” he hissed, dragging her to her knees. “Now open your mouth.” She obeyed. He slid two fingers into her mouth, coated in her own arousal. She moaned around them, eyes locked on him. He grinned, belt coming undone. “Let’s see how much of me you can take.”
He didn’t ease in. He fucked her mouth hard, relentless, choking her on every thrust. Tears streamed down her cheeks. She moaned, spit trailing down her chin, desperate and ruined. “Choking on cock and loving it,” he growled, gripping her head tight. “You don’t even deserve to come yet.”
Then he yanked her up, threw her over the table. One brutal thrust—and she cried out, finally filled. He slammed into her again and again, fucking her through denial, through surrender. His hand wrapped tight around her throat. “Don’t come,” he growled. She was shaking. Barely coherent. “Please, Sir, please let me—” “Beg louder.”
“Please! I’ll do anything—just let me come!” He grunted, deep and rough. “Come now. Let me hear you scream for me.” And she did. Body writhing, sobbing, she came undone around him. He followed soon after, pulling out and finishing across her back with a groan of raw satisfaction.
When it was over, she lay ruined—marked, claimed, trembling. Lucian leaned in close. “Next time,” he whispered, “I’ll break you a little more.” And Jasleen? She smiled. She wanted him to.
