Page 109 of Breeding Her: The Red Flag Edition
He didn’t flinch. He didn’t raise his voice.
He just looked at me like I’d shattered a fragile, unwritten law.
“You don’t vanish from me, Lucia,” he said softly. “Not in Paris. Not anywhere.”
His hand rose—slow, deliberate—and took the gift bag from mine.
He looked inside, brows twitching ever so slightly at the tiny Eiffel Tower keyrings. Then he looked back at me. Unreadable.
“I should be furious,” he muttered, placing the bag gently on the desk.
“Then be furious,” I bit back.
His eyes met mine again. No mask this time. Just fire.
“I was,” he said, stepping in close, “until I saw you.”
I swallowed and tried not to step back.
“How was the meeting?” I asked, hoping to redirect him like he was some large, dangerous ship and I’d just found a tiny paddle.
“Boring,” he replied bluntly, already tugging the strap of my purse over my head in one smooth motion. “I’d rather have been here with you, ensuring the continuation of the human race.”
I blinked. “I’m sure the human race will survive.”
His fingers closed around the purse as I tried to pull it back. “Not the point.”
“What is the point, Laurent?”
“That you don’t disappear on me again,” he said simply, eyes flicking to my mouth. “That you stay where you belong.”
“Let me guess,” I said, yanking on the purse again. “At your side like a broodmare?”
He grinned. Full teeth. Zero shame.
“I was going to say bed, but we can start with your attitude if you prefer.”
I stared at him. “You’re serious.”
He stepped closer, still holding my purse hostage. “Lucia, I’ve never been more serious in my life.”
“Great,” I muttered. “Next, you’ll be chipping me like a dog.”
His grin widened. “No need. You come when I call.”
My jaw dropped, as did my purse.
He leaned down and kissed my cheek—infuriatingly gentle—and whispered:
“Welcome back, my little whore.”
I growled and tried to push him away, but he chuckled, locking his arms around me.
“You come so hard when I call you the nastiest of names, Lucia,” he murmured, his hands wandering over my jeans.
I wanted to scream. I wanted to tell him he was insane.
But my body had its own language—one that didn’t listen to logic.
