Chapter 75:In Your Embrace

Lucas drifted down the dimly lit streets, barefoot, his feet scraping over gravel, broken glass, and cracked pavement. Each step left faint streaks of blood behind him, but he didn't care. Pain was something he welcomed—a constant hum that reminded him he was still here, still *alive*.

He wore the clothes, too big for his thin frame. The oversized shirt slipped off one shoulder, and the pants dragged behind him, frayed at the hem. The baggy fit made him look oddly innocent, like a lost kid wandering where he didn't belong. But the crimson stains on his newly bandaged hands ,the cuts and bruises on his face and the blood pooling under his scraped feet told another story—a darker one.

People slowed their cars when they saw him, concerned faces peeking out of rolled-down windows.

"Hey, kid! You need a ride?"

"Are you lost?"

"Do you need help?"

Lucas ignored every offer, never breaking stride. Their voices were muffled noise, distant and unimportant. He kept walking, his eyes fixed ahead, as if something was waiting for him at the end of the road.

The bandages on his hands had already soaked through, the reopened wounds throbbing with every pulse. He flexed his fingers, feeling the sharp sting as the cuts stretched. Blood dripped steadily, splattering the ground beneath him.

The night was quiet, the occasional hum of passing cars the only sound that interrupted the rhythm of his footsteps. The oversized clothes swayed with each movement, brushing against his skin like a second, heavier shadow. The cold air bit at his exposed ankles and shoulders, but he welcomed that, too. The discomfort grounded him, gave him something real to hold on to.

The town's noise dulled, and the shadows felt thicker ,wrapping around him like a blanket.

The loose clothes fluttered with each step, making him look deceptively fragile—a ghost drifting along empty streets. The houses became more familiar the closer he got,each one bringing him forward to his new agenda.

Then, finally, Dimitri's house came into view. A grin tugged at the corner of Lucas's mouth.

The driveway was empty, the windows dark. No one was home. Perfect.

Without hesitation, Lucas crossed the front yard, his bare feet silent against the grass. He stopped at the side of the house, tilting his head to study the structure. Lucas knew exactly where the ledges were, where the vines clung to the walls like veins. He hadn't done this one before—scaled walls.However he saw Kane do it so he believed he could as well.

He crouched low and jumped, grabbing hold of a windowsill with bloodied fingers. He winced at the sharp sting but ignored it, pulling himself up with quiet precision. His movements were smooth, practiced—like a predator who knew the layout of his prey's den.

The bricks were cold and rough against his skin, but he climbed steadily, foot over foot, until he reached the second-story window. It was Dimitri's room.

The glass was unlocked. Of course it was. Dimitri always left it open, whether on purpose or out of carelessness, Lucas wasn't sure. Either way, it made things easy.

He pushed the window up slowly, slipping through the narrow gap with the grace of a cat. The room was dark, but Lucas could make out the familiar shapes of furniture—the desk cluttered with notebooks, the unmade bed in the corner, and the faint smell of Dimitri lingering in the air, a scent Lucas found irritatingly comforting.

He landed softly on the wooden floor, pausing for a moment to listen. The silence was thick, oppressive. No footsteps, no murmurs from downstairs. Just the quiet hum of appliances somewhere far off.

No one was home.

Lucas's lips curled into a satisfied smile. He stood there for a moment, letting the darkness wrap around him like an old friend. The room felt untouched, frozen in time. He liked it this way—silent, waiting.

He crossed the room and sank down onto the edge of Dimitri's bed, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight. For a moment, he just sat there, the oversized clothes hanging off him in lazy folds. His bandaged hands rested in his lap, blood already soaking through again.

He leaned back, propping himself on his elbows, his gaze wandering lazily over the room. There was something soothing about being here, in the stillness of Dimitri's space. Like standing on the edge of a storm—dangerous but exhilarating.

And when Dimitri returned, whenever that might be, Lucas would be waiting. Just like always.

Lucas shifted, sinking further into the bed until he was lying flat on his back. The soft fabric of Dimitri's blanket brushed against his skin, but what caught him most was the scent. That distinct, familiar scent of Dimitri—faint cologne mixed with the natural warmth of his skin and something subtle, like cedarwood. It clung to the pillow beside him, wrapping around Lucas in a way that made his chest feel strangely tight.

He turned his head slowly, pressing his nose into the pillow. The smell was stronger here, comforting in a way Lucas hated to admit. His eyes fluttered shut, and for a brief moment, it was like Dimitri was right there, beside him.

His fingers curled deeper into the pillow as he inhaled again, slower this time, letting the scent flood his senses. It was intoxicating—familiar yet forbidden—and his heart stuttered in response, sending an uneven thrum through his body. A wave of heat unfurled beneath his skin, spreading like a slow, smoldering fire, creeping up his neck and blooming across his pale cheeks.

The warmth coiled low in his belly, simmering there, thick and unavoidable. His breath hitched as the sensation teased him, threading vulnerability with desire in a way that felt both thrilling and dangerous. His body betrayed him, soft whimpers threatening to escape his throat.

He wasn't supposed to react like this. Couldn't let himself fall under the spell it casted again. But it was already too late—his need had been awakened, and no amount of restraint could bury the ache now stirring beneath his skin.

His breath quickened, shallow and uneven, as the warmth sank lower, gathering between his thighs. A shiver ran through him, and he gripped the pillow tighter, trying to steady himself, but the ache was already blooming, undeniable. His body stirred—hardening, growing thick beneath the fabric of his pants—his skin hypersensitive to every shift and brush against him.

Lucas shifted his hips, pressing subtly into the mattress, and the pressure sent a flicker of pleasure through him. His cock throbbed, swelling further, the tightness becoming impossible to ignore. A soft gasp escaped his lips before he could stop it, his breath catching as desire coiled deep in his belly, sharp and electric.

He clenched his jaw, trying to fight the pull, but each slight movement only made the ache worse, teasing him with just enough friction to make his pulse race. His cock twitched again, straining against the fabric, demanding more. A low, frustrated exhale slipped past his lips as heat flooded his cheeks, mixing humiliation with arousal in a dizzying, heady swirl.

The need gnawed at him, relentless, his heart pounding in time with the pulse between his legs. He squeezed his thighs together, but the motion only heightened the sensation, sending another jolt of pleasure through him. His thoughts scattered, unraveling beneath the weight of desire, and despite himself, the temptation whispered: Just a little more. Just give in.

Lucas swallowed hard, his body betraying him with every throb, every twitch, every desperate beat. The line between restraint and indulgence blurred, and he knew—if he let himself move again, even just a little—there'd be no turning back.

Lucas gritted his teeth, determined to outlast the stubborn ache throbbing between his thighs. Every shift of his body sent another pulse of need through him, each throb making it harder to ignore the tension coiling deep in his belly. His fingers curled tighter into the pillow, frustration bubbling just beneath the surface, but he refused to give in.

He stayed still, clenching his jaw, forcing himself to breathe through the heat pooling low in his gut. The weight of arousal was heavy, pressing against the confines of his pants, demanding attention. His cock twitched, aching painfully, but he wasn't going to touch himself—not like this. Not now.

Lucas inhaled slowly through his nose, exhaling just as slow, as if he could will the desire out of him, breath by breath. But it lingered, simmering beneath his skin like a fire refusing to die out. Minutes stretched into eternity, his body betraying him with every heartbeat, each slow thud fanning the embers of temptation.

No, he told himself. Not now. Not here. He locked the thought in place, clinging to it as if sheer willpower alone could smother the need.

The ache persisted, stubborn and unrelenting, but Lucas refused to move. He stayed perfectly still, even as his cock remained hard, the pressure sharp and unforgiving. Time dragged on, and finally—agonizingly—it began to ebb. The throbbing lessened, shrinking into a dull, manageable discomfort.

Lucas exhaled slowly, relief washing over him as the tension in his body loosened, leaving him drained but victorious. His cock, at last, softened, and the restless heat faded into the background. He closed his eyes, sinking into the pillow with a quiet sigh.

The hunger still flickered somewhere inside him, lying dormant for now—but Lucas knew it was only a matter of time before it woke again.

This wasn't something he could do when Dimitri was physically close, when the intensity of his presence made Lucas feel on edge, guarded, like he had to maintain control at all times. But now, with Dimitri absent, the weight of his scent alone was enough to undo him.

Lucas gritted his teeth, angry at himself , as if the pillow had coaxed out emotions he refused to feel. It was infuriating. Pathetic, even. Yet he didn't pull away from the pillow; instead, he buried his face deeper into it, as though chasing the faint remnants of comfort.

For a few moments, the world outside ceased to exist. There were no scraped feet, no bandaged hands, no reminders of the chaos that waited beyond these walls. Just the dark, quiet room, and Dimitri's lingering presence in the air.

Lucas let himself indulge in it—just for a little longer—until his blush softened into something calmer, leaving only a strange ache in his chest. Then, as if sensing he'd allowed himself too much, he pulled back abruptly, sitting up on the bed.

His blue eyes narrowed, the softness from a moment ago vanishing beneath a flicker of annoyance. He hated how easily Dimitri affected him, even when he wasn't here.

Lucas stood slowly from the bed, his body illuminated by the soft glow of the moonlight filtering through the window. The room was quiet, save for the soft rustle of fabric as he peeled off the large clothes. He felt the weight of the night air press against his skin, cool against the heat still lingering from the strange flush Dimitri's scent had ignited in him.

The oversized shirt slid off his narrow shoulders, drifting down his arms like a whisper before crumpling to the floor. He arched his back slightly, letting his muscles stretch with languid ease, feeling the subtle ache in his limbs from the long walk here.

As he bent to push down the loose pants, his movements were unhurried, almost indulgent, as though savoring the freedom from the heavy, ill-fitting fabric. The pants slid past his hips and down his legs, brushing along his scraped skin before pooling at his feet. He stepped out of them slowly, the cool wood beneath his bare feet sending a shiver through him that only added to the sensation of release.

He stood completely bare now, his slim frame bathed in the silver glow of the night. The angles of his body were sharp but alluring—his collarbone pronounced, his muscles lean, and his skin pale. There was something haunting about the way he held himself, a blend of innocence and danger, like an animal poised between flight and attack.

As Lucas ran a hand down his side, absently tracing the faint curve of his ribcage, his thoughts flickered back to the hospital. It had been strange—no doctors, no nurses, no one checking on him. He should have questioned it, but he hadn't. He knew better than to underestimate Dimitri's influence now. Everything odd in his life seemed to trace back to him in one way or another.

The thought both irritated and excited him, his lips curling into a slight smirk. Dimitri always had a way of weaving himself into places he didn't belong—into people's lives, into their minds. Into Lucas.

He exhaled sharply, as though the weight of those thoughts had stirred something too close to the surface. For a moment, he stood still, letting the night air cool his heated skin and calm his restless mind. Then, with a quiet sigh, he stepped away from the discarded clothes, leaving them where they lay.

Lucas glanced back toward the bed, his expression unreadable as shadows danced across his face. He knew he should leave—get dressed, slip out before anyone returned. But part of him lingered, caught in the web Dimitri had spun, waiting for something he couldn't quite name.

Lucas drifted through the quiet, empty house, his bare feet padding softly along the cool floors. There was something exhilarating about being here, in Dimitri's space, surrounded by his things yet untouched by his presence. The house felt like a secret—one Lucas intended to savor. He made his way toward the bathroom, a slow smile playing on his lips as the thrill of trespass simmered beneath his skin.

The bathroom was larger than Lucas had expected, with marble tiles that gleamed in the dim light and a wide glass shower. A faint scent lingered in the room—something clean and masculine, like Dimitri's cologne mixed with soap. Lucas inhaled deeply, his body tingling from the heady mixture of sensations. The space, the scent, the silence—it was all intoxicating.

He stepped toward the shower, fingers brushing over the cool metal knob before twisting it. Water surged from the sleek showerhead, splashing against the glass with a steady rhythm. Steam began to billow, swirling in lazy tendrils that clung to the mirrors and walls, wrapping Lucas in a humid cocoon. He liked the way it felt—like the air was closing in around him, smoothing out the edges of his sharp thoughts.

Lucas slid open the glass door and stepped inside, letting the water cascade over his pale skin. He tilted his head back, eyes slipping shut as the warm streams washed over his scraped feet and bloodstained hands, stinging slightly where the cuts were still fresh.

The water trailed down the curves of his lean body, tracing every angle and hollow, dripping from his collarbone and gliding over the slight curve of his ribs. Lucas ran his hands through his wet hair, pushing it back from his face as rivulets ran down his neck and along his spine. He exhaled slowly, a soft sound that echoed in the misty space. There was something undeniably intimate about this moment—being here, alone in Dimitri's shower, naked and unguarded.A part of him even wanted Dimitri to walk in on him right this second,just to see his reaction.

His hands drifted lazily over his body, following the path of the water. He slid his fingers down his chest, his touch light and exploratory, as though mapping every sensation. The warmth spread through him, relaxing his muscles, making his movements slower, more deliberate. His skin glistened under the water, catching the soft glow of the bathroom light through the fogged glass.

Lucas leaned against the slick shower wall, tilting his head to the side as water cascaded over his shoulder, trickling down his chest and pooling at his feet. He let his mind wander, imagining Dimitri standing just outside, oblivious to the way Lucas had slipped into his home, his space, and now his shower. The thought sent a rush of heat through him—something dangerous and delicious.

With a low hum of satisfaction, Lucas pressed his forehead against the glass, his breath fogging up the surface as he traced patterns in the mist with idle fingers. The water felt too good, too indulgent, and yet he didn't want to stop. He stayed like that, caught between the warm rush of the shower and the cool thrill of trespass, savoring every second as if it were a stolen luxury.

Eventually, Lucas straightened, letting the water stream down his face one last time before reluctantly turning the knob, silencing the steady rhythm. Steam curled around him as he stepped out of the shower, droplets clinging to his skin like delicate jewels. He stood there for a moment, letting the cool air kiss his damp body, his pulse steady but slow with satisfaction.

The towel he grabbed was thick and soft—another detail that felt absurdly intimate.

Lucas stood in front of Dimitri's closet, the towel hanging low around his hips, he slowly slid the door open. He let his fingers drift over the neatly folded shirts and soft sweaters, feeling the fabrics beneath his fingertips like they were a secret to unravel. Lucas exhaled softly, already imagining how the clothes would feel draped over his body, how they'd smell like *him.*

After selecting a black button up shirt that was loose enough to fall just off his narrow shoulders and a pair of dark, well-worn sweatpants that bunched slightly at his ankles, Lucas began to dress. The way the fabric slid over his damp skin sent a quiet thrill through him, as though he were wrapping himself in Dimitri's very essence. The clothes clung tightly in certain places, giving him a soft, almost seductive look.

As Lucas adjusted the collar of the shirt, something caught his eye: a hairline crack along the wall at the far corner of the room, near the closet. It was almost imperceptible, subtle enough to be mistaken for a flaw in the plaster if not for the faint edge that ran clean and straight. Lucas stilled, his fingers frozen against the fabric, his heartbeat slowing into a deliberate rhythm.

He stepped closer, his bare feet making no sound against the cool floor. The closer he got, the clearer it became—a seam hidden within the wall, as though someone had carefully designed it to blend into the background. The crack formed a subtle, vertical line, just wide enough to catch the light if you looked at it from the right angle. It didn't belong there. It whispered of something *forbidden*—something meant to stay concealed.