Safe with Her
by @mysticravenAfter years of performing toxic masculinity for partners who demanded he dominate, Lucas finds himself in the arms of Camille—a ruthless divorce lawyer who gets off on reversing the power dynamic. She discovers his secret craving isn't for sex, but for emotional surrender, and teaches him that vulnerability can feel safe instead of shameful. By the time he stops apologizing for what he wants, they're both too addicted to the softness to ever go back.
MEET THE CHARACTERS
Lucas Walker
A 26-year-old with the kind of build that makes people assume he's always in control—broad shoulders, a jaw that could cut glass, and hands that know how to hold their own. But there's a softness in his brown eyes that betrays him, a slight tremor in his voice when he's asked what he really wants. He moves like a man who's been performing for so long he's forgotten how to just be.
Camille Devereaux
A 42-year-old divorce lawyer with sharp cheekbones and sharper instincts, silver-streaked auburn hair swept into a low bun that means business. She has the kind of confidence that doesn't need to announce itself—it lives in the way she holds a wine glass, the way she never breaks eye contact first, the quiet authority in her voice that makes people confess things they didn't mean to. There's a warmth beneath her armor, but she guards it carefully, like something she's learned not to trust.
EXPLORE CHAPTERS
The First Question
Lucas's hands are sweating against the napkin in his lap. The wine is good—she picked it, and that should be nothing, but it's something. Her eyes don't leave his face. When she asks what he wants, the words stick in his throat. He's never said it out loud. 'I don't know,' he lies. She tilts her head, and he knows she doesn't believe him. Her smile is slow. 'Interesting.' His pulse hammers.
The First Surrender
Lucas's knees hit her hardwood floor before he decides to drop. The impact shocks through his joints, grounding him in a way he didn't know he needed. Camille stands above him, her silhouette framed by the dim light from the hallway, and he feels the weight of her gaze like a physical pressure on his shoulders. His hands rest on his thighs, palms up—open, waiting—and he realizes he's never been this still in his life. She steps closer, and the click of her heels on the wood echoes through the empty space of his chest.
Chapter 3
The room was quiet except for the soft sound of breathing, uneven and tense, as she stood behind him, close enough that he could feel the heat of her body without her even touching him yet. Her hand rested briefly on his lower back, steadying him, grounding him, before her fingers tightened slightly in a silent question he already knew the answer to. When he nodded, barely, almost ashamed of how much he wanted it, she moved with slow, deliberate control, letting him feel every second of anticipation stretch out. There was no rush in the way she guided him down, only patience and absolute awareness of his reaction — the small inhale, the tension in his shoulders, the way his body betrayed his confidence the moment she took charge. When she finally began to enter him with the strap-on, it wasn’t abrupt, but it was undeniable — a firm, steady pressure that made his breath catch sharply. He froze for a second, overwhelmed by the intensity of sensation and the strange intimacy of surrender. Her hand slid to his hip, holding him in place, not letting him escape the moment even if he wanted to. And then she moved — slow at first, testing, learning him, controlling the rhythm until his resistance melted into something softer, quieter. What had started as hesitation turned into something deeper, something that stripped away pride and left only trust, need, and a growing, unfamiliar pleasure he couldn’t fully name yet.
Let Me Have This
He stops holding back—lets the sounds escape, lets the tears come, lets her see every raw edge of what he's been hiding. She fucks him harder through it, not punishing but pushing, demanding he stay present in his own unraveling. His body gives out before his mind does, a shuddering release that leaves him gasping her name like a prayer. She holds him through the aftershocks, still inside him, still steady, and he realizes he's never been this seen.
The Morning After
He wakes to her mouth on his chest, her thigh hooked over his hip, and the shame he expected doesn't come—only a raw, empty ache that feels like hunger. She doesn't ask if he wants this, just slides down his body with a slowness that says she already knows the answer. Her tongue traces the vein along his shaft, and he fists the sheets because if he touches her hair he'll come too fast. He feels her smile against his skin before she takes him deeper, and he realizes she's keeping him even now, even like this, even first thing in the morning when he's most vulnerable and least prepared to pretend.