ASPEN
My body ached in the most delicious ways when I woke in the morning. After two more rounds throughout the night, I’d expected morning sex. However, when I rolled over, the bed was empty.
I flopped back to my pillow and frowned, trying not to let my mind wander with wild thoughts like he’d moved to a guest room because he didn’t want to wake up with me. Or maybe he’d left the apartment entirely to avoid telling me that he regretted last night, and we would go back to not having sex again.
A weight settled on my chest, cut short by the running water from the bathroom.
He hadn’t run away—just showering. I breathed a sigh of relief as the doubts fell away. Only for more to creep in behind it.
Why didn’t he wake me? Did he want me to join him? Was he putting distance between us? How was I supposed to act now?
I groaned, done with my incessant spiraling.
If he decided not to wake me, then I wouldn’t take the chance of being an unwanted guest in his shower. With my decision made, I rolled out of bed, skipping over my tattered dress on the floor, and headed for my own shower.
I’d just finished washing my hair when I turned and screamed.
Lucian stood there, leaning against the doorjamb, completely naked and leisurely stroking himself.
He looked…fucking mouthwatering. I’d never had the chance to see him completely naked, and I soaked up every inch of his hard body, from his strong thighs, the deep vee at his hips, the rippling abs, muscular arms, and long fingers. All of it leading back to his thick length growing harder.
“I didn’t know if you—” He pressed away from the wall, cutting my fumbled excuse short, and stalked toward the shower, like a predator cornering its prey.
His hand continued moving up and down his cock while his dark eyes never left mine. He opened the door without saying a word and crowded me against the wall of the shower. I tipped my head back to hold his gaze, reminded of the way he loomed over me last night, fighting me—controlling me.
My pussy ached. I wanted more, and this time, he didn’t make me ask for it. He dipped, wrapping his hands around my thighs and lifted me to position his cock at my entrance. Without any foreplay other than his dangerous silence, he thrust into me—hard.
The second time last night, he woke me with teasing touches to fuck me slow and deep, taking his time. The third time included spanking and foreplay for over an hour before he made me ride him hard.
This was neither.
He fucked me hard and deliberate with one goal in mind: to make both of us come. As soon as my release crashed over me, he buried his face in my neck and groaned through his own.
Without a word, he set me down, slapped my ass, and turned to walk away.
I fell against the wall, struggling to support myself on wobbly legs, and stared, my jaw hanging open.
Before he left, he turned back. “I’m done with you having your own room. I’m done not waking up beside you.”
He’d muttered the same words last night, and they melted into my chest all over again. Although this time, he followed it up with more that banished any romantic notions I may have conjured.
“I’m done not waking you up with my head between your thighs. I’m done not waking up inside you. We’re done with separate rooms. You’re going to be my wife, and it’s time you started acting like it.”
Excuse me?
My brows skyrocketed, but before I could unleash my indignation, he continued.
“And if it’s the closet you’re worried about, then I’ll move my clothes into a guest room, and you can have the entire master closet to yourself,” he explained with a deadpanned stare. “No excuses.”
“Fine,” I agreed, but held my chin high, like a queen staring down her nose at her subject. “I’ll let you win this time, but don’t get used to it.” While irritation still prickled over his comment about me finally acting like his wife, his offer to move his belongings to make room for mine softened me enough to concede.
Moving his entire wardrobe would be a hassle—one he’d willingly take on for me. It wasn’t roses or a sweeping declaration about sleepless nights without me, but it still sent an unexpected, warm bubble of happiness blooming in my chest.
Who said romance was dead?
By the timewe pulled up to Lucian’s godparents’ house, I couldn’t tell who was more nervous, Lucian or me. Not that his nerves were obvious, but I noticed his anxiety in the silence, with his thumb tapping on the wheel and his bouncing knee the entire drive.
Not that I blamed him. This was pivotal to our agreement—a wife to fulfill the debt he owed to his godfather.
