Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 119694 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 598(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119694 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 598(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
62
Jules
I wake slowly, drifting up from sleep with the faint crackle of fire in my ears and the lingering warmth of another body still ghosting the sheets to my left.
My body feels…sore…tender…used in the best possible way.
As consciousness filters in, the memory of last night—vivid and visceral— playing behind my closed eyelids. The desperate heat of the wine…the guilt about Hanna…my uncertainty about the future…all of it dissolving under the relentless, hot strokes of Lucian’s tongue.
I can still feel the ghost of it between my thighs—the way he’d feasted on me like he was starving, and I was his only sustenance…his low growls of approval vibrating against my sensitive flesh when I came apart, sobbing his name.
Then I remember the way I mounted him. The shameless, delicious way I took him inside…the incredible fullness of him inside me…the stretch of my inner walls as I sank down, taking him deep and then deeper.
I love remembering how he’d filled me so completely—so deeply, it felt less like being penetrated and more like being owned. I remember the look in his eyes—a mix of awe, possessiveness, and a tenderness that stole my heart—as he whispered, “That’s right, sweetheart. Ride me.”
I bite my lip as I remember my hips moving…finding a rhythm that worked for both of us…the sound of skin meeting skin…the delicious friction… Not to mention the way my body clenched around him, trying to pull him even deeper inside as I came so hard on his thick cock.
Heat blooms low in my belly, followed quickly by confusion as I remember what happened after the first time I came on him. I asked him to bite me…and he refused. Why?
Why wouldn’t he bite me?
I asked him to—almost begged him to. I remember wanting it—wanting his fangs in my throat—wanting that final claiming intimacy he’d hinted at before. Wanting to give him everything.
And yet, he refused, gently but firmly.
Why?
I turn my head and realize I’m alone in the bed.
Lucian is already up, already dressed in another one of his immaculate, tailored suits—dark, elegant, and expensive. He stands near the fire, reviewing a sheaf of papers like nothing world-altering happened between us a few hours ago.
He looks… composed…untouched by our lovemaking. Almost like last night didn’t change him at all.
“Come and have some breakfast, little one,” he says when he notices me watching him. “We have quite a task ahead of us—you’ll need your strength.”
I swallow hard and my chest tightens for reasons I don’t quite understand. Does he really not feel it? The connection we formed last night? I mean, I know it wasn’t the Soul-Bond he said I wasn’t ready for, but I’m sure I feel something between us. I’ve never had sex that was so intense—so consuming before. But it doesn’t seem to have affected my Vampire Don at all.
I push myself upright and slide into the crimson satin robe he’s left out for me—the same one as before. It glides over my skin, decadent and silky against my bare skin.
The sitting area by the fire is already laid out with breakfast—and what a breakfast it is.
A silver tray gleams in the firelight, laden with flaky pastries brushed with honey, soft eggs folded with herbs, sliced fruit arranged like jewels, warm bread with whipped butter, and a porcelain pot of tea steaming gently beside a cup of dark coffee and a little silver jug of cream. Everything looks perfect.
And yet my stomach is in knots and I’m not hungry.
“This looks delicious,” I say, meaning it, “but I’d better go check on Hanna.”
“I have already checked on her,” Lucian replies smoothly. “A maid is helping her get dressed as we speak. However, if you want to get dressed and go to her—”
“Yes, I do,” I say immediately.
I cross to the wardrobe and choose a simple but flattering dress in dark blue, my movements suddenly careful and self-conscious. As I dress, the silence between me and Lucian stretches. It feels heavy…loaded somehow. As though both of us are waiting for the other to say something. Only I’m not talking—I’m practically out the door.
I hesitate with my hand on the knob.
We made love last night. He made me come over and over and over again. I let him come inside me.
Does any of that mean anything to him? Or am I being stupid and old-fashioned—thinking sex is supposed to mean something?
With most of the men I’ve dated, it never did—it was purely transactional. I was lonely and wanted company—they wanted my body. Once they had it, they lost interest…moved on…checked out.
But with Lucian, it felt different. He was so sweet to me—telling me to go slow, not to hurt myself on him. I can still remember how he held me afterwards, twining our bodies as though he couldn’t bear to let me go.
But now he’s distant…focused…already moving on with his day.