Despite the unshakable attraction between them, Maeve and Lucian are uninterested in love and marriage; especially since they hate one another and couldn't think of a worse match.
• • •
London, 1815
Maeve Langston's aversion to the opposite sex has...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
With a very satisfied smile, Maeve stretched her deliciously sore limbs. She was lying on Lucian's bed, resting on her stomach, just waking up from a nap.
The room surrounding her was now familiar to her. The entire house was, really. It was the place Lucian had bought before inheriting his title, and he favored it to the other one. He'd never cared for the family's terrasse in London, which was, according to him, pointlessly large and outrageously ostentatious.
Although she was used to living in great comfort, she could see the perks of an existence in such a place. The privacy they had would be hardly possible with the army of domestics needed to run a larger house.
In all truth, she would be happy with whatever way of life Lucian preferred, as long as he was willing to share it with her.
Turning her head around and saw him, his back resting on the headboard, reading a book. The sheets were pulled up to his hips, while the rest of him was fully displayed to her view. The heat of mid-July was well installed, and they only had thin linens to cover them. She rolled on her back, not minding her exposed breasts.
Lucian finally noticed she was awake, looked hungrily at her body, but didn't move to act on his awaking needs.
Six days. She had been away from him for six days. She loved her aunt Annabelle, and enjoyed having her cousins around, but when they had finally left, she had watched their carriage leave with great satisfaction. As soon as she had been able to, she had left the house, pretending to go see Anita. Instead, she had, of course, come here to Lucian, who was expecting her.
It had been quite flattering to see those six days had been unbearable for him too. She had barely entered the house that he had ravaged her with a savage kiss. Unceremoniously, Lucian had propped her on a console table, lifted her skirts, and opened his breeches. When he'd witnessed how drenched she already was for him, he'd entered her with a firm thrust.
During the entire way here, her mind had been filled with thoughts of all the things she wanted to do to him, as well as the ones she wanted him to do to her. So, her center had been slowly preparing for it during the twenty minutes it took to reach his house. Still, she hadn't expected him to be so eager to have her. Once the shock had dissipated, Maeve had ended up begging and writhing, actively seeking her long-awaited release. With his usual efficiency, Lucian had brought them both to satisfaction, leaving her a little disoriented afterward.
Then, feeling a little guilty for his savagery, he had helped her out of her hat and light cloak, before guiding her upstairs. There, he had possessed her once more, showing a little more restraint, but still not much of it. She smiled as she remembered the wicked things he had done to her in the bed, putting her calves on his shoulders, pushing deep inside of her, over and over.
They were making up for lost time, but they needed to pick up the pace. It had been almost a week, after all. She wondered how long she had slept, hoping they still had some left. Pushing on her elbows, she forced the upper part of her body up to be able to glance at the clock on the mantle of the fireplace. She had been out for a little over half an hour. They still had an hour before she would have to leave.
