Chapter 8
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 time we 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.
My nerves had more to do with meeting someone new. What would they think? Would they approve? Would they believe that we were truly engaged?
“They can’t know that this isn’t real,” Lucian said, putting the car in park.
I turned to face him, but he still gripped the wheel, staring straight ahead at the stone architecture and landscaping.
“They won’t.”
“They know me, so they’ll be able to pick up on any hints that this is fake. It has to be real,” he pressed, his knuckles turning white.
“Lucian.” I rested my hand on his arm and waited for him to meet my gaze—to see the sincerity of my words.
When he did, it almost took my breath away.
An outdoor sconce lit up his face perfectly, illuminating his eyes to a shade I’d never seen before.
An almost black lined his pupils before melting into a rich whiskey brown with hints of bronze sparking throughout.
I studied them, memorizing every detail before making my promise.
“They will only see a happily engaged couple.”
I offered a soft smile, and his hands finally relaxed around the wheel.
“The only way they won’t see that is if you are your normal asshole self and fuck it up,” I teased.
He huffed, lips twitching. “I’ll try.”
Movement outside the car caught my attention. I squeezed his arm reassuringly and reached for the handle.
“Let me open it,” he said, stopping me. “Grace will expect it.”
“I like her already.”
He moved around the car, opened my door, and offered a hand to help me out, pulling me into his gentlemanly act. Although, was it really an act? He’d opened my door before without anyone watching.
As much as I liked to think of Lucian as an asshole—and he was—I had to admit he had a soft side that cared for others. A side that softened me the more I witnessed it.
Shaking off that line of thought, I faced the tall, elegant woman who had a smile that lit up her whole face.
She descended the steps with grace and open arms, reaching for Lucian.
He stepped into her embrace with an expression I’d never seen on him, but was hauntingly familiar, and I remembered it well.
Something twisted in my chest as Lucian’s face melted into that rare smile—the kind that appeared only when you were wrapped in the arms of someone who loves you unconditionally. It was the same smile that crossed my own face whenever my mom had pulled me close.
I’d wondered what I’d see between him and his godparents, who’d care for him after his parents died.
Part of me expected formality, or simple gratitude, since they’d stepped in after he was mostly independent.
But watching them now, “godparents” felt too small a word.
They clung to each other with the fierce tenderness shared between mothers and their children.
I still had my dad, and his hugs comforted me, too, but never quite like that.
I blinked hard and looked away, trying to swallow down the jealousy rising in my throat.
“I’ve missed you,” Grace said, pulling back but still holding his arms.
Lucian chuckled. “It’s barely been a week.”
“Still too long.” She patted his cheek before turning her attention to me. “And this must be Aspen.”
I tried to project an air of calm, keeping my posture relaxed and my gaze steady, though a flutter of nerves danced beneath the surface. Would she think I wasn’t good enough? Would she look down on me? Would she judge me based on my heritage and only see stereotypes?
I could not have been more wrong.
She gasped and glanced back at Lucian, her eyes shining with pure delight. “Lucian, she is simply stunning.”
He laughed softly and nodded.
“You,” she said, focusing back on me, “are gorgeous. Way out of his league.”
“Hey, now,” Lucian grumbled.
She gave me a conspiratorial wink, reaching out to hug me next. I froze for what was probably only a millisecond, but stretched on forever in slow motion as I watched her close in.
An irrational hope flared in my chest, wanting to feel what Lucian did.
Once her arms wrapped around me, I snapped back into action and returned the hug.
While I didn’t get the same sensation I had from my mom, warm acceptance washed over me.
Grace’s hug was all-encompassing, and with it, a tight knot of tension in my chest unraveled.
I struggled to force my arms to let go when she pulled away.
“Sorry.” She winced, brushing a graying blonde wave behind her ear. “I’m a hugger. Especially when it’s the woman my godson has been talking to for over a year. Do you know he wouldn’t even tell us your name until he knew he was proposing? And that was almost five months ago.”
I smiled and shook my head. “I don’t mind hugs at all.”
Then I processed exactly what she said, my face twisting in confusion. Five months?
“Wait. What?”
“We should head in,” he declared too loudly to be normal, ignoring my question. “I’m sure Felix is anxious to meet her as well. And dinner is probably ready. Don’t want it getting cold.”
“Of course. He is beyond ready to meet the woman to make you believe in love again,” Grace said as she headed inside.
Lucian huffed a deprecating laugh and took my hand to follow, but I pulled back. “What?” he asked
“What did she mean by five months?” I whispered. “We only met five months ago.”