She hadn’t anticipated how incredibly sweet his kiss could be, or how gentle his hands might be as they slid her knickers down her legs. There was no talk of blindfolds, no glance towards the toys lined up on the table. Sophie sensed that this was probably outside of Lucien’s plan, and she treasured him all the more for understanding what she needed. The breath jarred in her throat as his fingers moved to unbutton his jeans. For all that had happened between them, she’d yet to see him naked. The final barrier. He reached into his pocket for a condom, and then kicked his jeans off.

For a few seconds, Lucien simply settled his body over the length of hers and held her, giving her time to accept the weight of his erection against her abdomen. Sophie melted. She wanted him. Christ she wanted him. There was no doubt, there were no second thoughts. Lucien had kissed them all away. He ripped the foil packet of the condom with his teeth and sheathed himself, them settled back between her legs with his forearms either side of her head.

“Open your eyes,” he murmured as his knee moved between hers. Sophie lifted her lashes, and Lucien’s clear blue gaze locked with hers as he tipped his hips slowly, his rock hard length stoking delicious friction back and forth over her clitoris. “Feel good?” A lazy half smile touched his lips. Sophie bit down on her lip to hold the cry of pleasure inside. This man was something else when it came to confidence. Jesus, yes. You know it feels good.

Lucien’s tender thumbs stroked the rogue tears from her cheeks, and his feather kisses traced her lips as he positioned himself.

Sophie clutched him, her fingernails digging arcs into his shoulders. He was strength, and he was magnificence, and as his beautiful hard cock sliced decisively into her, he became her Viking lover.  Sophie cried out his name as he filled her, foreign and mysterious, and each thrust sent lust spiralling higher, tighter, deeper… more, more, more. Euphoria mingled with physical pleasure, building with Lucien’s every stroke and thrust.

More. More. More.  Boneless and mindless, she was a pool of heat and desire underneath his mastery.

His hand cupped her face as his other snaked between their damp bodies, and Sophie gulped in dry air as he thumbed her clitoris. Thrust. Stroke. Rub. Thrust. Stroke. Rub. He set up a trinity of motion, and with every repetition he pushed Sophie closer and closer towards the edge of control.

His eyes still held her gaze, and she could see the effort in his clenched jaw as he held his own pleasure back for hers. His thumb was still stroking her clitoris, and his tongue mirrored the movement in her mouth.

“You. Are. Fucking. Amazing,” he ground out, punctuating each word with a deeper thrust. Sophie’s fingers curved around his nape as her hips started to buck uncontrollably, and Lucien read her cues well and switched from slow and deep to fast and hard. His tongue in her mouth, his cock buried inside her. Faster, harder, yes, yes, yes! Sophie’s orgasm exploded through her body, making her shudder and jolt beneath him. Lucien threw his head back and pumped his hips, leaving her nowhere to go but further over the top with him. They moved in frenzied, primal unison.

Animal.

Feral.

Sensational.

Lucien rested his forehead against Sophie’s, the aftermath of his orgasm still vibrating through his groin. He hadn’t intended this to happen in quite such a vanilla way, but one look at at Sophie’s vulnerable face and his hunter-protector gene had kicked in hard. Most of all he’d wanted to settle her, to comfort her, to gentle rather than shock her into submission.

He kissed the tip of her nose. Shocking her was next on his agenda.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Sophie wound the belt of the short, white towelling robe around her waist and knotted it, glad that Lucien had been thoughtful enough to provide it. He had slid back into his battered jeans. The toys still sat central on the coffee table, and she did her best not to look in their direction as she padded through to the open plan kitchen after Lucien.

Pristine white gloss and stainless steel units lined the walls in unbroken ranks; it was clear to Sophie that this wasn’t a kitchen that saw much in the way of action. Or not cooking, at least.

It was a little after nine, and dusk had turned the sky outside a deep petrol blue and the trees around the house into spindled black shadows. Not quite night time, but almost there. Sophie sensed, with a minute thrill, that it would nonetheless be a long time until bedtime.

As she entered the kitchen, Lucien was standing with his back towards her, lit by the soft light from inside the huge stainless steel fridge he was reaching into. She was pulled up sharply by the beautiful monochrome tattoo inked across his broad shoulders.

An intricately detailed lone wolf, bound around with ropes and vines stretched from shoulder blade to shoulder blade, enhancing every slope and taut angle of his back. It was stunning, and Sophie longed to go and run her hands over it. Over him. He turned as she approached, and she lost her nerve.

“Hungry?”

Sophie thought about it and decided that in actual fact, she was starving.

“Yes. Yes, I am. Is this where you tell me you’re a crack hot chef?”

Lucien lifted a lazy eyebrow.

“No. This is the point where I offer to serve you sushi off my navel.”

Sophie’s eyes opened wide. Was he even joking? She still didn’t have a good enough measure of him to be sure. She breathed a sigh of relief when he retrieved a huge bacon quiche, a bag of salad and a bottle of champagne from the fridge and closed the door.

“We’re in luck. Fran has been today.”

Fran? Who was Fran?

Lucien heaped food onto two plates without offering an explanation. To be fair, he didn’t owe her one. He was her boss, and her one week only lover, nothing more.

The food was delicious, helped down by champagne that loosened both Sophie’s nerves and her tongue. Was Fran his girlfriend? His lover? His mother? She burned to know. Jesus, was she his wife?

No. He wasn’t married. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but he was most definitely single. Unlike her. Thoughts of Dan on holiday somewhere with his lover encroached on her mind, and she began to push her food listlessly around the plate.

“Stop it,” Lucien said softly.

Her eyes flickered up.

“Ditch the guilt, Sophie.”

Boy, he was good. He might be unreadable to her, but to him, she seemed to be an open book.

“It’s not that easy.” She picked up her champagne glass and drank deeply, trying to wash away the melancholy.

Lucien filled up her glass again.

“Your husband doesn’t seem to struggle with it.”