My hair comes down out of its twist, falling heavily past my shoulders. I drag a brush through it, watching myself in the mirror. I do not hear the door open behind me because, when he wants to, Lucas moves like a cat.
His hand finds my shoulder, and I jump a quarter of an inch. Then, he is there in the mirror behind me, the silver at his temples catching the lamplight, his sweater gone, just a soft, white shirt with the sleeves pushed up his forearms. His mouth comes down to the curve where my neck meets my shoulder.
“Hi, my love.”
“Hi,” I breathe.
His arms close around me from behind, slowly, carefully, his cheek resting against mine for a long moment. He breathes me in. He always does this. Five years of it, and it still makes me quiver.
“You were quiet at dinner,” he murmurs.
“Was I?”
“A little. I wondered if you were tired.”
“Maybe. Mostly full.”
His light chuckle ghosts against my temple. “What’s the occasion for this?” His fingers splay across my stomach, and his eyes meet mine in the mirror.
“I decided that if you won’t give me another child, I’ll seduce you into it.”
His smile fades. “Sienna.”
“I want more children, Lucas. I am done avoiding this conversation. I want this estate filled with the sounds of kids running around, getting into trouble, causing messes. I want a full life with you.”
He rests his head on my shoulder. “I nearly lost you when Theo was born.”
“The midwife told you that sometimes the first baby is the hardest. We’ve overcome so much worse. This is what I want.”
His jaw sets. “There’s no room for negotiation?”
“No.”
He sighs. “Fine.”
I blink. “That was easier than expected. I had a whole argument prepared.”
He laughs. “I want more kids, too, Sienna. I’m just worried about you. May I?” he asks softly.
My breath catches. Five years, and he still asks.
“Yes.”
Lucas exhales slowly against my neck, the sound heavy with restraint and hunger. For a moment he simply holds me, his broad chest pressed to my back, arms wrapped around my waist as we stand in front of the mirror. His hands are warm and steady, one resting possessively over my stomach, the other brushing my hair aside.
He presses a gentle, lingering kiss just below my ear, then another lower, lips grazing the sensitive skin where his mating mark sits.
His hand drifts down, gathering the hem of my nightie and slowly sliding it up my thighs. He doesn’t rush. The satin whispers against my skin as he bares me, inch by inch. His palm smooths over my hip, then cups the curve of my ass.
“Keep your eyes on the mirror,” he says quietly, voice low and calm. “I want you to see everything.”
I meet his gaze in the reflection. The contrast is striking—there I am, already flushed and breathing faster, while he stands tall behind me, still fully dressed, control radiating from every line of his body.
He slides one hand between my thighs, fingers stroking gently along my folds. A soft sound escapes me when he finds me wet. He teases slowly, circling my clit with light pressure before slipping two fingers inside me. He curls them deliberately, watching my face in the mirror as my lips part. My breath hitches.
“So responsive,” he murmurs, his other hand coming up to cup my breast, thumb brushing over my nipple. “Even after five years, one touch and you melt for me.”
He begins a slow, steady rhythm with his fingers, pumping deep while his thumb works my clit. My legs start to tremble. Lucas tightens his arm around my waist, holding me firmly against him.
