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“I was waiting for you.” My fingers dug into the sheets and tugged them up over my naked breasts. After three pregnancies, they were different and sometimes it was hard to reconcile how I thought my body should look in my head with reality.
His brow twitched. “Take the sheet down.”
I obeyed. Baring my body to him. His eyes lingered on my breasts as he put the cigarette to his lips and breathed in. Smoke drifted from his nose and a little shiver moved through my stomach. There was a lot of ice in his eyes tonight.
“Why did you want it like that?” I asked quietly. “The sex, I mean.”
He shrugged once. He never emoted more than was absolutely necessary. It was always one shake of his head. A shrug. A single flicker of his eyelid.
“You’re so fucking sweet, Liv,” he said, his voice low. Husky. “Sometimes life can be a lot, but you’re so pure.”
I stayed quiet. I didn’t feel pure or sweet most of the time. But I also wasn’t exposed to the things he was every day so I didn’t have a lot to compare myself to. He dealt with the worst of the worst in politics and business. I stayed back, encased in the golden cage he’d built for me, and raised his sons. Once a week, I worked at my charitable foundation and occasionally I attended a public event at his side.
“Where did you go to just then?” he asked.
I blinked to clear my head. His piercing eyes were fixed on me, smoke drifting past them in lazy spirals. His hair was messy and hung over his forehead, but I liked it that way. He looked sexy and just-fucked.
He rolled the cigarette in his fingers, flashing the cruel scar that ran down his ring finger. He still hadn’t told me what had happened.
“Nothing,” I murmured. “I’m just feeling very satisfied.”
He jerked his head. “Don’t wash.”
Warmth blossomed on my cheeks. “Why?”
He stabbed out the cigarette and closed the window. “Because I want my cum between your thighs all night.”
My cheeks went bright pink.
“Come here,” he said.
I obeyed and he turned me around and unfastened the collar. Then he kissed the back of my neck and went to put his sweatpants on. Between his mouth on my neck and the sight of him pulling on a pair of gray sweatpants, I was so flustered I forgot what I was doing and just stared.
He tapped my chin and I closed my mouth with a pop.
“Let’s go eat,” he said.
I grabbed my silk dressing gown and hurried to follow him. He pulled open the door and I stumbled into the hall. My legs were still limp and I found myself grabbing the wall to keep steady. He laughed softly, a dry, almost chilling sound. When Lucien laughed, it always sounded like someone imitating what they thought a human laugh sounded like.
It was a little unnerving.
“Here,” he said, lifting me in his arms. I slid my arms around his neck, butterflies in my stomach.
He was so warm and solid. I closed my eyes, pushing my face against his neck while he carried me downstairs to the kitchen. He put me on the counter and brushed back my hair. Gazing at me like he was trying to bore into my innermost thoughts.
“What?” I whispered, trying not to squirm.
He shook his head once.
I frowned. “You’re kind of…off tonight, Lucien.”
“I’m tired, Liv,” he said. He went to the fridge and took out the plate of leftovers. He put it in the microwave, his back to me, and I found myself fascinated by the muscles that ran up either side of his spine and knotted up to his shoulders. I kept quiet, watching him until he brought the plate over. He stepped between my legs and reached for the fork.
“That food was for you,” I said.
“I had a dinner I had to attend earlier.” He speared a piece of chicken and guided it to my lips. “Open.”
I obeyed, letting him feed me and watch as I chewed and swallowed. It wasn’t an unfamiliar scenario. In the depths of my eating disorder, after the boys were in bed, he would sometimes sit me in his lap and feed me. It was embarrassing, but at my lowest moments it was what I’d needed.
