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Almost as much as I loved it.
He made me burn for him. I became not just complicit in my demise, but actively took part in it. He made me want him in ways that were concerning to feminism.
I moved my fingers over my clit in fast circles, pressing so hard it almost hurt.
I had never known riding the line between pain and pleasure was where the most exquisite ecstasy could be found. My breath caught as my back arched, and the pressure built in my core.
Thoughts of his clean spicy scent, the way his body felt pressed on top of mine, the sound of his voice whispering demands, filled my mind. Come for me now. Do it. Show me how much you want my cock. Be my little whore.
As I bit down on my lip to stifle my moan, my core clenched around nothing as I came in an intense orgasm made all the stronger for the tinge of pain from my still-sore muscles.
I caught my breath, lying back on the chaise lounge, waiting for the sense of satisfaction and the blissful high that came after an orgasm.
It never came.
Instead, I was hungry for more.
My fingers hadn’t taken the edge off, and I was suddenly worried the only way I could ever be satisfied again was if he was the one to give me pleasure.
My sister’s voice came from just outside the door. I pulled my hand away from my body, quickly straightened my dress, and picked up the sketchbook and charcoals again, looking at what I had drawn before.
The eyes still weren’t perfect.
I moved down the page and tried to draw the second-most alluring part of his face. His lips, full, with a perfectly defined cupid’s bow that was just sexy when he gave that cocky smirk. That smirk that said he owned the world and knew it. There was nothing he couldn’t get, no woman who wouldn’t willingly open their legs for him.
I pushed away that thought. There was no need to add petty jealousy to the mix of emotions swirling in my gut. Did I even have the right to be jealous? I was expected to remain faithful to my husband, but men didn’t always have the same expectations of themselves.
Did he have a girlfriend or partner?
I had no idea, and now that thought was stuck in my head.
Did he spend his nights pleasuring another woman? Was I one among many, or the trophy wife to cover his true love?
With an aggravated scream, I scribbled over the sketch I was struggling with, then ripped the paper out of the book and balled it up, clenching it tightly.
How could one man have me this frustrated?
I shouldn’t want him.
The only things I should feel for this man were hate and contempt. I did hate him, but there was something more, too. Did he intrigue me? Did the man who could so calmly put my mother in her place fascinate me?
Luc was full of bewildering and captivating contradictions.
People said he was one of the most powerful men in society, but then still referred to him by his first name, saving the more formal greetings for his father. He made himself and his partners billions, but few went into business with him. He knew everyone but hated networking. The rumor mill talked about him constantly but had no actual information about him.
People called him a gentleman, but when it was just the two of us, he was anything but gentle. I wanted to loathe him, to scratch out his eyes with my freshly manicured fingers, but I also wanted him to possess me in a way I didn’t think was possible.
I threw the balled-up sketch I was holding across the room, further than the other discarded papers.
CHAPTER 17
AMELIA
“What are you doing in here?” Rose asked, coming into the room.
“I just had the itch to remind myself how little talent I actually have.” I slouched further down into the soft chaise lounge. “And Mother is on the warpath.”
“Stay right there,” she said. “Don’t move a muscle.” She grabbed an easel and put a canvas on it, positioning it across the room so she faced me.
