He dropped her.
Not gently.
She landed on her back, sprawled, thighs open, chest heaving, robe twisted halfway off her body. Her t**s bounced from the motion, swollen and slick from sweat, and the second the air hit her n*****s, she whimpered like she’d been struck.
Lucien’s eyes didn’t blink.
He stared down at her with something close to reverence but darker than worship, and when she tried to sit up and speak, his voice shattered her intention.
“Stay down.”
That was all he said.
And she obeyed.
Something about the way he said it—slow, deep, violent with restraint—made her spine flatten and her mouth close and her legs twitch open wider, like her body had already surrendered before her mind could catch up.
Lucien reached for the belt of her robe, grabbed it, and yanked.
It tore.
