Lucian
.
.
I sat in my dimly lit bedroom, the glass of whiskey I had refilled on my nightstand untouched. My jaw was tight, my body tense.
After she left—after I forced her to leave—I thought I’d feel better. That the frustration clawing at my insides would settle. But it didn’t. If anything, it only worsened.
Because all I could think about was her.
Mara.
She was in my head, burrowing deep, refusing to leave.
I could still picture the way she looked at me earlier, her eyes flickering with something she probably didn’t even realize was there. The way her cheeks flushed when I caught her in that nightgown. The way she bit her lip when she was nervous. The way she reacted to me. I knew she was lusting over me—and hell, I was too.
I let out a low curse, running a hand through my hair
