Lucien stalked through the hall, fists clenched, c**k still hard because he hadn’t finished. The scent of her was still in his lungs, like oil. His jaw was locked. His chest tight. His veins full of fire.
He needed to cool the f**k down before he went back in there and did something that would make her womb swell before morning.
The chambers loomed ahead as he pushed it open with one hand and stepped inside.
He didn’t even bother taking off his pants. Just stalked to the basin, shoved the faucet wide, and let the icy blast of mountain water crash over his shoulders, his chest, his face.
He gasped.
Growled.
Then bent low, letting the water drench his hair, soak down his spine.
His c**k throbbed, twitching against the band of his trousers, begging for release. But he ignored it. Bit
