The Woman Who Didn't Ask for Everything [R -18]
Julian's own body was a canvas of her passion as well. Scratches ran down his back, the marks of her nails digging into his skin as she'd cried out his name.
His chest was covered in bite marks where she'd lost control, and his shoulders bore the crescent imprints of her teeth.
He'd never felt so thoroughly claimed.
And he'd never loved it more.
She's incredible, he thought, his golden eyes tracing every curve, every mark. Absolutely incredible.
But even as the warmth of the moment enveloped him, he could see the shift in her expression.
The sleepiness was fading.
The coldness was creeping back.
Her crimson eyes grew guarded, her jaw tightening as the reality of the situation began to sink in.
Felberta Ashbourne was retreating behind her walls.
Julian recognized the signs immediately.
He'd seen her do it before—the way she'd shut down, the way she'd distance herself whenever things became too intimate.
