Proserpina

When Lucien sauntered in for breakfast, I glanced at him and looked away quickly, a blush stealing up my face. In a casual shirt, the open buttons revealing the crisp grey hairs matting his chest, the jeans hugging his powerful thighs, he looked as cool and in charge as ever.

How does he do it? I thought. I felt drained and my sex was sore, my breasts hurt and I had dressed in a blouse that covered my chest. The bite marks on my breasts were prominent, and I did not ...