Page 100 of The Last Morgan
Without waiting for her answer, he grabbed her hand and pulled her through the hallway, past the kitchens, and out onto the back terrace.
The storm had broken, fat drops of rain tumbling from the sky. Thunder rumbled overhead.
"Are you crazy?" Lucy yelled over the roar of the downpour.
Byron didn’t answer. He just grinned and tugged her toward the old greenhouse tucked behind the main garden — a relic of her mother's days, its glass panels fogged with age but still standing strong.
They slipped inside, laughter echoing against the walls.
Lucy’s soaked white T-shirt clung to her body, her breasts visibly outlined beneath the thin fabric. Byron’s eyes darkened instantly.
"I love it when you’re” Lucy cut him off “wet, I know" she said oozing with sarcasm.
She glanced down, seeing exactly what effect she had on him. His pants strained against the evidence of his desire.
Lucy giggled. Byron didn’t waste another second. He scooped her up with a growl and set her down on the old wooden potting table in the center of the greenhouse. His hands were rough as they tugged down her soaked jeans, leaving her in nothing but her thin, lacy panties.
"You’re fucking beautiful," he murmured, voice thick with need.
Without warning, he shoved his own pants down, freeing himself. The head of his cock was flushed, thick and throbbing with urgency.
Lucy gasped as he pressed against her, teasing, teasing, and then—
He thrust in, hard and deep.
She cried out, clinging to his shoulders. The rain battered the glass above them, a wild drumbeat to match the savage rhythm of his thrusts.
Halting mid-stroke to hold her face between his hands, making her look at him, he growled “This is my pussy!” Lucy smiled and said “absolutely”
Thunder cracked overhead, lightning flashing through the glass.
Byron's muscles flexed as he fucked her with desperate, hungry movements. His hands slipped beneath her ass, lifting her higher pushing his cock in deeper, fuller.
Lucy locked her ankles behind his back, pulling him even closer.
"You feel..." he gasped, "so fucking good."
His mouth found her neck, biting and sucking bruises onto her skin like he needed to mark her.
Lucy was panting, nails digging into his back. She felt herself spiraling, the storm inside her building to match the one outside.
"Byron," she whimpered, barely coherent.
He caught her mouth in a savage kiss, muffling her cries as she shattered around him.
Byron growled, deep and primal, as he felt her tighten around him. He thrust faster, harder, his own climax crashing through him moments later.
They collapsed together onto the table, trembling, gasping, soaked to the skin both inside and out.
For a while, there was only the sound of the rain and the ragged pull of their breaths.
Byron brushed her hair back from her forehead, his touch surprisingly tender.
"You’re mine," he whispered fiercely.
Lucy could only nod, still dazed.
"Come on," he said gruffly, lifting her easily into his arms. "Let’s get you dry before you catch a cold."
