Page 53 of The Last Morgan
He swung one leg over, sliding into the room with the grace of a ghost.
His first thought was how pathetic this security set up was, considering how easily he slipped in.
He peeled off his jacket, dropped it onto the armchair, then kicked off his boots and trousers until he was left in nothing but low-slung black boxers.
His muscles tense, catching the moonlight. He moved to the bed, his bare feet silent against the wood floor.
Slipping under the covers, he pressed himself against her.
Lucy gasped aloud at the sudden shock of cold skin on hers.
She twisted, eyes wide, mouth opening to scream —
A hand clamped gently over her lips.
"Shh," Byron whispered, his breath hot against her ear.
"You closed the curtains without acknowledging me."
Lucy blinked up at him, heart racing wildly.
"How the fuck did you even get in here?" she breathed against his palm.
Byron smirked.
"Should I leave?" he asked, voice low and teasing, taunting her.
Lucy shook her head frantically.
"No," she whispered.
Her body burned under his touch. Desperation. Aching to feel him fully.
"Kiss me," she begged.
Byron didn’t hesitate.
He crushed his mouth to hers, stealing the breath from her lungs.
His hands were everywhere — sliding under her shirt, caressing her breast, fingers rough and calloused yet somehow gentle.
He was losing control.
Fast.
Lucy moaned against his mouth, arching into him, desperate for more.
His lips moved to her jaw, her neck, tasting her skin like he was memorizing her.
Every inch.
Every sound.
Every trembling gasp.
But suddenly, he pulled back, panting hard.
His forehead pressed against hers, fighting himself.
