Page 75 of Greed: The Savage
And if marriage was what it took to keep her, so be it.
He stared at his reflection.
Marriage.
Marriage to Addien.
His brows flared.
Finished with his shave, Thornwick cared for his knife and returned it to the sheath inside his boot.
God’s blood, how had it not come to him before this minute?
Addien moaned and flipped onto her belly in a rhythm as natural as the beauty of the lady’s heart, or the breaths she took in and out of her lungs. Addien’s hips moved. She rocked theminto the mattress, seeking surcease even in her dream state. The same need within him, compelled her even in sleep.
Thornwick’s gaze locked on Addien as, in her full slumber, she writhed and twisted like she was even now, possessed by the same reminders he now carried and sought relief from the fires within.
His chest rose in fast, hard spurts.
And here he’d believed, after he’d finally bedded her, he’d purge himself of this maddening, mindless lust for Addien.
In her restless slumber, Addien twisted her hips from side to side.
His breathing increased.
He’d told her he wasn’t a gentleman. It’d been a cold fact.
It’s why, while she twisted her hips and sought relief from the ache he’d caused her in sleep, he perched himself on the edge of her little vanity and openly watched her.
All the while, he knew it was him, Thornwick, she dreamed beside.
He’d had Addien no fewer than eight times last night—at some point, he’d lost count. By rights, his cock should have been spent, not aching hard from nothing more than memories of her, of what he’d done with her body, of what they’d donetogether.
He’d seen plenty of naked women. But since waking with her drawn against Thornwick, nestled like a silver spoon, perfectly fitted for him, he’d had a cockstand that wouldn’t quit.
He’d half a mind to spend himself into surrender. More than that, he had a mind to wake her and take her again, the way he’d been longing to since dragging himself from too-heavy sleep.
As if her dreams aligned with his thoughts, Addien moaned.
Thornwick toweled off his face.
Determined to have her again—end this want once and for all—he stepped toward the bed.
Knock.
It came as a faint rap, more like the submissive scratch servants used on noblemen’s doors to say, “I’m not trying to wake you, but your presence is urgently required.”
Giving Addien a regretful glance, he reversed course. Fetching his trousers from the back of her chair, he stepped into them as he crossed to the oak panel. Thornwick cracked it open and revealed his morning visitor.
“Bloody splendid.”
Addien’s defender, Delilah, glared back. “My thoughts exactly.”
“Here.” She shoved the door open just far enough to jam a bundle of fresh garments against his chest.
Thornwick caught them, brows lifting. “Why, thank you—”
“I ain’t your maid.” Her voice was quiet, but it carried the same as his blade. “I know what you are—a cove with a title and nothing else. You’re going to hurt that girl over there.” Delilah’s eyes narrowed to flinty slits. “And when you do, I’ll kill you.” She drew a slow, deliberate slash across her throat, the gesture as precise as any cut.
