If Aurelia didn’t want him again, then he would go on. He would live. There would be other women.
A foul taste coated his mouth. His hand curled into a fist. The mere idea of other women held no appeal. Aurelia was all he could think about it. All he wanted.
There was no arguing between them. No saucy exchange. None of the interaction that got his blood pumping. He missed that. He knew he should be satisfied at such tranquility. She placed no demands. She certainly wasn’t a haranguing wife. No, she was faultless. Ever gracious over breakfast, treating him to easy and courteous conversation, inquiring after his day. And it infuriated him. It was as though he had never bedded her. She was withdrawn, holding herself back, and he wanted to grab her and shake her and kiss her until he had the Aurelia he craved and wanted and . . .
He shook his head, not finishing the thought.
He simply wanted her back.
“If you’ll excuse me,” she murmured, dabbing at her mouth with a napkin. “I’m meeting Violet in the park.”
He didn’t need to read her mind to know that this was in reaction to the limitations he had placed on their marriage. She’d understood his expectations. No love. No children.
He watched her intently as she rose from the table, staring at her over his cup. She smiled that smile that did not quite meet her eyes and departed the room. He sat tensely in his chair for some moments, his boot tapping anxiously beneath the table, feeling dismissed. Rebuffed. Even without word or deed, she had made it clear that she didn’t need him—crave him—the way he craved her.
“Bloody hell.” Max set his cup down and pushed up from the table.
He stomped upstairs, heading directly for her chamber. If this was a game, then she had won. He couldn’t stay away from her a moment longer. He couldn’t endure her indifference.
He strode into her chamber. She sat on the chaise lounge, her sketch pad in her lap. He had a flash of unreasonable jealousy. She preferred that to him.
Aurelia started at his sudden appearance. “My lord,” she murmured as he stopped before her and plucked the pad from her lap.
“Max,” he bit out, tossing aside the pad, seizing her by the elbows and dragging her up the length of his body.
His mouth took hers, and he groaned, missing this. Missing her. She tasted even sweeter than he remembered, and it had only been a few days since he last tasted her. It was like she was in his blood.
“I missed this . . . you,” he muttered, coming over her on the couch, grabbing fistfuls of her skirts and shoving them out of the way so that he could settle firmly between her thighs.
Her arms snaked around his neck. “Then why didn’t you do something about it?” she whispered against his mouth.
“Because I’m a fool.” He thought he could be strong and exhibit control. He thought she would need him first.
Her legs came around his hips, and he dove his hands under her, cupping the swells of her bottom. He growled into her mouth, “If you want me to leave, say it now because in another minute I’m not going to be able to stop.”
The sweet breath from her mouth fanned his lips and she shook her head with a muffled whimper.
It was all he needed to hear. The sound spurred him to action.
His hands dove between their bodies, finding the slit in her drawers and touching her sex, caressing her, shuddering at the sensation of her wet heat, ready and weeping for him. He thrust a finger deep inside her, reveling at the sweet clench of her around him.
She gasped and the sound struck him like lightening. He stroked deeper, curling his finger and finding the spot that made her arch and pant. She was so close, but he didn’t want to give it to her yet. He wanted to be inside her when she shattered all around him.