The heavy mahogany door of the master suite clicked shut behind him, but the soft, lingering ghost of her voice… that breathless, reluctant little "Good boy"… was still bouncing around the inside of Lucas's skull, refusing to fade no matter how many steps he put between himself and the room. He could still feel the shape of the words, the way they'd caught slightly in her throat as though she'd resented giving him even that small victory.
A rare, quiet smile hit his lips as he walked down the grand, marble-tiled corridor of Grant Manor. His hand was still warm where he'd touched her hair, and he found himself glancing down at his own fingers as though they belonged to a stranger, some other man who was allowed to feel things this simply.
