She’d told him to stop, which was another strike against possibility, a rejection that was getting more difficult to ignore. Her hands were not pushing very hard against him, so if his hand was still pushing her skirts further up her thighs, it was in the hopes that her - well, her body, if not her heart - would overrule any delusions she had in her head.

“Why can’t we?” Lorcan countered in her ear, wondering how much persuading she might need. No one would find out; it would ruin neither of them more than they already were; whatever they’d said about what this marriage was to be, no one could blame them. He’d gone to bed with people for much less.

A traitorous twist in his gut told him that even this would feel better if he’d resolved to wait, if he waited for her to come around in her own time, long enough for her to feel anything more than gratitude towards him - but Lorcan was under no illusions that she would ever feel that way, and so this was better than nothing, and now better than never. Besides, he’d never been much one for patience.

Which was why he hardly waited for her to reel out her reasons and kill the mood, and tried to conquer any qualms on the tip of her tongue by pressing in to catch her in another kiss.

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