Phei didn't do one-night stands.
Never had. Never would.
Every woman he'd touched—kissed, fucked, worshipped—he'd pursued afterward. Relentlessly. Patiently. Ruthlessly.
Because once he let someone inside his orbit, once he tasted them, smelled them, felt their body yield under his like it was finally home, there was no going back. No casual dismissal.
No polite "this was fun but let's pretend it never happened" bullshit.
Once he claimed, he kept.
And this woman?
This goddess?
She wasn't just another body. She was the first who'd taken all of him—fourteen inches, fiery and unrelenting—and hadn't just survived it; she'd demanded more. She'd cradled his head against her breasts like he was something precious while her perfect composure shattered into a thousand little screams.
She'd moaned his name like a prayer she'd been holding in for decades. She'd looked at him—really looked—and let him see the starving, lonely creature beneath the Ashford Madam armor.
