Ex Cried as I Wed a Tycoon novel Chapter 335

Lyman whispered, “I’m hungry.”

Before Effie could react, his lips were already on hers, stealing her breath, swallowing any protest she might have made.

Effie let out a soft, involuntary sound, “Mm—”

It was like a feather brushing against Lyman’s nerves—sensitive, electric. In that moment, whatever restraint he had left broke.

He swept Effie up in his arms, slinging her over his shoulder with a sudden burst of strength.

Dangling against him, Effie could feel the power in his body as he carried her down the hall. When they reached the lounge, Lyman kicked the door shut behind them, strode to the bed, and set her down.

She sank into the soft mattress, trying to sit up, but Lyman was already over her, his gaze sweeping down at her flushed cheeks.

She looked as delicate and radiant as a camellia in early spring, blooming just for him.

Effie’s heart hammered—usually, these moments happened at night, in the safety of darkness. But now, in broad daylight, it all felt so exposed—so thrilling and a little nerve-wracking.

Her throat felt dry, so she swallowed, unconsciously licking her lips.

Lyman watched her intently, his eyes darkening. His voice dropped to a husky murmur. “You were the one who tempted me first…”

“Me?” Effie managed, startled.

But she didn’t get to say more—his mouth claimed hers in a deep, lingering kiss.

He treated her as if she were some exquisite treat to be savored, careful and thorough, not missing a single detail.

He drew her close until there was no space left between them.

Lyman’s throat bobbed as he caught his breath, and he said, half-laughing, half-serious, “Now I finally understand why old kings never wanted to leave their beds in the morning. No wonder they neglected their kingdoms.”

Effie lifted her hand, fair and slender, tracing a line across his chest. She poked him lightly. “You’re the one who started this.”

With a sudden twist, Lyman rolled them over so he was on top again, grinning down at her. “What do you say, one more time?”

Lyman gestured to the wall lined with bookshelves. “Help yourself.”

Effie grinned. “Mr. Etheridge, don’t tell me all these books are just for show?”

His eyes glinted with amusement. “Maybe.”

She picked up a book at random, flipping through the pages.

Suddenly, she froze.

Scrawled in the margins were Lyman’s notes—bold, sweeping handwriting, every stroke sharp and confident.

Just reading his words, she felt as if he were standing right there beside her, explaining his thoughts, a touch of arrogance lacing his untamed style.

Effie glanced at the shelves, guessing that maybe this was just the one book he’d annotated—close at hand, easy to reach. The others might be untouched.