Miles didn't want to think about her family, but there was a niggling question there in the back of his mind about her being an heir. Something wasn't sitting right.
Miles was beyond caring about decorum, or about what was, or wasn't appropriate. Merlin, they were married and he could fuck his wife any time he wanted.
There was something inherently erotic about such a thought, one he'd probably regret later, but right now she was there, and he needed her. From her moans she needed him as well, and he stood, pressing her against the writing desk.
His hand tore at her flimsy robe, pulling it down from her shoulders as his lips began to tease a trail down her neck. Laying her back against the table, he let hands roam the expanse of skin exposed to him, so beautiful and so very much his. A surge of possessiveness overcame him and he kissed down over her shoulderblade, his tongue laving over that spot where she had been marked. Branded, as his.