The Mind-Reading Mate: Why Is the Lycan King So Obsessed With Me?!

Primrose waited for his answer, but Edmund suddenly froze, as if something had just struck his brain. Even his inner thoughts went completely silent.

What the hell was wrong with him?

Then, out of nowhere, a loud scream exploded inside his mind, making Primrose flinch slightly.

[She's letting me touch her? She wants this?]

[Holy hell, I don't have to hold back anymore.]

[Wife, I swear I'll be gentle!]

Why did she have a feeling she shouldn't trust that last part?

"Your Ma—"

Before she could finish, Edmund was on her again. His lips crashed against hers, swallowing whatever words she was about to say.

This time, there was no hesitation, no awkward pause between the kisses. Edmund was devouring her like she was a sacrificing lamb on his plate.

He kissed her fiercely, sucking on her upper lip, then her lower, as if he couldn't decide which he liked more.

The intensity made her gasp, her hands instinctively clutching at his clothes.

It was too much. Too overwhelming. Too good.

And yet, she didn't want him to stop.

Primrose whimpered softly beneath him, tapping his chest whenever she needed air.

Each time, Edmund would pull away, just enough to let her breathe, but that didn't mean he wanted to stop kissing her.

As she gasped for breath, her chest rising and falling in uneven waves, he didn't waste a second. His lips found new places to land—her forehead, her cheeks, the bridge of her nose, the corner of her mouth, kissing every inch of her face like he was utterly addicted.

[I can't stop kissing my wife.]

[Is she getting tired of me? But she hasn't told me to stop.]

[Her skin is so soft. Her cheeks … they're so plump, like milk pudding.]

[And her lips … her lips are red, swollen, and taste like the ripest, sweetest cherries.]

Primrose's face burned hotter with each thought.

Primrose was used to being complimented. People had praised her beauty since she was born, showered her with sweet words and admiration. But no one had ever described her like this before, with such intense admiration and detail.

Edmund wasn't just calling her beautiful. He was worshiping her.

Like she was a masterpiece crafted by the gods themselves, and he was an aesthete hopelessly enchanted by every stroke, every color, every flawless imperfection in her.

And he didn't just say it once.

Every time his lips touched her skin, a new praise appeared from his mind, like he physically couldn't stop himself from adoring her.

Again and again. Over and over.

He was drowning her in his praise until she could hardly breathe, not from his kisses this time, but from the overwhelming heat in her chest.

"Y-Your Majesty …" Primrose finally managed to call his name, desperate to put an end to this never-ending affections before she completely melted.

Edmund finally stopped kissing her, but his hands stayed on her skin, cupping her chin as he tilted her face up to meet his gaze. In such a tender voice, he pleaded, "Address me by my name."

Her eyelids drooped slightly as she stole a brief glance at him, her breath catching in her throat.

Every detail of his face was mesmerizing—his thick, slightly furrowed brows, the sharp cut of his jaw, and the way the firelight accentuated his cheekbones made him look like something out of a dream.

He looked as if he had been sculpted by divine hands, crafted with the utmost care.

"I … I shouldn't," she whispered. "It wouldn't be proper—"

"You've shouted my name before," Edmund interrupted, "Loud and clear."

Primrose stiffened. Oh.

[She even called me a bastard.]

He heard that?!

She braced herself, waiting for him to scold her, but … nothing. He wasn't angry, but he looked guilty instead.

[But I deserve that title.]

[If I can't even protect my wife, then I am a bastard.]

This man …

At this point, she could probably insult him all she wanted, and he'd just nod along in agreement.

Her fingers curled slightly against his chest. She whispered, "Ed … Edmund." Her voice grew softer. "My husband … Edmund."

"Yes," Edmund answered, his voice softer than she'd ever heard before. "I'm your husband."

Primrose finally noticed that something was off.

When they got intimate, he suddenly became softer and calmer. How was that even possible?

Was his usual grumpy and harsh behavior simply the result of him holding back his desires?

She couldn't dwell on the thought for long because she felt Edmund's hands roaming over her body, as if he wanted to memorize every curve, every inch of her.

"Should I … take off my clothes?" Primrose asked hesitantly.

Even though she was thrilled to finally put into practice everything she had read in those erotic books, the idea of undressing in front of a man was still embarrassing.

Edmund's gaze darkened. "No need."

No need?

What did he mean, no—

RIP!

A loud tear cut through the air.

Primrose barely had time to react before cool air kissed her bare skin. Her breath caught in her throat, eyes widening in shock.

Did he just—

He had ripped her nightgown apart!

Fortunately, she still had a bandeau beneath her nightgown, but that didn't change the fact that Edmund had practically stripped her bare in one move!

With a startled gasp, Primrose instinctively crossed her arms over her chest, her face burning. "You can't just tear my clothes off like that!" she protested, "I—I need time to prepare myself!"

[Fuck! I screwed up again!]

[It's so damn hard to control myself when my beautiful wife is right in front of me!]

[My hands … I should just cut them off!]

That was way too extreme!

Primrose quickly grabbed his hands, stopping him before he did anything reckless. "J-just … be gentle," she stammered. "This is my first time being naked in front of a man."

[She looks so cute with her face all red like that!]

Red? Primrose couldn't see herself, but judging by the heat radiating from her cheeks, she was sure her face was absolutely burning.

"I'll try," Edmund murmured, though the way his fingers lingered on her skin, making she wasn't sure if he was trying at all.