Chapter 7
SEBASTIAN
The Monterey Cove Plaza is designed to look like anything but what it actually is: a facility where men bring their purchased wives to prove they’ve fucked them.
Sleek glass and steel architecture, palm trees lining the entrance, a marble lobby with abstract art that cost six figures. It could be a spa, a plastic surgeon’s office or any other place where wealthy people go to have their bodies attended to discreetly.
Margaret Thornton’s practice occupies the entire third floor.
I keep my hand on the small of Lennox’s back as we walk through the lobby, feeling the tension radiating through her despite the composed expression on her face.
She’s dressed in dark jeans that hug her ass perfectly, a cream-colored silk blouse and ankle boots with a modest heel.
She’s wearing her blonde hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail, minimal makeup, diamond studs in her ears—a wedding gift sent from my mother, though Lennox doesn’t know that yet.
They were brought in with the clothes this morning, with a note that said she looks forward to meeting my wife.
Lennox looks effortlessly polished, beautiful but not flashy. She is perfect.
The bite mark on her neck is visible above her collar. I made sure of that when I watched her get dressed, adjusting her blouse myself when she tried to hide it with her hair.
“Leave it,” I told her. “Margaret will want to see it.”
She flushed but didn’t argue.
Now, in the elevator climbing to the third floor, she stares straight ahead at the brushed steel doors, her jaw tight. I can see her pulse hammering in her throat, right below where I marked her.
“Relax,” I say quietly. “It’s just a formality.”
“A formality where a stranger examines my body to verify you fucked me.”
“That we fucked. I’ll show her where you marked me, if you like.” I guide her out of the elevator into a high-end waiting room. Soft lighting, comfortable seating, a receptionist behind a sleek desk.
We aren’t alone. Three other couples sit in the waiting area, and the dynamics are immediately clear.
Two of the women are flipping through magazines, one silently, the other huffing while her new husband checks his phone with apparent boredom.
The third woman sits rigid and still, her hands clasped so tightly in her lap her knuckles have gone white.
Hickeys darken her upper body where her dress doesn’t cover.
The men range in age from mid-thirties to late fifties: expensive suits, designer watches, the casual arrogance of people who’ve never been told no. One of them, the tech kid from last night who bid on every woman until he finally succeeded, catches my eye and nods in acknowledgment.
His bride is the one huffing with irritation.
I feel Lennox stiffen beside me as she takes in the scene. Her eyes move from woman to woman, seeing what I see: the evidence of wedding nights that have gone exactly as intended.
But Lennox isn’t nervous. There is no shaking. She walks to an empty seat with her back straight, her chin up, and when she sits, it’s with a grace that makes every other man in the room look at her.
Pride swells in my chest.
I sit beside her, and my hand finds her thigh possessively. She doesn’t pull away, but I feel her muscles tense momentarily under my palm before she relaxes.
“Mr. and Mrs. Drake?” The receptionist’s voice carries a professional disinterest. “Margaret is ready for you.”
We stand, and I keep my hand on Lennox’s back as I guide her toward the hallway. I can feel the other men watching us leave, assessing, envying. Let them. None of their purchases compare to mine.
The examination room in Margaret’s firm is clinical and cold. White walls, medical equipment and an examination table with stirrups that make Lennox stop dead in the doorway.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
“It’s an actual exam, Lennox.” I guide her inside, and Margaret and the doctor walk into the room and close the door with a soft click. “I thought we’d made that clear.”
“Good morning.” Margaret is in her signature black suit, and the doctor is in her scrubs and her hair pulled back in a tight bun that looks like it makes her head hurt. “Mrs. Drake, if you’ll please remove your clothing and put on this gown, Doctor Sagell can proceed with her examination.”
She holds out a paper gown, the kind that ties in the back and leaves everything accessible.
Lennox doesn’t move, doesn’t reach for the gown. Just stares at the examination table like it’s covered with cowshit.
“Lennox.” I move behind her, my hands on her shoulders, my lips near her ear. “It’s in the contract. Everyone has to go through it.”
“You want to watch?” Her voice is tight, barely controlled. “You want to watch her examine me?”
“Yes.” I turn her to face me, lifting her chin so she has to meet my eyes. “I want to watch Doctor Sagell verify that you’re mine. That you belong to me in every legal sense.”
A look of sheer venom passes over her face, before she exhales slowly through her nose and it vanishes.
God, she is magnificent.
“Fine.” She takes the gown from Margaret. “Turn around.”
“No.” I sit in the chair positioned beside the examination table. “I’m staying right here.”
She stares at me for a long moment, and I can see her flinging every curse word under the sun at me with her eyes.
She turns her back to me, and I resist the urge to laugh; stubborn and strong-headed is an understatement for my wife. The silk slides off her shoulders, revealing smooth skin and the black lace bra I watched her put on this morning.
Next come the jeans. She unbuttons them, slides the zipper down slowly, before she pushes them over her hips. The matching black lace panties, also chosen by me, leave almost nothing to the imagination.
My cock hardens.
Margaret waits patiently, her face expressionless, as Lennox removes her bra and panties, standing naked for a moment before wrapping the paper gown around herself.
But not before I’ve seen everything. The fingerprint bruises on her hips, darker now in the clinical lighting. The bite mark on her neck. Smaller marks on her breasts where I was rougher than intended.
“On the table, please,” Doctor Sagell says, patting the paper-covered surface.
Lennox sits on the edge, the gown shifting to show flashes of skin. She lies back, staring at the ceiling, her hands fisting at her sides.
“Feet in the stirrups, Mrs. Drake.”
I watch as Lennox positions herself, the gown falling open to expose her entirely from the waist down. Her thighs are still red, evidence of how hard I gripped her, held her open, kept her spread while I fucked her.
Doctor Sagell pulls on latex gloves with efficient snaps, then moves her stool between Lennox’s spread legs.
“External examination first,” the doctor says clinically, and I watch as she inspects Lennox’s pussy with the detachment of a mechanic checking a car. “Visible irritation on inner thighs consistent with forceful intercourse.” As the doctor speaks, Margaret writes frantically on a clipboard.
Lennox’s hands clench tighter. “Fuck that’s cold,” she says as the internal check is started. “You could at least warm that thing up a little bit.”
Doctor Sagell arches her brow but continues to check my wife over.
“Bite marks,” she continues, examining Lennox’s neck now. “Breaking the skin but not requiring sutures. Bruising on wrists, hips, breasts. All consistent with consummation as required by contract.”
“Congratulations, Mr. Drake. Your marriage has been properly consummated,” Margaret says as she makes notations on a tablet.
“No shit, you needed a fancy medical degree to tell you that?” Lennox snarls as she crosses her arms over herself.
“Mrs. Drake, you can get dressed. I’ll have the certification paperwork ready in a moment.”
Both women leave the room, and suddenly it’s just Lennox and me. She’s still lying on the table with that paper gown barely covering her. Me, hard and wanting her again despite everything we’ve done.
I stand and walk to the examination table. Lennox’s eyes fly open when she feels me beside her.
“Don’t even think about talking to me.” If she could spit fire and shoot daggers, I’d be dead.
“You did well,” I murmur against her lips.
“I fucking hate you.” Her voice is threateningly flat.
“You keep saying that, but I’m starting to doubt it.” I kiss her again, and she leans into me before I take a step back. “Get dressed, wife. We have a plane to catch.”
“What do you mean? Where are we going? I have a job, I can’t just take off.” She frowns as she waits for an answer.
“You no longer need a job. Being married to the owner of the resort is a conflict of interest, don’t you think? And I’m needed in Texas. So that means you’re going to Texas.”
* * *
The penthouse is empty when we return. All the clothing racks are gone. The shoes, the lingerie, the thousands of dollars’ worth of designer labels I had delivered. All of it packed and removed while we were at Margaret’s office.
Lennox stops in the doorway, staring at the space that was full of her new things just hours ago.
“Where is everything?” she questions.
“On the plane already.” I walk past her to my bedroom, our bedroom, though I suppose she’d probably fight that designation. “Along with everything from your apartment.”
She spins to face me, and I see the moment the words register.
“My apartment?”
“I had a team pack it up this morning. Your landlord has been paid through the end of your lease, and everything you own is either on my plane or in storage.” I start unbuttoning my shirt. “You won’t need that place any more. You live where I live.”
“You had no right to send people to pack up my life without asking me first.”
“I had every right. You’re my wife.” I shrug out of the shirt and start on my belt. “Your old life is over, Lennox. The sooner you accept that, the easier this will be.”
She just stands there, swaying slightly, and for a second I think she might have had enough. That this might be the thing that finally shatters that stubborn pride.
But it isn’t.
She squares her shoulders, lifts her chin and meets my eyes. “When do we leave?”
“Thirty minutes. The car’s already downstairs.” I strip off my pants and walk naked to the closet. “You might want to change into something more comfortable for the flight. It’s three hours to Texas.” I point toward another closet, and her eyes follow my outstretched arm.
“What happens in Texas?”
I pull on something more suited for the ranch: jeans, a plaid western shirt, boots. Casual enough for travel, but I’ll be ready if I need to walk straight into the barn and figure out what the fuck Thomas Marshall is up to.
Lennox walks to the closet and opens it. It is full of clothes for her. She stands there for a moment looking at it before she grabs a pair of leggings and a hoodie.
“You meet my family.” I turn to face her, taking in her disheveled appearance, hair coming loose from its ponytail, makeup smudged, that haunted look in her eyes.
“They’re going to love you so don’t worry, and I also have some business to figure out.
Usually I go home once a month, but something’s come up with land I bought recently. ”
“And what do I tell them?” Her voice is tight. “About how we met? About our marriage?”
“They know, or my father does, which means my mother does. I don’t know about the rest.” I cross to her and cup her face, forcing her to look at me.
“Nobody in my family will be surprised at how we married when they find out. Anyone else we tell them we met at the resort, you were impossible for me to forget so I married you immediately so nobody else had a chance.”
“Nobody’s going to believe that.”
“They’ll believe what I tell them to believe, and you’ll go along with it.” I kiss her forehead, gentle, almost tender. “Now go change. I have a dynasty to introduce you to.”
She pulls away from me and walks toward the bedroom. I watch her go and feel that familiar satisfaction settle in my chest.
Mine. My wife. My property. And in three hours, the whole Drake family is going to see precisely what I’ve claimed.
This is going to be interesting.