24. Wyatt
24
WYATT
Matthias is all the way to the door at the far end of the room before he realizes I’m not behind him. He halts and looks back at me, concern lining his face. “Wy? You coming?”
I nod, dragging my feet forward. The roots of my past fighting me, dragging me back to where I was when Matthias found me.
No. I won’t let that happen. I was strong before Matthias, I can be strong without him again too.
A wave of noise hits us as we step inside a large, dimly lit room. There’s a wide poker table in the center, a hanging light just above it. Cigars burn in ashtrays, and glasses of whiskey litter every surface. For a moment, I wonder if we’ve stepped back in time into some old-fashioned movie.
Chairs are scraped back as various siblings pull Matthias into crushing hug after crushing hug. My brows shoot up at how warmly they greet each other. It’s miles away from how they interacted at the gala.
Guess this is what Matt meant by public versus private personas. Maybe rich people are required to pretend they don’t have strong familial ties in public. Makes no sense to me, but I’ve never been this rich. Even the lump sums chilling in my accounts have nothing on the scope of what the men in this room command.
Something in me eases when I realize at least half of them are dressed in sweats and t-shirts. Only Wylder and Dalton are dressed more formally, opting for button-downs like Matthias.
My gaze sweeps over them and I realize Harley is missing. That’s a shame. Given how often he invites himself to breakfast at ours…I mean, Matt’s, I’ve become close to him. I’d been looking forward to seeing him here.
Wylder greets me first, his smile welcoming as he shakes my hand. “Great to see you again, Wyatt.”
Samson is next. There’s no smile from him, just a scowl. I’m not offended. From the little Matthias has told me, and what I experienced at the gala, this is his go-to mood. “The iron is mine. You can’t have it.”
I blink up at him, waiting for his odd statement to register. Oh, right. Monopoly. I played with Jackson a few times when he was younger, but neither of us particularly cared about which pieces we used.
Something tells me I’m about to learn more about sibling dynamics than I’ve ever known before.
Samson’s shouldered out of the way by Dalton. “Don’t hog the cute one. Gotta get my hug in before Matthias starts pissing all over him.”
My bark of laughter is squashed by Dalton literally squashing the life out of me. “You’re definitely too hot for Matthias. Sure I can’t persuade you to be mine instead? You wouldn’t even need to change your surname.”
I’m saved from answering and from his death grip by Matthias himself. Grabbing his sibling around the back of his neck, he squeezes until Dalton releases me with a yelp. “Behave, dick, or I’ll unleash Cade on you.”
Cade? The charmer who got under Matthias’s skin at the gala? He doesn’t strike me as particularly scary.
The man in question pops up, looking almost delirious with excitement. “Oh, please do. I’ve got this new toy that I’ve been dying to try out.”
My brow furrows. “Toy?”
The silence that follows is thick and oppressive.
My husband clears his throat, hands settling on my shoulders. “Ignore Cade. The rest of us do.”
That’s a little weird, but who am I to judge? I’m married to a man because of The Firm. It can’t get any weirder than that.
Before I can question Matthias further, he speaks again. “And seriously, Dalton, give Wyatt back his watch.”
I glance down at my bare wrist. Just like with my wallet at the gala, I didn’t even realize it was missing. He’s far too good at that.
“Spoilsport,” Dalton mutters, holding it out. “Want me to help you put it on?”
“No,” Matthias growls, snatching it out of his hand. “Don’t touch him.”
I can put the watch on myself, but one glance at the fierce fire in Matthias’s eyes has me silently holding out my arm toward him. His hands are steady as he fastens the strap, his thumbs stroking gently up the inside of my wrist. “There. All done.”
Our eyes catch and I draw in a quick breath. I forget that we’re not alone. I can’t help myself. It’s like there’s a magnet connecting me to him, dragging me forward until our lips meet. My hands go to his chest, wrapping the material around my fingers and holding him in place.
He groans, sinking into the kiss. My tongue flicks hungrily at his lips. He parts them readily, letting me sweep in to claim what’s mine.
It’s only when catcalls reach my ears that I wrench away, my cheeks flushing. “Shit. Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize,” Dalton drawls, waggling his brows. “That was fucking hot.”
Samson looks at him in disgust. “Dude, that’s literally our brother.”
“Ah, but if you do this,” he holds up his hand and squints. “You can’t see Matthias, just Wyatt. Then I can pretend it’s me kissing him instead.”
Matthias moves toward him with a growl, but my hands tighten on his shirt, holding him in place. “Ignore him. It’s my fault for forgetting where we are.”
“It’s very hard to ignore you,” Dalton grumbles.
As we take our seats around the table, everyone gently ribs me and Matthias for our display.
Everyone that is, except Wylder. He’s studying us both with a small furrow between his brows. His lips are down-turned, fingers tapping on the table.
Before I can wonder about it more, the door slams open. “Sorry I’m late.”
My face lights up. “Harley!”
He winks at me, coming to drop in the empty seat next to mine. “Good to know someone’s pleased to see me.”
“Ever consider that Wyatt might not be pleased, but surprised?” Matthias says drily. “Given how rarely you show up.”
“That’s not true,” Harley says indignantly. “I’m at your house for breakfast most mornings.”
“That’s because of Jules,” I say before I can stop myself.
Harley glows beet-red while laughter erupts around the table. I cringe, dropping my voice to a whisper. “Sorry, shit. That was rude of me.”
“Don’t bother apologizing,” Matthias squeezes the back of my neck. “Harley’s obsession with our chef is the world’s most poorly kept secret. Even the mailman knows about it.”
“It’s true,” Dalton drawls, flicking a card in and out of his sleeve while staring intently at me. “We all know each other’s obsessions. Isn’t that right, Matty?”
Matthias stiffens beside me, his arms bunching. “Don’t start, Dalton.”
I lay a hand on Matt’s wrist, finding the skin beneath his shirt sleeve and stroking it comfortingly. I don’t know what’s going on, but I feel oddly protective of him. These past few weeks have taken me right back to our childhood, to a time when Matthias was mine to care for, to look after.
And I was his.
I shift in my seat and clear my throat. “Is Candace joining us?”
Wylder shakes his head, but it’s Cade who answers. “No. Game night is for family only.”
I’m about to protest that I’m not family, but Cade speaks again before I can. “Family includes anyone who holds our surname. Even if it’s just temporarily.”
I stare at him. Does he know that our marriage is fake? Do they all know? That’s not the impression Matthias gave me.
If they know, why did he insist I pretend in front of them at the gala? Was that just a game to him? Is this a fucking game?
I dare you.
Thoughts and questions swirl in my head as I sit there, trying to process it all, but it’s too loud, too chaotic.
Matthias clears his throat, pulling my thoughts back to the present. “Dalton’s right. You’re family now. That doesn’t change even if the name does.”
The way he says that…I duck my head, trying to contain the rush of emotions that this sentiment sends through me. Family . Other than Jackson, I haven’t really had anyone I can call that. My parents sure as shit don’t deserve that title. They are rotten through and through.
But now. Now I have a houseful.
“Right,” Samson drags his chair closer to the table. “Are we playing Monopoly or not? It’s almost my bedtime.”
“You are such a loser,” Harley says as Cade smirks.
“He’s an old man. He needs his fifteen hours of sleep a night.”
Samson glowers at them all, reserving less of a frown for me. “Shut the fuck up and let’s just play, yeah?”
Matthias’s hand twines around mine under the table, his thumb brushing against mine.
“You ready for this?” he asks, and I nod.
I think I am.
* * *
Monopoly goes well into the early hours of the morning, Samson grumbling often about how tired he is. His mood doesn’t improve throughout the night. And honestly, the longer I play this game, the less sure I am of what rules the Buckinghams use. They aren’t the ones I’ve ever come across. The pool of money in the middle grows so large that a fight erupts between brothers. Many threats are exchanged over it. A dagger makes an appearance more than once—mostly when fees are due on properties, and once when someone stole Samson’s iron—which makes me wonder what the fuck I’ve stumbled upon.
Currently, the dagger that Cade is holding is pressed up against Harley’s neck as they argue over who owns Baltic Avenue. I don’t even think that’s a good property, which I try and tell them, but I go ignored. So my focus sits on the daggers. They’re all identical to the one Matthias sleeps with. Perhaps they’re family heirlooms, ones the brothers like to brandish.
Frequently.
When real money comes out to replace the colorful papers, I respectfully withdraw from the game. I may have more cash than ever before in my life, but I’m not gonna pretend I’m in the same league as the Buckinghams.
In the end, it’s Dalton who walks away with the cash. Not a single player is surprised, but Cade does warn him to sleep with one eye open tonight.
I’m not a hundred percent sure if he’s joking or not.
By the time we roll through the front door of our home, dawn is peeking over the horizon. I should be exhausted, but as I toe my shoes off, there’s only one thing on my mind.
And it’s not sleeping.
From the predatory glance Matt shoots me before heading for the stairs, I know we’re on the same page.
Like we so often are these days, I realize. When did that stop surprising me?
Weeks ago , I think as Matthias starts to strip out of his shirt. I stare at his back, those lean muscles there as he walks into the bedroom and I follow. Our shirts hit the floor as I move up behind him, my hands sliding up his chest. His breathing hitches as my lips hit the side of his neck.
“I’m going to wreck you,” I murmur, and he groans as my fingers drag down his stomach to the button of his pants.
“You already have,” he replies as I shove his pants down his thighs, taking his boxers with him, leaving him completely bare.
My hand wraps around his cock and he thrusts his hips forward, dragging it in and out of my fist. Fuck, I want to be inside of him. Watching him tonight, intense and competitive with his brothers, knowing he’d submit to me when we arrived home…
And he is. Begging for it, with his body, with his mouth.
My free hand tugs on his balls and he arches his head back against my shoulder, allowing me access to more of him.
“God, you feel so good, Wy.”
“Because I was made for you,” I whisper, and he shudders as I let go of him and push him forward, his hands falling on the mattress. His ass arches out, his head turning slightly so that he can watch as I pull my cock out and stroke it.
“Fuck me. Please.”
“Always begging for it,” I say roughly as I grab the lube and squirt it down his crack. My fingers work him open, one and then two, until he’s panting. I can’t wait any longer. I need to be in him. I slick up my cock and then push into him. He gasps, his cheeks flexing as I take him slowly.
When I’m all the way in, I hold myself there, letting my lips trail down his spine, feeling the way his skin shivers against my lips.
I’m obsessed with him, the way he moves, the way he speaks, the way he takes me so well every time.
I ease my hips back, dragging my cock from his hole, and then slam back in.
He groans, his forehead hitting the mattress as I piston in and out of him, the slap of our skin loud in the silent room. My fingers dig into the flesh at his hips as I drag him back, my body already giving in to him, to the sensations. I feel my balls draw up and I stop, not wanting this to end.
Holding myself inside of him, I pull him up against me, his back against my chest as I touch his dick.
“Wy,” he breathes.
“I don’t want to come. Not yet.”
He turns his head and our lips meet, tongues tangling in a filthy kiss. The feel of him against me, surrounding me…my hips move without me telling them to. I fuck into him, listening to him give those small, desperate grunts as I bring us both closer and closer to the edge.
My hand works his cock in time with each thrust upward and when his ass contracts around my dick, strangling it, his cock pulsing with release, I feel myself unable to hold it in any longer. I explode into him, marking him, filling him up.
Something rushes through me. Not just desire, or ecstasy.
No. This is far more dangerous. I don’t look at it closely. I can’t.
It’ll drag me under.
My cock slips from him and I watch as my cum drips from his ass, down his thighs, and onto the floor.
Fuck.
I love seeing a part of me inside of him, owning him.
Mine.
I guess he always was, I just didn’t realize it. Didn’t know what those feelings I had meant.
Now he’s mine, and I don’t want to let him go. Not again.
I clean him up as best I can and then move into bed with him, exhaustion pulling me toward slumber. My head sinks against his chest. Fuck, I’ve completely given up using a pillow now. It’s not as comfortable as he is.
But despite closing my eyes and feeling that inevitable tug toward darkness, I can’t sleep. I can’t stop thinking about the rush I felt as Matthias came, strangling my cock. It wasn’t just lust. It wasn’t fake.
It’s feeling real. That’s what scares me.
Because, if it’s real, am I going to be walking away from this? Do I want to?
I don’t think I do.
But to stay…shit, we need to talk about everything we’ve been ignoring. A new house built on a rotten foundation is destined to fall.
We need to revisit it, strip out the rotten material so we’re left with something long-lasting.
And just hope that the rot isn’t too deep. That it doesn’t poison this fragile thing we’re building.
That’s what terrifies me.
Because what if we can’t? What if we can’t save this?