Epilogue
Rebekka
Three months later.
The world knows the truth now.
The truth about me.
About Anthony.
About us.
The De Courcy marriage disintegrated in the public eye. I braced myself for the backlash. I expected a witch hunt.
Heiress leaves banker husband for his billionaire best friend.
New York publishing royalty leaves sham marriage for the best man.
De Courcy dynasty torn apart.
The headlines were shocking, but in a good way.
The press spun my life as a second chance love story.
They ate up the photographs of me and Rian together—his hand on my back, his lips pressed to my temple, the sensual glances we exchanged on his family’s yacht in the South of France a few weeks ago.
It looked like we were having a full-blown conversation with our eyes—an explicit one at that.
Hello magazine called it A real-life fairytale.
For once, the fairytale is mine.
The divorce is almost final; it’s probably only a matter of days now. And I can’t wait to celebrate with my beautiful boyfriend—the man who has never let me down. He’s been a tower of strength; his support and love are unwavering.
He currently has one hand on the wheel of his Porsche, and the other resting on my bare thigh, inching teasingly higher with every passing minute.
‘Where are you taking me?’ I ask, biting down on my lip to keep from sighing as his thumb makes slow, delicious circles over my bare skin.
He told me to wear something sexy, so I put on a black silk dress, cut low at the front, and shorter than decency allows.
The fabric clings to my hips. The hem hangs mid-thigh.
Every minute movement threatens to bare me completely.
I can barely walk in my black silk stilettos, but they’re worth it for the way they elongate my legs.
‘You’ll see.’ The corner of his mouth curves as he glances at me. That same familiar jolt of electricity courses between us. My cheeks flush, heat pooling low in my belly.
‘I thought you and I didn’t have any secrets,’ I murmur, leaning into him, pressing my lips to the edge of his jaw, inhaling his heady masculine scent deep into my lungs.
‘It’s not a secret,’ he says, snapping his eyes back to the road half a second before the Porsche purrs round another bend. ‘It’s a promise. One I made you months ago.’
I’m none the wiser as the city looms on the horizon. But by the time he turns down a familiar street, I have it.
The mirrored facade glitters in the glow of the headlights; The Luxor Lounge.
His strip club—I mean “Gentlemen’s bar”.
The one he promised he’d bring me back to.
The one where he swore I’d get on stage at—but only for him. Like all the Beckett boys, my man is a tad possessive.
‘Rian…’ My voice hitches.
He kills the engine, twists towards me, and captures my mouth in a kiss so hot it steals the air from my chest. When he pulls back, his eyes are molten lava.
‘It’s closed tonight,’ he murmurs. ‘You have a date with a pole, and not just the one in my trousers.’ He motions to the bulge tenting his crotch.
A pulse of heat races between my thighs. ‘That sounds promising.’
I’ve never pole danced before. Never tried. But the thought of getting up on that stage, stripping for him, commanding his undivided attention has my pussy pulsing in my lace panties.
‘Let’s go.’ He opens the driver door and rounds the car to open mine, offering a hand to help me out.
I deliberately arch forward as I exit the vehicle, offering him a camera worthy shot of my cleavage.
The dress doesn’t allow for a bra, and judging by the hiss from his lips, he just noticed. This is going to be so much fun.
Butterflies swoop through my stomach as he guides me in through mirrored double doors. The Luxor Lounge is scrawled in italic font. There’s no security staff. No receptionist. No bar staff. It’s just us.
He flicks on the sound system first, then the spotlights, illuminating the glossy black marble flooring and chrome poles. A soft, sultry beat infiltrates the air, and instinctively, I’m already swaying to it.
Rian’s hand curves around my hip as we move further inside. Possessive. Steady. Claiming, even though there’s no one here but us.
‘Drink?’ he asks, his lips grazing the shell of my ear.
‘Please.’ I wet my lips. My pulse is hammering, the gleam of the pole sending heat surging between my thighs.
‘Champagne?’ he asks, his eyes blazing over my body.
I nod, unable to speak. We haven’t even started and I’m already ridiculously turned on.
He stalks towards the bar and opens a bottle of Beckett’s Black Label. I follow him, grabbing two flutes from the overhead shelving.
He pours our drinks silently, then hands me one. ‘To you, gorgeous.’
‘To us,’ I arch an eyebrow, tipping my glass against his.
He takes a sip of champagne, then places his lips on mine, parting them with his tongue. The champagne trickles from his mouth into mine. I moan against his tongue.
This man.
He pulls back with a smirk, drags his thumb over my bottom lip, and I can’t stop myself from sucking it between my teeth. It’s his turn to groan, low and filthy. His black eyes blaze with hunger.
His palm connects with my ass, playfully. ‘Get up on that stage,’ he growls, nodding towards the centre pole. ‘Undress for me. Slowly. Tease me until I can’t fucking breathe. Show me everything. Give me everything.’
The air in my lungs scorches. My lips curve into a slow, deliberate smile. ‘Yes, sir.’
His smirk is pure sin. ‘I told you once before, don’t call me, Sir, unless you’re prepared to surrender to me.’
‘I already did.’ I sweep a hand over the front of my body. ‘This is all yours to do as you please with, every damn day for the rest of our lives, sir.’ I sashay towards the stage, feeling the heat of his gaze on my backside in the process.
I place my drink down and mount the steps. He falls into the closest seat to the stage. ‘You look fucking amazing up there.’ He whistles lowly, manspreading across the leather. His suit trousers look like they’re three seconds away from busting open.
Our eyes lock; fire dances in his irises.
His black pupils burn for me. Deliberately slowly, I shimmy the straps of my dress down my shoulders, then lower, wiggling my arms free.
I hold the dress over my breasts loosely.
The silk feels sensational as it grazes my furled nipples.
My hips sway seductively in time to the beat; his eyes follow the movement.
‘Lose it,’ he demands hungrily.
‘Yes, sir.’ I bite back a smirk and drop the material to the floor. He exhales heavily as his greedy gaze drinks in my flesh like it’s the first time he’s seeing it. His eyes linger on the transparent black lace between my legs.
‘You’re wearing too many clothes, Bekka.
’ He stands, prowling towards the stage.
His right hand reaches out as he rips the lace clean from my body and shoves it in his pocket.
A satisfied smirk lifts his lips. ‘That’s better,’ he murmurs.
His face is in direct line with my sex. His sheer proximity is driving me wild with want. ‘Open your legs.’
I do as I’m told, holding on to the pole with one hand for support.
His low moan permeates the air. ‘You are dripping for me, Rebekka.’ He swipes a hand over his jawline. ‘You better dance before I bury my tongue in you.’
A hot hit of lust pierces my stomach, but I swing around the pole, slowly gyrating my hips in time to the music.
His eyes follow my every movement, entranced.
I have no idea what I’m doing, but it feels so fucking good having him stare at me like I’m some sort of goddess.
I slow to a stop, turn my back to him, spread my legs wide, and then arch forward until my fingers brush over the floor, providing him with a full view of between my legs.
‘Fuck it,’ his restraint snaps. He wraps his hands around my ankles, steadying me, and his tongue swipes over my slit.
‘Oh.’ The sensation is sublime. Fuck.
He laps at me, again and again and again, moaning like he’s savouring every second.
Pleasure pulses through every inch of my body.
‘I need you to fill me up with that big, beautiful dick of yours.’ I drop to my knees, swaying my backside in invitation.
‘Fuck me, Mr Beckett. It’s not a request, sir,’ I add, glancing over my shoulder to meet his eyes.
He doesn’t hesitate, fingers reach for his belt until his huge erection springs free.
Precum glistens at the tip. Angry veins pump with the promise of pleasure.
Saliva floods my mouth as he places himself at my entrance.
He slides himself into me, stretching me and filling me in the most delicious way.
His hips thrust harder as his hands reach for my breasts, rolling and teasing my nipples.
My skin is alight. Every nerve end in my body crackles. I’m so close to coming.
‘I fucking love you, Rian Beckett,’ I pant, twisting my head to meet his eye.
‘I fucking love you, Bekka Beckett.’
I laugh, ‘I’m not Bekka Beckett yet.’ I gasp as his hand slides down over my stomach, then lower.
‘But you will be.’ His confidence is unwavering. ‘It has a nice ring to it,’ he muses, as his thumb swipes over my clit.
‘It better have a nice ring to it.’ I tease, glancing down at my empty left hand. I can’t wait to be a Beckett. To wear his wedding band. To bear his babies.
‘It’ll be the biggest ring money can buy, so every man within a ten-mile radius will know you’re mine.’ He circles my clit slowly, and I explode, shattering into a million pieces as he rocks into me, chasing his own release.
‘Fuck,’ he bites out, spilling himself into me.
His lips blaze tiny kisses over my back as we both struggle to catch our breath.
‘That was fucking fantastic,’ I pant.
‘No, Rebekka, you are fucking fantastic.’ He slides out of me and pulls me down onto his lap.
‘Today and every day.’
THE END