Chapter 31
CALEB
I stood in Promenade’s kitchen, the air heavy with decision, the stainless steel counters gleaming under the fluorescent lights.
Meghan was a storm beside me, her face pale but fierce, her eyes blazing with betrayal as Michael rubbed his throat, still reeling from my grip.
The stack of cream-colored notes he’d held—proof of his treachery—sat on the counter, a taunt to my failure to keep her safe.
My blood still roared, a primal need to shield her burning in my chest, but her love for this place, her empire, was a fire I couldn’t extinguish, and I felt the tension simmering, a clash waiting to erupt.
She was my focus, my mission, and I’d tear apart anyone who threatened her world, but her refusal to step back from Promenade made my job harder, and I wasn’t sure how long we could balance on this edge.
Finn stepped forward, his voice calm but sharp, cutting through the charged silence. “Keep Michael on for the shift.”
Meghan’s head snapped up, her eyes narrowing like a blade. “No fucking way. He’s done.”
I nodded, my jaw tight, my hand itching to grab Michael again. “He’s a traitor. He doesn’t stay near her.”
Finn held up a hand, his gaze steady, and pulled us aside, out of Michael’s earshot, into the narrow hallway by the walk-in cooler. “If he’s busy here, working, no phone—I took it already—he can’t contact Alastair. We keep him contained, under our eyes, until we figure out the next move.”
I stared at him, reassessing, my respect for him spiking. The guy had a tactical mind, a sharpness I’d underestimated, thinking he was just a loyal sous chef with a quick smile.
“Thought you were just here to chop onions and look pretty, Finn,” I said, a grin slipping out, punchy and sharp. “Guess I owe you a beer for being wrong.”
He smirked, tossing back a quick one-liner. “Make it whiskey, and we’ll call it even.”
Then his face sobered, his voice low. “Do what you need to keep our Meghan safe.”
The word our landed heavy, a shift I felt in my gut. Finn wasn’t challenging me. He was welcoming me into her world, accepting me as part of her circle.
I nodded, a silent vow, and he turned back to the kitchen, barking orders to keep the cleanup moving, his presence steadying the crew.
Meghan’s eyes flicked to me, her voice firm but frayed at the edges. “I need to change before we leave.”
I frowned, glancing at the dining room, where the last guests were trickling out, their voices soft under the glow of candlelight.
“What about service?”
She crossed her arms, her gaze unwavering.
“I’m coming with you. I need to look Alastair in the face and tell him to fuck off.”
My gut clenched, a protective instinct flaring hot. “No way, Meghan. That’s reckless. I’m not letting you walk into a fight with a guy who’s gone violent.”
Her eyes flashed, defiance burning bright. “You don’t get to decide my fights, Caleb. This is my life, my restaurant, and I’m not hiding.”
I stepped closer, voice low. “You’re not walking into a snake pit with nothing but attitude. I’ll handle Alastair.”
She opened her mouth, then paused, her gaze shifting, a look I knew too well—hot, hungry, the same one from the shower that set my blood alight.
“I need to change,” she repeated, slower, her voice a low burn that sent a jolt straight to my cock.
I froze, arousal hitting me like a freight train, my eyes locked on hers. That look—fuck, it undid me, a promise of something raw and unstoppable.
We barely made it upstairs to her loft, the door slamming shut behind us.
She was on me before I could blink, her hands tearing through my shirt, buttons scattering, her fingers raking my chest, hungry, burning.
She peeled my jeans down, her eyes devouring me—scars, muscles, my cock springing hard as she freed it, her touch electric.
“What’s gotten into you?” I asked, voice rough, half-laughing, half-dazed as she pushed me against the wall, her nails grazing my abs, sending shivers through me.
She laughed, a low, wicked sound that made my pulse race. “You’ve gotten into me, Caleb. The way you handled Michael—for me.”
I blinked, caught off guard. Violence usually sent people running, especially women, but her eyes blazed with desire, a fire that matched mine. “You liked that?”
“I loved it,” she said, her hand wrapping around my cock, stroking slow, deliberate, making me groan, my head tipping back. “You did it for me.”
“Of course,” I said, voice thick, my hands gripping her hips, pulling her closer. “I’d do anything for you.”
“Anything?” she asked, her eyes gleaming, a challenge in her voice that made my blood hum.
I nodded, my breath hitching as she stroked harder, her touch a spark to my fuse.
“Then eat my pussy,” she said, voice raw, “until I forget those fucking notes.”
I was all in, my need to claim her flaring, a vow to make her world right with every touch.
I lifted her onto a sturdy console table, her dress hiking up, revealing her thighs, her black lace panties already damp. I tore them off, the fabric ripping, and she gasped, her legs spreading as I dropped to my knees.
My mouth found her, hot and slick, my tongue sliding through her folds, slow at first, savoring her taste—sweet, musky, pure Meghan.
I licked long, deliberate strokes, teasing her entrance, then sweeping higher, drawing moans that echoed in the loft.
My hands gripped her thighs, spreading her wider, my fingers sinking into her soft flesh as I sucked gently, then harder, her hips bucking against my mouth, her breath hitching as she fucked my face.
She was a wildfire, her moans raw, her hands tangling in my hair, pulling me closer, demanding more.
I gave it, my tongue relentless, swirling and dipping, tasting every inch of her, my lips grazing her sensitive skin as she trembled.
I slid a finger inside, then two, curling slow, matching the rhythm of my mouth, her walls clenching as she gasped my name.
Her thighs shook, her breath ragged, and I didn’t stop, my tongue working faster, deeper, until she bucked hard, her orgasm ripping through her, a cry that set my blood ablaze.
I kept going, licking softer now, drawing out every aftershock, her body quivering under my hands as I cupped her ass, her moans a symphony I’d never tire of.
She pulled me up, her eyes wild, and shoved me toward the sofa.
“Sit,” she commanded, voice thick with need. “I’m going to fuck you fast, hard, and then you’re telling me why they call you The Reaper.”
I froze, cock throbbing, as I sank onto the sofa, the leather cool against my skin. “Where’d you hear that?”
She straddled me, her hand wrapping around my cock, stroking with a hunger that made me groan, my head tipping back. “Overheard Ryker on the phone. Sounded like respect.”
Before I could respond, she lowered herself, taking me in, her heat tight and perfect, a moan ripping from my throat.
She fucked me with a carnal delight that would’ve knocked me back if I’d been standing, her hips rolling fast, hard, her fingers digging into my shoulders.
Her breasts bounced, her eyes locked on mine, wild and commanding, claiming me as much as I claimed her.
She rode me with a rhythm that was all her—fierce, unapologetic, her walls clenching as she moved, driving me to the edge.
I gripped her hips, thrusting up to meet her, our bodies slamming together, the sofa creaking under the force.
She came again, screaming, pulling me with her, my release blinding, stars bursting behind my eyes as she milked me dry.
Panting, she collapsed against me, her breath hot on my neck, her voice a low purr. “Now, tell me about The Reaper.”
I grinned, still catching my breath, my hands roaming her back, sated but ready for more. She was my fire, my mission, and I’d tell her everything. After I made her mine again.