Chapter 30 Vince
Vince
She slid her fingers into mine and let me pull her up. The heels made her a little taller. Back straight, chin high, she looked like every dynasty portrait I’d ever been ordered to respect and absolutely none of them at the same time.
As we walked toward the bedroom, something caught the light at her throat. A thin gold chain. Small pendant. Not one of mine.
I stopped just inside the doorway and brushed my knuckles over the stone, turning it.
“Where’d this come from.”
Her hand rose automatically, fingers curling around it like habit. “Atticus,” she said. “Nineteenth birthday present.”
The name hit like a fist to the chest.
She went on, oblivious to the way my jaw locked.
“The jewel’s from Aurelia Coast. We used to holiday there when we were kids.
There’s this little market near the docks, they cut stones from the same vein.
He thought it was… sentimental, I guess.
” Her mouth tilted. “It’s technically a set.
There were earrings too, but I left them at the DePout estate in Villain. ”
Good.
Necks were for claims. For collars. For marks that meant something instead of nostalgia from a man who didn’t know her anymore.
Crows took the throat seriously. Blood, vows, control. A neck was where you put steel when you wanted obedience and where you put gold when obedience had already been given. Every ritual I’d grown up watching ended at the throat: blade, chain, crest.
All I could see was Atticus DePout’s taste hanging there like a placeholder where my collar should have been.
My blood ran hot, fast, ugly. For one second I pictured closing my fist around the pendant, ripping it off, letting it clatter to the floor so I could grind it under my heel. Pictured the line of the metal, I’d chosen, something that said mine in a language the whole world understood.
One day.
Her brows pinched when she finally looked up and saw my face. “You okay?”
Far from it.
“Fine.”
The word came out too flat. I didn’t correct it. I reached back, flicked the bedroom lights down low, then moved behind her before I changed my mind and started a dynasty war over jewellery.
My hands found her shoulders. I slid my fingers under the pink fabric, traced the line to the back of her neck and followed the chain down.
“This comes off first,” I murmured.
A little shiver ran through her. “Territorial much.”
“Always.”
I unclasped the necklace, careful not to pinch, and let it drop into my palm. It was heavier than it looked.
I set it on the dresser instead of hurling it, which I decided qualified me for sainthood, then went back to the more urgent problem in front of me. I caught the zip between two fingers and eased it down, slow.
Fabric loosened. Her shoulders rolled. The blush pink slipped down. I helped it over her ass, knuckles deliberately brushing skin. She stepped out of it with care, heels clicking once on the floor, and I kicked the dress aside without taking my eyes off her.
For a second, my brain refused to process what I was seeing.
She’d worn white. Innocent on purpose.
The bra was all tiny details and bad intentions.
Sheer enough that I could just make out the shadow of her nipples under the cups, edged in delicate lace.
Narrow straps sat on her shoulders like they had no idea they were supporting a sin.
In the centre, between her breasts, a ridiculous little bow waited like a secret.
The panties matched. High on her hips, cut to show off the long line of her legs, lace framing the swell of her ass and disappearing between her thighs in a way that made my mouth go dry. Another bow sat over the bone of her hip, small and smug.
Holy and unholy in the same breath.
My perfect little sub, in lingerie that would have looked sweet on anyone else and looked like a fucking sin on her.
It ruined me.
Absolutely wrecked whatever thin thread of control I’d been pretending to have.
She shifted under the weight of my stare, fingers tightening on the bedframe. “You’re very quiet.”
“Processing.”
“Good processing or bad processing.”
The question shook out of her on a shaky little laugh. She was doing her best to sound light. My girl, always trying to manage my reactions.
My hands found her waist, thumbs pressing into the dip above the panties. I leaned in, let my mouth brush the shell of her ear.
“Baby, I have never seen anything more unholy and innocent at the same time.”
Her breath caught.
“You listening to Daddy this well?” My thumbs stroked slow circles on her. “Saving this for me? Does something to me.”
Her shoulders relaxed a fraction. “Good… something?”
“Dangerous something. Primal something. Viking-on-a-raiding-party something.”
She scoffed helplessly. “You are not a Viking.”
“I’m the Crow who’s going to put his own necklace on you one day and lose this one in a safe,” I thought, but didn’t say. Aloud, I tilted her head just enough that I could kiss the side of her neck where Atticus’s stone had been resting.
“Good,” I murmured against her pulse. “You wore it for me. You’re here for me. And I am going to spend the rest of the night proving exactly how much Daddy appreciates his girl following instructions.”
My hands found her waist, thumbs resting in the dip above the white lace. “And you listened. So Daddy owes you something first.”
Her lashes lifted. “First?”
“You’ve been good for me for two weeks,” I murmured. “Pictures every morning. Full debriefs at night. My perfect little sub doing exactly as she’s told, even when I can’t get my hands on her.”
“That’s the deal.”
“That’s the minimum,” I corrected softly. “Tonight, Daddy spoils his girl.”
“I’m happy just…” she gestured down between us, cheeks going pink, “taking care of you. You’ve had a week. You look tired, Vince.”
Sweet. Always. Even in white lace that made my brain short-circuit, she was more worried about my schedule than her own pleasure. Something in my chest just… dropped. Fuck, I loved her.
I shook my head. “No baby, you’re coming on daddy’s tongue for the first time.”
A helpless little sound broke out of her, half protest, half anticipation.
I pressed my mouth to hers, slow and sure, letting the kiss answer every last doubt she had left. She melted into it, arms sliding up around my neck, body leaning into my chest like it belonged there.
Mine. My girl. My perfect little sub, in white lace. I guided her down onto the mattress, hands careful on her hips, making sure her head hit the pillow just right.
Her hands came up, palms flat against my chest. “I really will be okay just… helping you. After your week. You don’t have to make a production out of me.”
Production. I almost laughed. As if this was a duty instead of something I’d been starving for.
I caught her wrists gently, lowering her hands back to her sides. “Madeline Thorne,” I said, soft but firm. “Look at me.”
She did. She always did when I used her full name like that.
“I am going to put my mouth on my sub little clit for the first time. And you are going to let me watch my girl come apart. Then, when you’re soft and can’t remember anybody’s name but mine, that’s when you get to worry about taking care of me. Not before.”
Her grip loosened. Trust slid back into place where fear had tried to crawl up. She sank into the pillows, eyes never leaving mine.
And as I kissed my way down, over the bow between her breasts, across the soft plane of her stomach, to the edge of white lace that had already ruined me, only one thought kept looping through my head.
She was still trembling when I dragged my mouth up her throat. My hand drifted down her stomach.
“You know what kills me?” I murmured, brushing a knuckle where she was sensitive enough to gasp. “You gave me your virginity… and now you’re gonna give me your first time in my mouth.”
Her eyes widened. That blush—fuck. The blush alone made my cock ache.
“You want it. Don’t you, baby?”
She nodded. And the way she did it—small, shy, almost apologetic—sent a sickening wave of pride through me. I tipped her chin up with two fingers.
“Say it.”
“I… want your mouth.”
I kissed down her neck again, slower this time, letting her feel me. Her thighs pressed together automatically. I slid my hand between them, prying them open again.
“Ah—no,” I said, almost gently. “Let me see you.”
She opened. God, she always did.
“Look at you,” I rasped. “So fucking pretty… still trembling, still wet—still my good girl.”
Her breath hitched. That sound went straight through me. I kissed lower. Across her stomach. Her hip. The soft inside of her thigh. And I felt her entire body arch like she didn’t know whether to run or beg for it.
I murmured against her thigh. “Never had anyone’s tongue here… never had anyone kiss you like this.” My lips brushed the spot right beside where she needed me.
She whimpered.
“Fuck,” I groaned, eyes closing for a second. “Do you hear that, sweetheart? That little noise you make when you want me to taste you? I’d kill for that sound.”
I looked up at her through my hair.
“You want Daddy to taste your pussy for the first time?”
Her eyes fluttered—yes, yes, yes—and she nodded again, cheeks blazing.
“Use your words, angel. I want to hear you ask for it.”
“I… I want your mouth,” she whispered. “Please.”
I swore under my breath, the kind of vow a man only makes to the woman who owns him.
“You begging is going to end me.”
I lowered my mouth, slow, letting my breath hit her first.
She gasped and arched.
“Good girl. Already moving for me.”
And then my tongue slid through her , gentle at first, then firmer, learning her. Her hand flew to my hair, fingers clutching.
“Baby…” I groaned against her. “You taste like everything I’ve missed. You like Daddy’s mouth?” I teased, voice dark. “Or do you like that I’m the one teaching you this? That no one else has ever had you like this?”
Her head rolled back. A choked sound dragged out of her throat.
I smiled against her.