Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Lucian
The low hum of conversation and the soft clink of crystal fill the main dining room of La Méridienne.
The moment she enters the room, I know it.
I look up and sweep my gaze over her with a slow, possessive hunger.
The dress fits her exactly the way I knew it would, plunging just enough at the neckline to hint at the soft swell of her breasts, nipping in at her waist before flowing over the flare of her hips and skimming down to mid-calf.
Her hair is up in a soft twist that leaves delicate strands brushing her nape.
She lifts her chin the moment her eyes find ours, that familiar spark of defiance flashing in their green depths even as color rises faintly along her cheekbones.
Caleb shifts beside me, his broader frame radiating the same coiled satisfaction I feel low in my gut.
We both rise as she approaches, and I pull out her chair with deliberate courtesy, letting my fingers brush her shoulder as she sits.
The contact sends a visible shiver through her, and heat pools heavier in my cock.
“You wore the dress.” I keep my voice low enough that only the three of us can hear.
I settle back into my seat, letting my gaze linger openly. “Excellent choice, Sophie.”
She smooths the silk over her thighs, the movement betraying the tension in her fingers, but she meets my eyes without flinching. “This old thing?”
Caleb chuckles.
I let the silence stretch a beat, savoring the way her pulse flutters at the base of her throat.
“You do like to flirt with danger.” I adore a woman with fire. Bending her to my will is going to be an exquisite pleasure.
The server appears with the wine we preordered.
After I taste and nod my approval, he pours her glass first.
When she finally takes a sip, I remember the taste of her—defiant and addicting. This time my cock twitches.
Over the first course, I bring up the wedding.
Her body language changes, becoming more closed off, despite the wine.
“Our admin can coordinate anything you need.”
A flash ignites in her eyes—calculation, the quick mental search for an exit I sealed weeks ago.
She sets her fork down. “I have a friend. Piper. I’d like her in the wedding.”
Caleb and I exchange a glance. Does this mean she’s accepting her fate?
“Of course,” I say.
“And my mother needs to be there.”
“Via video feed?”
Pain flashes through her eyes, and I want nothing more than to vanquish it. “That’s the only way it’s possible.”
I nod. “We’ll make it happen.”
Relief flickers across her face, but she masks it quickly, taking a sip of her wine. “You can handle everything.” Then she sets her chin like she had last night when she thought she could keep us out of her apartment. “Since I don’t have a say in my future, why should I have a say in this?”
I feel the tic in my temple.
Caleb clears his throat. “We all have an appointment tomorrow at two at our offices. The wedding planner will be there.”
She turns her flashing eyes on him. Brave girl.
“I’m swamped at work. Clients don’t stop needing me just because you think you have some say-so over my schedule.”
“You can return to your practice afterward.”
She waves a hand, as if walking down the aisle means nothing to her. Her reaction infuriates me, and I call on all my self-control to keep my temper in check. “You don’t need input from me regarding a wedding I don’t want.”
“We have certain expectations of you.” I lean forward slightly, letting her feel the weight of my attention. “And we’ll need your guest list, for starters.”
She blinks, genuine surprise crossing her features. “I thought this was going to be a private affair.”
“There are certain people I consider essential.”
“Other criminals and thugs?” The words come sharp, testing. “Mafiosos? The don of the Moretti crime family? Or just the underboss?”
Someone’s been doing her homework. I keep my voice even. “Our associates.”
“As I said.”
“You may not want to double down on that.” My warning slips out low, dangerous, the tone I use when negotiations edge toward consequences the other party won’t enjoy.
Even though she shivers, she holds my gaze. “I don’t double down. Unlike you and my father, I’m not a gambler.”
“No?” I steeple my hands in front of me, studying her. “Not ever?”
She looks away, color deepening, and something soft and vulnerable flickers across her face before she forces it away.
After our dishes are cleared, I rise, capturing her elbow with gentle but unyielding pressure.
Instead of guiding her toward the exit, I turn us toward the back of the restaurant where heavy burgundy curtains frame a discreet alcove used for overflow or private moments.
Caleb follows us through, pulling the curtain behind us.
The space is small and intimate with dim sconces on the walls and a narrow settee against one side. The murmur of the dining room is now a distant hum.
“Don’t make a scene.”
She rounds on Caleb. “Is that the only statement you know? Or just the only thing he lets you say?”
A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. This brat enchants us both.
Defiance sparkles in her eyes. “I’m going back to the table.”
Caleb captures her shoulders.
“After we show you how much we enjoy seeing you obey our orders.”
“You can’t do this!”
“Shh.” Caleb holds her waist, broad hands splaying across her abdomen. He comes in closer, pressing the solid wall of his chest against her back.
We have her exactly where we want her.
“Thank you for wearing the dress. It’s a perfect fit. And you couldn’t look more beautiful.”
She struggles, fury sparking in her eyes, hips twisting against Caleb’s hold. The movement presses her ass into the hard ridge of his cock, and his low groan vibrates through all three of us.
I lean in until my mouth hovers a breath from hers. “As Caleb said, don’t make a scene. Unless you want to be caught in a compromising position? Might not be good for your reputation as a respectable behavioral finance expert. And you might embarrass your family.” My lips brush hers with the words.
“You don’t care about your reputation?”
“Ours is more…flexible.”
Her breath quickens, chest rising more quickly.
I close the last inch and kiss her—deep, claiming, pouring every day of waiting into the stroke of my tongue.
She tastes of wine and resistance. But underneath it? Is there a hint of interest?
Or maybe that’s wishful thinking.
Like last night, she curls her hands into my shirt, pushing and pulling at the same time, a perfect brat’s contradiction that makes my cock throb painfully against my zipper.
Caleb’s hands slide up to slip inside the bodice of the dress with practiced care, preserving her modesty from any stray glance while his palms cup her breasts.
His thumbs circle her nipples slowly, gently, and her moan vibrates into my mouth.
“Do you like that, Sophie?” I murmur against her lips. “Do you like having your nipples stroked so gently while the whole restaurant sits just beyond that curtain?”
“No.” She tries to shake her head, but there’s no energy in it.
“Not at all?” But her knees are a little wobbly.
Caleb touch is firmer now, and her knees weaken. I feel the shift in her weight as she leans harder against him.
“How about having them rolled?” He does exactly that, slow and deliberate, and her breath hitches into a soft pant. “Maybe tugged on?”
He tugs—sharp little pulls that make her arch.
Her head falls back against his shoulder, eyes fluttering half closed. The sight of her—flushed, lips parted, body trembling between us—nearly undoes me.
“Or maybe squeezed hard?” My voice is a hoarse rasp.
“No.” Her protest is barely a whisper.
“Your body says otherwise.”
Caleb tightens his grip, and she moans loud enough that I capture the sound with my mouth, swallowing it down while my own cock strains, leaking against the fabric of my trousers.
I know Caleb’s dick is rock-hard, pressed tight between the cheeks of her ass through the silk, rocking subtly against her with every shift of her hips.
With my free hand, I lift the hem of her dress and touch the delicate lace of her panties.
She’s going to be our wife, and she needs to come to terms with everything that means. Her body and its glorious responses belong to us.
I pause for a fraction of a second, but she makes no attempt to stop me.
Smiling with triumph, I keep my gaze locked on her beautiful face as I slide my finger beneath the gusset.
My perfect little future wife is damp, and her folds part easily around my fingers.
Fuck me.
She’s more exquisite than I could have imagined.
I circle her clit once, twice, then ease a finger inside her tight heat.
Her inner walls clamp down, and a fresh rush of arousal coats my hand.
“Damn, Sophie. You’re perfect.” I groan the words against her delicate mouth. “So wet for us already. Imagine our wedding… Waiting is going to be unbearable torture.”
I finger fuck her, angling my hand to press against her most sensitive inner spot while my thumb works her clit in firm circles.
Caleb keeps tormenting her breasts, pinching and rolling, his hips grinding against her ass in time with my thrusts.
Her breathing turns ragged, and she moans into my mouth, small, helpless sounds escaping with every stroke.
Her thighs tremble, knees buckling, and I hold her up with my body while Caleb supports her from behind.
“Come for us, Sophie,” I command. “Come for us right here where any passerby can hear your perfect surrender.”
Obediently, wonderfully, her pussy clamps down on my fingers in rhythmic spasms.
Her broken whimper vibrates into my kiss as her whole body shakes between us.
You’re mine. My fucking woman.
I stroke her through it, drawing every last ripple until she sags, limp and trembling, her scent—musky, sweet, utterly addictive—filling the small space.
This wait… It’s been worth every agonizing moment.
Slowly we ease her upright, Caleb slipping his hand from her breasts while I withdraw my finger and straighten her panties with a careful tug.
I adjust myself.
Caleb also does the same, jaw tight with restraint.
My aching cock is a sweet, torturous reminder that I’m waiting for our wedding night to take her.
Sophie’s eyes are dazed, cheeks flushed deep rose, lips swollen from my kiss. She looks thoroughly claimed, and satisfaction rolls through me like warm whiskey.
“I didn’t like that.” Defiant—always deliciously defiant—she tips her chin.
I press my finger against her lips, and her eyes widen when she tastes her own arousal. “That very much suggests that you did.”
Behind her, Caleb chuckles.
She smooths her dress back into place, trying to look prim and proper. But beneath her ice is kindling that we intend to ignite. And this woman will burn for us.
“You’ve pleased us,” I say, stroking my finger across her cheekbone.
“What would you have done if I had worn something different?” Her voice is husky, still breathless.
I capture her chin, tilting her face up so our gazes lock.
“Last night, you weren’t warned about what happens when you don’t follow orders.
But now…” I lean in, breathing in the rich, musky scent of her pleasure that still clings to my fingers.
“I’m happy to give you a taste of what happens when you displease us. Would you like that?”