Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
Lucian
Dear fucking God, she is perfect for us.
The evening was everything we hoped for.
There will come a day when we’ll engage in a full-on scene, and she’ll give us her unguarded responses.
For now, it’s enough that she was introduced to our lifestyle. She has a scene name, a safe word.
And that she’s so turned on and annoyed at us for leaving her unsatisfied is intoxicating.
The moment we are on the road and he has checked messages on his Bonds device, Caleb swipes to the app that brings up the feed from Sophie’s apartment.
She’s in her small kitchen, the cheap overhead light casting harsh shadows across the counters and floors.
We watch as she pours herself a generous glass of cheap red wine.
Caleb shifts beside me, his shoulder brushing mine in the quiet intimacy of the backseat.
Glass in hand, she paces the floor.
We turned her inside out. And left her trying to decide whether she’s going to obey my final order or risk defying me.
She knows now, for sure, there are consequences.
And she knows she’s being watched.
Caleb’s mouth curves in that predatory half-smile, his free hand resting on his thigh where I can see the faint flex of muscle. “She fought it every second and still gave us everything. That analytical mind of hers taking in everything her body opened up. I want more of that.”
I picture her bent over, and my cock twitches. “I may need to move up the wedding.”
There’s no argument from him.
“I want our ring on her finger, our cocks so deep inside her that she forgets anyone else ever existed.”
We pull into the underground garage of the penthouse, and Caleb closes the app.
By the time we step into the expansive living room, the city skyline glittering beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, the feed is open again on the large wall screen.
We settle onto the leather couch, drinks in hand, and watch her move through her apartment.
She’s abandoned the wine, and she’s studying the living room with narrowed eyes.
Caleb and I exchange glances, and he nods.
Her movements are deliberate as she begins a more systematic search for the cameras, lifting picture frames, checking behind lamps, trailing her fingers along surfaces.
She finds one, and her lips press into a thin line.
I feel a flicker of admiration as she runs it under water and dumps it in the trash.
“She won’t find the important ones.”
Our future wife—hopefully believing she found the one and only living-room camera—heads for the bathroom.
Minutes stretch. Then more.
The water runs for what feels like an eternity, the faint sound carrying through the audio feed.
Irritation builds in my veins, a slow, cold burn that makes my fingers tighten around my glass.
I’d agreed with Hawkeye that certain things should be off-limits, but being blind to her movements, her expressions, is fraying my temper. “She’s at thirty minutes.”
Caleb leans forward, elbows on his knees. “I’d say being a brat comes naturally to her.”
Which will make her ultimate surrender sweeter.
Another fifteen minutes later, she opens the bathroom door, wearing a tightly belted robe, her hair damp at the ends.
Then she enters her room.
Instead of climbing into bed, she resumes her hunt, dragging a chair from the corner and climbing up to reach higher spots.
One by one, she finds most of the cameras, and she disconnects them, dropping them into the trash bin with satisfying little thuds.
She does better than we expected.
Annoyance flares through me, the kind that sharpens every edge of me.
I clench my jaw so tightly that a muscle jumps.
She is ours to watch, ours to protect, ours to possess in every way.
My fury turns cold, spreading through me like ice water over steel.
Caleb’s brow furrows beside me, his concern evident in the subtle tension along his shoulders. “Those cameras were there for her safety as much as our pleasure. If something happens tonight—”
Another camera hits the trash. Then another. Her movements grow bolder, more triumphant, until she reaches the last one. She looks directly into the lens, that beautiful face breaking into a defiant grin, and she waves—slow, deliberate, taunting.
The feed cuts to static, then blank darkness.
The silence in the penthouse feels deafening, broken only by the distant hum of the city far below.
I leash my fury, twisting it into cold resolve.
She has pushed. She has challenged. And now she will learn.
There hasn’t been a brat in history that I haven’t been able to handle.
I raise my glass of Bonds in salute of her momentary victory.
But her triumph will be short lived.
Caleb looks at me. “You have a plan?”
“Most definitely.”
“And she’s not going to like it.”
I narrow my eyes. “You can count on that.”