Chapter 29
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Sophie
The words, the dual stimulation, the entire day—the vows, the rings, the wanting—all crash together, and I climax with a broken cry, clamping down with a pleasure so intense it borders on pain.
Tears spill hot down my cheeks, and I sob their names without meaning to.
My knees fold, and Caleb is there, holding me up. Lucian strokes me through every aftershock until I am trembling and oversensitive and undone.
Only then do they ease their hands away.
Lucian’s voice is rougher now, control fraying. “We want you in the bedroom. Unless you want the first time against the glass.”
I can’t answer with a sentence.
This time, it’s Caleb who lifts me and carries me down the hallway.
The enormous bed waits beneath the low lights. I have stood in this room before and panicked at Lucian calling it ours. Tonight Caleb sets me in the center of it and starts on his jacket. Lucian does the same.
For the first time, I get to watch them undress. There is something strangely fair about that.
Lucian starts with his cuff links, the little emerald-eyed owls I've come to recognize disappearing one at a time into his palm.
Even now, he is precise. The jacket is already gone.
The shirt follows, white fabric parting over a chest that looks carved rather than built—lean muscle, a narrow trail of dark hair, the kind of body that belongs to a man who has never had to raise his voice to be obeyed.
He is beautiful in a way that feels almost unfair.
Smooth. Controlled. Unmarked except for the intensity in his eyes when he catches me staring.
I don’t look away.
He unhooks his trousers and pushes them down.
He is already hard. Heavy. Thick enough that my pulse stumbles. The size of him is not decorative. It is a fact, flushed and blunt and unapologetic, and the thought of taking that inside me sends a nervous, helpless heat between my legs.
“You can look,” Lucian says quietly. “I want you to.”
Caleb is less ceremony and more gravity.
His shirt hits the floor, and I understand instantly why he has always felt larger than the room. Broad chest. Thick arms. A body made for impact. Dark hair dusts his chest and arrows down a stomach that flexes as he moves.
Then I see the scars.
Most of them I could have predicted. A pale line along his ribs. Another nick at his shoulder.
And then…
I suck in a breath.
A thick, vicious scar slashes from just beneath his left collarbone down across his chest, ending near the base of his sternum.
It is old but not neat. Whoever closed it was not trying to make him pretty.
They were trying to keep him alive. The skin there is raised and tight, a brutal interruption in all that strength, and for a second, I cannot stop staring at it.
Caleb notices.
He does not cover it. He does not explain it. He only watches my face while he unzips his tuxedo pants and shoves them down.
If Lucian is elegant, Caleb is blunt force.
His cock is thicker. Heavier. Darker, veined, the head already slick, and there is nothing careful about the way my body reacts to the sight of him. Want. Alarm. A dizzy, traitorous pulse that says yes before I have decided anything at all.
“Sophie.”
My name sounds rough in Caleb’s throat.
Lucian settles his hand at my nape, warm, claiming, drawing my attention back to him without taking it away from Caleb.
For a moment, I study the two of them together: Lucian’s long, devastating lines. Caleb’s scarred, massive body.
When Lucian comes to me, he is warm skin and intent. He kisses me again. Caleb’s mouth finds my shoulder, my breast, the inside of my wrist. Slowly, patiently, they replace fear with sensation. Every time my body tightens, they notice. Every time I relax, they notice that too.
The person surrendering is the center.
Tonight that person is me.
Lucian draws back. His forehead rests against mine.
“Sophie. If you want to stop, say it.”
“I promise I will.”
Fierce possession flickers in his eyes, and he settles between my thighs. I feel him, hot and blunt, and my body tightens on instinct.
He freezes.
Caleb’s hand strokes slowly along my arm. “Breathe.”
Even though I do, it’s not enough.
I’m nervous, and I’m scared I can’t do it.
Lucian seems to know it. “You’re not quite ready.”
Gently he kisses the inside of my knee. Then higher. The contrast makes me jolt—the heat of him after the almost stretch of his cock.
Caleb shifts up the bed, gathering both of my wrists in one hand and pinning them loosely above my head. Not trapping. Anchoring. His other hand spreads my thighs wider for Lucian.
“Let him,” Caleb murmurs against my temple. “We’ve got you.”
Lucian doesn’t tease the way I expect. He looks at me first, midnight-blue and intent, like this is another vow. Then he lowers his head and drags his tongue through me in one slow, filthy line.
The sound I make is humiliating.
He hums against me, pleased, and does it again. Flatter. Deeper. He finds the slick he already put there and uses it, licking me open with devastating patience. When his mouth closes over my clit, my back arches off the bed.
Caleb’s grip tightens on my wrists. “There she is.”
Lucian sucks. Soft, then not soft. One of his hands holds my hip down when I try to twist away from the intensity. The other slides under my thigh and lifts, opening me so he can lick lower, circling my entrance without pushing in.
I am already soaked. Under his mouth, I become worse. Hot. Messy. Digging my heels into the mattress.
“Please.”
He lifts his head just enough to speak against my skin. “Please what?”
I don’t have a dignified answer. “Don’t stop.”
“Good girl.”
Then Caleb moves.
He releases my wrists only to change places with Lucian, a silent trade that makes my head spin. Lucian comes up my body and takes my mouth, letting me taste myself on him. Caleb settles between my thighs like he was built for the space.
If Lucian is precise, Caleb is hungry.
He doesn’t circle. He doesn’t ask. He flattens his tongue and eats me like he has been waiting the entire wedding to do it. The scarred width of his shoulders keeps my legs apart. His stubble rasps the inside of my thighs. When he groans into me, the vibration punches a sob out of my throat.
“Caleb—”
Lucian pinches my nipple, then soothes it with his thumb. “Take what he’s giving you.”
Caleb slides one thick finger into me while he sucks my clit. I clamp down around it, startled, and he waits there, licking me through the panic until the stretch turns into need. A second finger joins the first, careful, slick, curling until my vision turns white at the edges.
I am so wet, so ready.
Lucian kisses the corner of my mouth. “I want to hear it from you.”
I can barely form words. My hips keep chasing Caleb’s mouth.
“Tell us.”
“Yes…” My voice breaks. “I need you. Please. I’m so—please.”
Caleb gives me one last, ruthless suck that has me crying out, then kisses the inside of my thigh and moves aside.
Lucian settles between my legs again. This time when I feel him, hot and blunt, my body still tightens—but it is not the same flinch. It is want, sharp and frightening and aching.
He pauses anyway.
Waiting.
I hook my shaking legs around him.
“Now,” I whisper. “I’m begging. That’s what you wanted.”
His forehead drops to mine.
“Yeah,” he agrees. “That is exactly what I wanted.”
Once more, Caleb strokes his hand down my arm. “You’re ours.”
The words take me back to the altar. “Keep going.”
His eyes close for one brief second.
There is discomfort. More than I expected. He works into me in careful, devastating increments, watching my face like it is the only thing in the penthouse that matters. The stretch burns. I make a sound I don’t recognize.
“Sophie.”
“Take me.”
His control slips enough that he sinks the rest of the way with a groan that vibrates through both of us.
Full. Too much. Then—gradually—the sharpness gives way to heat. To something so intimate, it frightens me more than pain ever could.
Lucian kisses me while Caleb holds my hand, my hips, the back of my neck. They don’t rush. They don’t look away. When the discomfort finally thins into pleasure, Lucian finds a rhythm that makes my head fall back and my nails bite his shoulders.
“There,” Caleb murmurs. “That’s it. Take him.”
I do. God help me, I do.
When Lucian finally shudders and stills, I lie trembling against Caleb’s chest, overwhelmed, wrecked, still wanting.
Neither man speaks. I’m grateful.
Then I turn my head.
Caleb is looking at me. I know what he is asking without words. He would wait.
I touch his face. “Your turn.”
His eyes close. Just for a moment. When they open again, something in them is almost unbearably raw.
“Sophie…”
I kiss him before he can say anything else.
The second time is easier. Different. Caleb is thicker, slower, that relentless focus of his trained on every flicker in my face.
He adjusts before I can ask. Holds me when sensation becomes too much.
Refuses to hurry simply because he has waited.
When I come again, it surprises me—sharper, wetter, with his name broken in my mouth.
By the time I collapse between them, I no longer know where one man ends and the other begins.
That realization should frighten me.
Tomorrow I know it will.
“You know we’re not done with you.” Lucian’s gaze is breathtakingly intense.
I swallow hard.
“In fact, we’re just getting started.”
He reaches for me, and I know something even more consuming is coming…