Chapter 31
Chapter Thirty-One
Lucian
Las Vegas, Nevada
I thought marrying Sophie would quiet my obsession.
I was wrong.
Yesterday we put our rings on her finger.
Last night she opened her body to us because she chose to, not because of a bargain her father made or vows I’d forced her to speak.
This morning she came apart beneath our hands before she was fully awake, soft and sore and furious with us for making her want more.
It should have been enough to blunt the edge of eight years of wanting.
Instead, the wanting has changed shape.
It is no longer anticipation.
Now I know exactly how she sounds when pleasure overwhelms her. I know the tiny catch in her breath before she gives in, the way her fingers tighten when she needs reassurance, the look in her eyes when indignation loses its battle with desire.
Knowing has made everything infinitely worse.
She’s my curse.
The more I get, the more I need.
The bedroom door opens.
Sophie emerges, wearing the white Bella Rosa robe Basil directed her toward, the belt cinched securely around her waist as though she suspects Caleb and me of plotting its immediate removal.
An entirely reasonable suspicion.
She stops a few feet away and looks between us. “A spa day?”
Her tone suggests Basil might have announced an impending tax audit.
I move toward her before I consciously decide to. My fingers find a loose strand of hair near her temple and tuck it gently behind her ear. The simple contact sends the same low surge of possession through me that burying myself inside her did last night.
That should concern me.
It doesn’t.
“You deserve to be pampered after everything you’ve endured.” And everything we have planned.
She blinks. “I’ve never had a spa day.”
Of course she hasn’t.
Sophie will wire money across the world for her mother without hesitation and work herself into exhaustion for a client. But she will never spend a penny on taking care of herself.
“It’s your honeymoon,” I say simply.
“You can’t keep spending obscene amounts of money on me.”
“Let’s go,” Caleb tells her, interrupting the argument I’ll never let her win.
Moments after the door closes, Basil informs me Lorenzo is ready for me.
I take a private elevator to the private lounge that few people know about.
It’s a true haven from the Vegas experience: dark wood, supple leather, quiet. There are no visible cameras, which undoubtedly means they are there but very discreet.
By the time Caleb joins us, Lorenzo is already pouring Bonds whiskey.
“Lucian. Caleb.” He hands us each a glass. “How’s married life?”
“Everything I imagined.”
Caleb lifts his glass. “How’s Zara?”
Lorenzo’s expression immediately softens. “She keeps me on my toes. The baby is growing fast.” His mouth tips at one corner. “Another one on the way too. We’re keeping it quiet for now.”
Caleb’s grin is immediate. “Congratulations.”
“Family changes a man.” Lorenzo taps his forefingers together. “Makes him sharper.”
Inevitably my mind goes to Sophie.
To the rings on her finger. And, without warning, I see her pregnant.
Sophie with her belly round beneath my hand. Sophie carrying our child. Caleb’s and mine, whichever of us gave it to her first hardly mattering because the child would belong to all three of us.
The image hits with enough force that I take another drink.
The hunger has simply found another direction.
“You understand.” Lorenzo’s gaze has sharpened as though he knows exactly where my thoughts went. He has always been irritatingly perceptive.
I take a considered drink.
Lorenzo settles back. “Your event is set.”
Which brings my attention back where it belongs. “And the guest list?”
“Contained. Discreet. Exactly as requested.”
Caleb nods. “And Voss?”
“He’ll be there.”
Warm satisfaction unfurls deep inside. Years of waiting. All for this moment.
The conversation shifts to security, access, and the final details of the exclusive game we’ve put together.
With the last sip of our drinks still in our glasses, Lorenzo proposes a toast. “To the future working out exactly the way you plan.”
We drink to that.
Lorenzo excuses himself, and Caleb says he has a situation to handle. “Go.” Suits me.
I need to make sure Sophie is okay.
The spa occupies a world that seems deliberately designed to irritate men like me. Everything is quiet. Slow. Softly lit. No one appears to be in a hurry to accomplish anything.
When I identify myself, the reception escorts me through a private corridor and out toward a secluded massage cabana surrounded by greenery, the sounds of the resort reduced to nothing more than distant water and wind moving through leaves.
I pause.
Sophie is lying face down on the massage table, a sheet draped low across the curve of her ass, her back bare and gleaming with oil. Her hair has been swept to one side, exposing the delicate line of her neck.
Her entire body is loose.
So soft.
Possession slams through me with enough force to tighten every muscle in my body.
Mine.
Ours.
Marriage has not made the word less dangerous. It has made it real.
The therapist notices me.
“I’ll take it from here for a moment.”
She steps away without protest.
Sophie’s eyelids flutter before she turns her head against the padded table. Her cheeks are flushed with warmth, her eyes heavy and unfocused.
“Lucian…”
The way she says my name—sleepy, surprised, welcoming—does terrible things to my restraint. My cock throbs, hard and heavy, demanding release. Demanding her.
I settle my palm against her lower back. Her skin is warm and slick beneath my hand.
She shivers.
“How is your terrible extravagance?”
Her eyes close again. “Horrible.”
“I can tell.”
“I may never leave.” Her voice has a dreamy quality.
I move my thumb lazily along her spine. I tell myself I came down here because I wanted to make certain she was enjoying herself.
That’s a lie.
I came because an hour without seeing my wife was intolerable.
That realization should bother me considerably more than it does.
“Is everything okay?” she asks.
There are dozens of answers available. Most of them would preserve my dignity.
Instead, the truth comes out.
“I wanted to see you.”
Both of her eyes open.
For a moment, neither of us speaks.
I bend and press my mouth to the nape of her neck.
“Enjoy the rest of your day, wife.” Fuck. That word is the most beautiful one on the planet.
So that I don’t fuck her ragged, I return to the suite.
“How is she?” Caleb asks.
The image of Sophie stretched beneath that sheet returns immediately. “Oiled.”
His mouth curves.
“Yeah.”
Several hours later, Basil interrupts the silence.
“Mrs. Hawthorne-Pierce is arriving, gentlemen.”
“Thank you, Basil.”
“I live to serve.”
“You don’t live.”
There is a tiny pause.
“An unnecessarily philosophical distinction, Mr. Pierce.”
Sophie steps into the suite before Caleb can answer.
The spa has done exactly what it was supposed to do. Her skin glows. Her hair falls loose around her shoulders. Her nails are polished in some subtle shade I cannot name and do not care about. More importantly, the tension that usually lives between her shoulder blades is gone.
We welcome her back with possessive kisses and then tell her she needs to get ready for the evening. “There’s a dress laid out for you on the bed.”
Moments later, she returns to us, shock widening her eyes, holding the shimmering scrap of fabric that we chose for her.
“You cannot expect me to wear this.”
I move closer. “We not only expect it, we require it.
Caleb comes up behind her and settles his hands on her shoulders. His thumbs press slowly into muscles that the spa spent hours convincing to relax.
She shakes her head. “Tell me this is a joke.”
Caleb answers for both of us. “It’s going to look obscene on you in the best way. We want every man in the room to know exactly who you belong to while they can only look.”
“But—”
“The dress, Sophie.” My voice is flat, allowing no argument. “And nothing else.”