Chapter 33
Chapter Thirty-Three
Lucian
Caleb turns the lock, sealing all of us inside the penthouse with a heavy, final click.
Sophie’s breath catches, and her eyes are wide. She’s right to wonder what we have in store for her delectable little body.
She moves to the center of the penthouse in that impossible dress, wrap discarded, metal still biting her nipples into tight, obvious peaks.
In the uncovered windows, Vegas burns gold and red behind her. She looks like she belongs to the night—and to us.
I’ll never fucking get enough of her.
“You want to come, don’t you? Want us to take off the clamps and give you some relief.”
“I… Yes…”
“And you’re hoping we forgot what we said to you back at the Sterling.”
Slowly she nods.
Caleb crosses to her and takes her shoulders. “We never forget, Sophie.”
Her gaze snaps to mine, as if hoping for relief from me.
I shake my head. For the moment, I’m going to enjoy watching.
With his strong hands on her, Caleb turns Sophie toward the glass.
Then, without rushing, he draws the zipper down.
The scandalous dress slips from her shoulders and pools on the floor.
She’s standing there, back to us, wearing nothing but her heels, her perfect little body just begging for attention.
“I want to look at you.”
She faces us again, and the sight of her—bare and clamped, holding herself with that feminine dignity—makes my cock pulse.
“Now please raise your hands above your head and lace your fingers together.”
Slowly, swallowing deeply, she does.
Her clamps catch a stray reflection of light. The position offers her breasts to us, full and marked and waiting.
And receive attention, they will.
Caleb taps the inside of her ankle. “Spread yourself open for us, Sophie.”
How perfect is she?
She’s gone from being a virgin to our tentative, curious submissive without losing even one bit of her fire.
I imagined a future with her. And nothing I pictured came close to reality.
I come in on her right. Caleb takes her left. The city falls away, and she is the only thing I see.
“Give yourself over to us, Sophie.”
I roll one clamped peak between my fingers, slow enough that she feels the pull through the bite of metal. Caleb mirrors me, but he rolls the opposite direction to overwhelm her.
A shiver runs through her. Her thighs tremble once before she steadies them.
“So brave. We love seeing how much you’re willing to take for us.”
I slide my free hand down, smiling when I find her slick, ready for our possession.
Watching her responses, I part her carefully and press two fingers into her. Her mouth opens a little more as she accepts the intrusion. I know she has to be sensitive from all our lovemaking, but she clenches around me in total surrender.
I add a third finger because I want her throbbing and dripping before what comes next.
She rises onto the balls of her feet. The heels make a small, helpless sound against the marble.
Caleb draws the small clamp from his pocket. It’s finer than the others, designed for one precise, devastating placement.
I withdraw only far enough to expose that swollen, tiny bundle of nerves.
She knows what’s coming, and she tries to close her thighs.
Caleb’s hand settles on her hip. “Hold still for us.”
“I…” Her gaze locks on mine, beseeching. “Lucian, I can’t.”
We wait for a safe word that never comes.
Then the metal kisses her clit.
“God!” The cry rips out of her. Her body jerks. Her fingers whiten where they’re laced together.
Her hips twitch as if she cannot decide whether to escape the bite or press into it.
I’ve never been harder. My cock has never throbbed this incessantly.
Anguish is written on her face.
“Breathe through it, wife.” I watch every flicker as it crosses her. “You can do this for us.”
She does. God help me, she does.
Her chest heaves, and tears glitter at the corners of her eyes. I know it’s from the bite of pain but also from sensation stacking on sensation—her nipples, her clit…her need.
I touch the inflamed spot, and heat coats my fingers all over again.
“Keep your hands where they are.”
“Lucian…”
“You can.” I work her with a patience that costs me.
Every stroke is meant to show her who she belongs to.
When I curl my fingers and find that swollen place inside her, her forehead drops forward, and a broken sound slips out of her that I feel all the way down my spine.
Caleb’s mouth finds the side of her throat. He tugs one of her nipples, just enough, and she clenches hard around my hand.
And now I want her pleasure the way I once wanted her capture. Completely. Relentlessly. As if it is the foundation of everything we are going to build.
I do not stop until the insides of her thighs gleam and she is shaking hard enough that Caleb has to slide an arm around her waist.
“You may come.”
Caleb wraps his hands around her slight wrists, holding her steady, imprisoned as I stroke her, filthy and thorough.
Then, with a sharp, startled cry, she shatters, pulsing around my fingers. I stay with her until she is wet to mid-thigh.
Caleb looks at me, and I nod.
He moves her to the coffee table and bends her over it as I free myself and sink into her scalding heat on one long, claiming thrust.
She takes me with a moan that vibrates through both of us.
Caleb turns her face and offers his cock. Obediently she opens her mouth, as if she’s desperate to be filled by us.
I grip her hipbones and drive, watching the three of us in the dark glass beyond the table.
For eight years, I built the cage.
I did not expect the way my chest would tighten when she trusted us enough to remain inside it.
I reach around her and take off the clamp.
She comes apart with a scream, clenching so hard I have to lock my jaw.
Moments later, Caleb follows, groaning low, spilling across her tongue.
I last only a few more strokes before I bury myself to the hilt and come with a sound I barely recognize, flooding her, holding her through every pulse as if the world beyond us has ceased to exist.
We ease her onto the couch, and she tips her head back, completely limp and undone.
Gently, sucking and rolling, Caleb removes the remaining clamps.
We should take her to bed. Clean her. Let her sleep.
Instead, I flatten my palm over the soft plane of her stomach, and the image arrives without mercy. Sophie rounded. Heavy. Carrying what we just put in her. Ours in a way even rings and vows cannot touch.
Her lashes lift. She covers my hand with hers, sleepy and unsuspecting, and smiles as if the worst of the night is over. I smile back, because I am not ready to tell her what I know.
That the next eight years have just begun.