Chapter 27
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Isla
How is this my life?
I should be at school today. Instead, I just found a spectacular engagement ring, and I’m now seated in a helicopter. The blades are slicing through the hot, humid air, and I’m gripping Dorian’s hand.
Still, neither Dorian nor Brennan will tell me where we’re going.
Below us the Gulf sparkles, a vast expanse of turquoise and sapphire. A barge appears in the distance, its name painted in bold white letters: The Landing .
We begin to descend, and my tummy plunges. Are we heading toward that floating thing?
“You’re doing fine,” Dorian reassures me through the headset I’m wearing.
Doesn’t feel that way to me.
With a gentle thud, the helicopter lands on the moving platform.
The side door slides open, and warm, salty air rushes in. Brennan exits first, scanning the surroundings before offering his hand. I take it, stepping onto the barge. Dorian’s hand is steady on my back.
Nearby, a sleek yacht waits, its white hull gleaming under the midday sun. Elysium. A paradise for heroes.
Moments later, we transfer to a tender boat that ferries us across the short distance.
“You’ve got to be kidding,” I tell Brennan.
He shrugs. “It’s our honeymoon.”
This day has gone from surreal to shocking.
As we board the yacht, a crew member greets us with chilled champagne flutes. Dorian accepts one for me, pressing it into my hand, his fingers lingering on mine.
“Everything is ready for you on deck,” the crew member says, gesturing toward the aft. “All your bags are in the primary cabin, Mr. Vale.”
Dorian’s lips curve. “Good. Isla’s things are packed as I instructed?”
“Yes, sir. Clothing, toiletries, and a swimsuit, per your specifications.”
I raise an eyebrow, but Dorian only smiles confidently as he guides me toward the deck.
Now that we’re aboard with beverages, the yacht gets underway, gliding smoothly through the Gulf. The waves are gentle but insistent, rocking us just enough to remind me that we’re no longer on solid ground.
The deck is shaded by a taut canvas canopy, offering relief from the relentless sun—but the heat still clings, heavy and sensual. The air is fresh with salt and maybe the faint tang of polished teak.
“Lunch is ready, if you are, sir?” a steward asks Dorian.
At his nod, the steward leads us to a table set at the center of the shaded aft deck. Crisp white linens flutter slightly in the breeze, and silverware glints under the diffused light .
A spread of seafood awaits—lobster tails drizzled with lemon butter, oysters nestled on beds of crushed ice, and delicate crab cakes paired with vibrant mango salsa.
The view is breathtaking. The Gulf stretches on forever, a shimmering expanse broken only by the occasional leap of a dolphin in the distance. For a moment, I can pretend we’re all alone in the world.
But it’s the heat in Dorian’s gaze and the quiet intensity in Brennan’s that holds me captive. Their eyes promise things that make my pulse race.
“Shall we?” Dorian pulls back a chair for me, and his knuckles brush the side of my breast as I sit. There’s no doubt it was a calculated graze.
Instantly my nipples harden, and my breath catches.
I look up at him, and he grins, all predator, no pretense. My husband is a menace. He did that intentionally, wanting me on edge.
Beneath the table, Brennan moves a hand to the inside of my thigh. His fingers are warm and deliberate, stroking just above my knee.
My lack of panties has left me vulnerable, hyperaware of every touch, every breeze that teases my bare skin.
The crew moves discreetly around us, their eyes averted but present, and the thrill of their nearness only heightens the tension coiling through me.
While I was distracted, Dorian filled my plate, and I take a bite of a crab cake. The sweet, tender meat bursts on my tongue. It’s the best I’ve ever had. “How long are we here for?”
Dorian quirks a brow, his lips twitching. “Overnight.”
Before I can protest, Brennan’s hand slides higher, his fingers grazing the sensitive skin of my inner thigh, dangerously close to where I’m already aching.
“We have a sitter for Calypso.” His voice is low and steady, as if he’s not unraveling me with every inch he claims. “I went over all the instructions with her twice. There’s even a phone number if you want to talk to her yourself. She’ll be staying overnight in our cottage.”
I tip my head to study him, my heart softening even as my body burns. “Are you kidding me?”
“I knew you wouldn’t be able to relax unless you were sure she was taken care of.”
Once more, my heart melts, a warmth that clashes with the heat pooling between my legs. “Thank you.”
He exchanges a glance with Dorian and grins, a rare flash of mischief. “Self-serving.”
I look at Dorian, whose eyes are dark, smoldering, a promise of decadence. No doubt he’s planned a sexfest for us. And with the way Brennan’s fingers now creep higher, brushing the edge of my folds, there’s nothing I want more.
I shift in my seat, trying to maintain composure as a crew member refills our drinks, his movements precise, oblivious to the torment unfolding beneath the tablecloth.
Dorian leans closer, his breath warm against my ear. “You’re so wet already, aren’t you, little one?” His voice is a low purr, and before I can answer, his hand joins Brennan’s under the table.
The man I married boldly slides his fingers between my thighs. He parts my folds, teasing my entrance, while Brennan’s thumb finds my clit, circling with maddening precision. I bite my lip, stifling a gasp, my fork trembling in my hand as I fight to focus on my plate.
The moment our steward arrives with dessert, I’m teetering on the edge, my body a live wire.
“Coconut panna cotta with pineapple carpaccio and lime zest.” He sets down shallow white bowls, the creamy dessert jiggling faintly.
Dorian is relentless, slipping his fingers inside me, curling, seeking my G-spot with ruthless accuracy, while Brennan’s thumb presses harder, a slow, torturous rhythm that makes my thighs quiver. I grip the table’s edge, my knuckles white, as the steward retreats, none the wiser.
Aware of Brennan watching my mouth, I take a bite of the panna cotta. Cool, creamy coconut melts on my tongue, the pineapple tangy and sweet, a little wild. “Oh my God. This is amazing.” My voice is breathy, betraying me.
“Is it?” Dorian tests his, nodding, satisfied, his fingers thrusting deeper, slow and deliberate, each stroke dragging me closer to ruin.
Brennan shifts, his hand retreating only to be replaced by Dorian’s thumb on my clit, while Brennan’s fingers now plunge into me, finding that same sensitive spot with devastating skill. They’ve switched, seamless, merciless, and I’m drowning, my body screaming for release I know they won’t grant.
“If you’re not going to eat that, I want to save it for later,” I manage, desperate to sound normal, even as my hips shift involuntarily, chasing their touch.
Brennan grins, his eyes glinting with dark amusement. “You’re a fan.” His fingers curl inside me, stroking my G-spot with expert precision, and I clench around him, a whimper caught in my throat.
“I’ll have our chef make it weekly,” Dorian says, his tone casual, as if he’s not orchestrating this sensual onslaught.
He leans back, withdrawing his hand, leaving Brennan to continue. My body aches, begging for a climax, but they’re toying with me, keeping me on the precipice, their control absolute.
I put down my spoon, my hands trembling. “You have a chef?”
“We do.” Dorian licks his fingers with deliberate slowness, the sight nearly undoing me. “Although Brennan typically makes breakfast.”
I blink, trying to process the mundane detail through the haze of desire. My family had a housekeeper who helped with a few meals each week, but a dedicated chef? Honestly I hadn’t thought through the logistics of being in a relationship with these two men.
Grocery shopping, cooking, laundry, cleaning… All of that would be a lot to keep up with, especially since I’ll be teaching, researching, and supporting a spouse running for Senate. And Celeste and Everett both made it clear I’m a necessary part of this campaign.
Brennan’s fingers finally still, leaving me throbbing and unsatisfied.
I sigh, realizing I’m already surrendering to their world, their rhythm, their power. The absence of their touch is a punishment, a reminder of who holds the reins, and God help me, I crave more.
Once the table has been cleared, Dorian stands, his presence commanding. “I’ve waited long enough.”
You’ve waited long enough?
What about me?
It’s not like I’ve been stroking or sucking him off while he ate.
Since I don’t want him deciding that’s an excellent idea, I keep my mouth shut.
When he offers his hand, I accept.
Brennan’s eyes darken, and he follows, a silent predator at my side.
As we cross the deck, the breeze tugs at my hair and sunlight winks off the Gulf. A set of double doors glides open at our approach, revealing a corridor that’s all teak and hushed luxury. The soft click of our footsteps is the only sound as Dorian leads me toward a wide doorway at the end .
Once we’re in the primary cabin with the door closed and locked behind us, the air shifts, hanging thick with intent. The room is opulent: rich wood paneling: a king-size bed draped in gorgeous linens and floor-to-ceiling windows that offer an uninterrupted view of the water.
But it’s the restraints on the bedposts that make me slow blink. They’re black leather, stark and a little scary in the soft light.
My breath freezes as desire and nerves twist together.
Dorian stops behind me, his hands on my shoulders. Then he peels off my dress with slow precision. The silk pools at my feet, leaving me bare except for my collar and heels.
“You pleased us today.” He grazes my neck with his lips. “Now we’ll please you.”
Brennan moves in front, his fingers tracing the intricate vines. “But you’ll earn it, Isla.” His voice is rough, reverent, and I tremble under their dual gazes.
Dorian guides me to the bed and presses me down onto my back.
Methodically each man closes a cuff around my wrists. The leather is cool against my skin, making my mouth water. Nervously I tug, testing their hold.
Not a surprise, they’re secure. Unforgiving.
My chest rises and falls rapidly, part from fear, part from uncertainty.
Every time I think they’ve claimed me in every way possible, they find a way to bind us even deeper.
Next, they move to my legs and attach my ankles to cuffs.
I’m spread wide for them, unable to run or hide.
After they both roll condoms on, Brennan kneels between my legs to spread my thighs. “You’re so beautiful.” He flicks his tongue out, teasing, and I gasp, lifting my hips .
Dorian watches, his eyes burning, one hand stroking himself through his slacks. “You’ll beg him for release.”
I’m already desperate. “Please.” My voice breaks. “Please, Brennan, Dorian—make me yours.”
Brennan’s mouth descends, and he licks and sucks me with relentless skill, driving me to the edge.
Then finally Dorian joins him, pinching my nipples, twisting just enough to make me cry out. The pain blends with pleasure, a heady mix that drowns me. My first orgasm hits fast, a wave crashing through me, and I scream, pulling against the cuffs.
They don’t stop.
Dorian replaces Brennan, his tongue delving deep, while Brennan moves to my side, his cock brushing my lips. “Open for me, Isla.”
I do, taking him in, the taste of him grounding me as Dorian pushes me toward another climax. The room fills with my whimpers, their groans, the sounds of our union.
I’m trembling, sweat-slick and undone. And still they’re not finished with me.
Dorian steps back, his eyes glinting with wicked intent. “You’re perfect like this, little one.” His voice becomes a low growl. “Ours to take.” Then he reaches into a drawer by the bed and pulls out a black silk blindfold.
Oh Lord.
My pulse spikes as he leans over me. “You’ll feel us, but you won’t know who’s claiming you.”
I swallow hard, my body trembling with anticipation.
“Give us your consent?”