Chapter 31 #2
There’s promise and threat in his voice. And my instant response to his tone makes me want to ignore our responsibilities, along with my hair and makeup, and kneel for them, the way I often do.
With his thumbpad, he traces my lower lip. “I can read your mind.”
I steal a peek at his cock. He wants me as bad as I want him. Yes, Sir.
“Someone has to keep a clear head.” Brennan checks his watch. “We’re out of time.”
With the way Dorian’s eyes have darkened, I can tell he doesn’t care in the least.
My hands shaking, I smooth the front of my dress once more.
“I may not wait until tonight.” His threat hanging in the air, Dorian offers his arm .
Unsure whether to be worried or not, I tuck my arm inside his.
We follow Brennan from the room and head for the private elevator that will whisk us to the gala.
“You’re going to do fine.” Brennan’s voice is reassuring, but I have no idea how my men so easily manage to read my mind.
As we exit onto the rooftop of Vale Tower, the humid night air catches my dress and swishes it against my thighs.
Dorian’s arm is steady, giving reassurance that I need but haven’t voiced.
Brennan is on my other side, his navy tux catching the light, his presence a solid wall of heat and strength.
Even though I want to pretend I’m calm and composed, my heart is racing, and my stomach has twisted into a knot of nerves.
This is my first official gala, and we’ve billed it as a philanthropic event for literacy programs, but we all know it’s a cover for Dorian’s upcoming Senate run. I’m terrified I’ll screw it up.
Irving, the planner Dorian hired, has done an amazing job, and the rooftop has been transformed into a dreamland.
Twinkling string lights drape across a pergola while potted ferns and sleek black planters line the glass railing that frames a view of Houston’s skyline.
Glittering towers stretch into the night sky, as if they’re daring the stars to compete.
Tables are covered in white linen and are loaded down with Gulf shrimp skewers, mini crab cakes, and smoked brisket sliders with jalapeno aioli.
In the center of the room, a dessert table nearby groans under tiers of key lime tarts, chocolate-dipped strawberries, double fudge brownies, pecan pralines, and salted caramel cheesecake bites sprinkled with gold leaf that gleams beneath the chandeliers .
Several open bars have been set up, and there’s a line at each as Houston’s glitterati imbibe.
I’m more interested in the champagne fountain that’s nearby. The arranged crystal flutes sparkle like they’re winking in the moonlight.
In the corner, a jazz band strums a low, sultry tune, and the saxophone’s wail curls through the evening air.
As intended, the atmosphere is electric, all money and power.
We make our way to the champagne fountain, and Dorian snags a drink for me. As I accept the glass, my diamond ring catches the light, and I can’t help but stare at it. The sight gives me courage and strength.
Then, her destination clear, I see Celeste weaving through the crowd. Her long emerald dress is both professional and elegant, and her smile is as sharp as ever.
“Isla, you’re stunning.” She air-kisses my cheek, her perfume sharp and expensive. “This gala’s a triumph already.”
I smile, my manners kicking in despite the flutter in my gut. “Thank you, Celeste. I’m just hoping we raise a ton for the literacy programs.”
“We’ll see to it.”
Then she leans closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “This crowd loves a cause they can brag about, and you’ve got them hooked. Those proposals of yours—teacher training, book drives—they’re smart. Lucian is talking about matching donations.”
“Is he?” I scan the room until I see him.
She lifts her glass to hide her wicked grin. “God knows he needs to rehab his tarnished image, especially after the latest rumor.”
Recently I heard he is known as Houston’s living nightmare .
Though Dorian angles his head, he doesn’t disagree with Celeste’s assessment.
“You’re genuine, Isla. That’s rare here. Keep it up, and you’ll have this city eating out of your hand.”
Dorian’s hand settles on my hip, his thumb grazing the chiffon, sending a jolt through me. “She’s more than I deserve.” His voice is low and possessive. And honest, shocking me.
Once we’re alone, we agree to split up, but I’m not sure how I’ll do on my own.
“We need to talk to as many people as we can,” Dorian says.
“I know.” I just don’t like it.
Brennan momentarily joins us, and he trails his fingers on the inside of my wrist. His touch is subtle, as reassuring as it is possessive, and his calluses rough against my skin.
My heart skips, their attention wrapping around me like a second skin. I’m theirs, and it’s terrifying how much I love it.
Flying solo, I stiffen my back and paste a smile on my face, like I learned in etiquette classes. And it’s easier than I imagined.
I geek out over Toni Morrison with a professor, pitch literacy’s ROI to a tech trillionaire, and I manage to charm a philanthropist into writing a six-figure check for the cause.
About an hour later, the crowd’s energy seems to shift, and I catch Dorian’s eye across the room. He’s talking to Lucian, his jaw tight, but his gaze locks on me, dark and hungry. My pulse races, heat pooling low in my belly.
Brennan’s nearby, never far from me, engaged in a conversation with Caleb Pierce.
Then Dante Moretti cuts through the crowd, grabbing my attention. His suit is sharp, his smile as cold as it was at the wedding when he nodded to my father like they shared a dirty secret and he asked about my father’s side business.
“Mrs. Vale.” He dips his head in a gesture that is both smooth and calculated. “This is quite the event.” His eyes linger on my collar, then flick to Dorian, as if he knows something he doesn’t say out loud.
I force a smile, my voice steady. “Glad you think so, Mr. Moretti. We’re hoping to make a real difference.” My pulse races, but I hold his gaze, refusing to let him rattle me.
He leans closer, his voice a low purr. “Keep your husband sharp, Isla. He’ll need to be.”
The words hit like a warning shot, and I tighten my grip on my champagne flute. What the hell does that mean?
I open my mouth to press him, but Dorian’s already moving in, his presence cutting through the crowd like a blade. His eyes are locked on me, and their depths are burning with heat.
My body turns molten, anticipating his touch, the way he’ll make me forget the world.
As he reaches me, the jazz band pauses, and Irving’s voice crackles over a microphone. “Ladies and gentlemen, a moment, please.” The crowd quiets, heads turning.
Dorian stops, his gaze flicking to the stage, then back to me. “Soon,” he mouths.
Irving gestures to Dorian. “Mr. Vale would like to say a few words.”
Capturing my hand, Dorian leads the way to a small platform, his confidence magnetic, drawing every eye.
He takes the mic, his voice smooth but commanding.
“Thank you all for being here tonight. Your generosity is transforming lives, putting books in kids’ hands, and building futures through literacy.
But I’d be remiss if I didn’t thank the heart of this cause—my beautiful wife, Isla. ”
He sweeps his gaze over me, and I’m lost in his eyes .
“Her passion for education, her fire… It’s an honor to stand beside her in this noble endeavor. So, raise a glass to her, and to the difference we’re all making together tonight.”
The crowd erupts in applause, glasses clinking, and my cheeks flush, a mix of pride and nerves. Dorian steps down, his eyes never leaving mine, and I feel the weight of his words, his claim, wrapping around me like his touch.
“Come with me.” Before anyone else can join us, he clamps his hand on my elbow and steers me outside, toward a quiet corner of the rooftop, where the lights are dim and the ferns create a curtain of green.
The jazz fades, the city’s hum taking over, and my breath catches as he backs me against a glass railing, the cool surface biting my skin through my gown.
With the way he’d eyed me so hungrily before we left the penthouse, I should have expected this.
“Dorian—” My eyes widen as I sense his intent. The man takes scandalous behavior to new heights every chance he gets. “Not here. We can’t—” My protest dissolves as he crashes his mouth onto mine, all heat and hunger.
He grabs the skirt of my gown, bunching the chiffon, and I’m unable to protest. Instead, I dig my fingers into his tuxedo.
With his tongue, he claims me. He’s whiskey and sin, and I’m drowning, my body igniting as it always does for him.
The slit in my gown parts, and he eases his fingers inside my lace panties. I’m already slick and ready.
“Fuck, yes.”
Gasping, I rock my hips against his touch.
“So goddamn exquisite.” He growls the words against my lips as his fingers circle my clit with ruthless precision. “Watching you own the room… I couldn’t wait another fucking second.”
His touch is relentless, stroking, teasing, and I bite my lip to keep from moaning loud enough for the whole gala to hear.
A flash snaps me out of my haze, and I look up to see Marcella, that damn photographer, near a fern, her camera clicking.
Though my cheeks are burning, Dorian doesn’t stop. Instead, he plunges deeper, curling against that spot that makes my knees buckle. “Ignore her.” His breath is hot against my neck. “I want the world to know you’re mine.”
Moments later, Marcella is gone, and my body’s screaming, pleasure coiling so tight I’m shaking, but the exposure makes my heart race.
I’m bare, vulnerable, pinned between Dorian’s touch and the city skyline, and God, it’s thrilling.
“Dorian… I…” My voice breaks, and I’m not sure if I want him to stop or push me over the edge.
His eyes dark with devilment, he pulls back to smooth my gown into place with deliberate care.
“Wait!”
He grins. “Later, little one.” His voice is a vow, leaving me trembling, aching.
After kissing my hand, he rejoins the crowd.