Chapter 32
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Dorian
Damn it all.
She should be in bed or in the bath, relaxing, where she isn’t dirtied by our lives.
Instead, our Isla, my wife, the woman who is coming to mean more to me than anything, stands near the bookshelves. She’s barefoot and damp, her silk robe clinging to skin I haven’t touched since I guided her into that secluded spot at the gala.
That I’ve kept my hands off her is testament to how distracting the situation has become.
A tendril of chestnut hair has slipped free from her magnificent updo, curling against her collarbone like it belongs there—like she belongs here, in this space we never meant for her to enter.
She looks like a storm wrapped in satin.
Fierce.
Fragile.
That robe—ivory, short, dangerous—is barely decent. But it’s not the silk or the skin that unsettles me. It’s her eyes. Shimmering like crushed emeralds, swirling with betrayal and resolve.
She came here for answers.
And now the office hums with tension. Brennan slouches against the bookshelf, arms crossed, jaw tight.
His shirt is rumpled, sleeves rolled up like we’ve already been through a war.
Maybe we have. Between Moretti’s threats, a senator breathing down my neck, and the fucking feds digging into Vale Imports, it’s a miracle we made it through tonight at all.
And now she’s here, equally uninvited as she is undeterred.
The one person I want to protect from this world is staring straight into its jaws. “What did the text say?”
Without looking at her phone, she recites the words. “ You were a vision in blue tonight, Mrs. Vale. But even stars flicker when the wolves begin to circle.”
I slam my whiskey on the desk. Jesus fucking Christ.
“Give it to me.” Brennan extends his hand. “Now.”
She hesitates for a single beat—then hands over the device. Her fingers brush his. No flinch. No fear. Just fury held on a tight leash.
Brennan reads the message, his jaw ticking. “This wording. It’s too close. Whoever sent this was at the gala.”
My heart hammers once against my ribs. They saw her. That gown. That moment. That kiss. They were close enough to witness everything—and quiet enough to disappear.
“I’ll trace the source,” Brennan mutters. “Even if they spoofed it, there’ll be a slip.”
I nod, but the cold is already creeping in. If someone got that close, it’s not just about intimidation. It’s surveillance. Positioning. A reminder that no matter how tightly we guard the gates, there’s always a crack .
Isla crosses her arms, robe cinched tighter like she’s holding herself together with silk and sheer willpower. “We’re not dealing with threats anymore,” she says. “This is a warning.”
And not just to her.
“We’re handling it.”
“Handling it?” She lets out a breathless, furious laugh. “Like you handled my father’s debts?”
Brennan flinches.
Behind her, the office door remains open— our fortress , breached by the woman we swore to protect. A space filled with secrets: blackout shades, war-room energy, a single desk lamp casting shadows on the armchair I took from a man who once tried to destroy me.
To the victor go the spoils.
But this time, victory is slipping through my fingers. And I’m scared in ways that I never have been before.
“You bought me to improve your image for your Senate run. My family is respected.” Then she scoffs.
I don’t answer that. Don’t need to.
“Did you pay for the wedding?”
I’ll tell her what I can, when I can, and this is easy. “Yes.”
She scowls, as if uncovering another new mystery.
I’m across the room before I realize I’ve moved, my fingers curling around her jaw, not to restrain—but to feel . To remind myself she’s real. She’s here.
I’ve lost people before, the only person I ever truly loved.
And I refuse to lose Isla.
“I’m not asking you to be okay with any of this,” I murmur, leaning down to brush my mouth over hers.
She trembles, torn between fire and fear. But she doesn’t pull away.
Brennan moves in, standing nearby. His strokes her arm, his touch steady and grounding .
She softens.
Just slightly.
It’s enough.
I capture her shoulders and guide her backward until the backs of her thighs bump the desk.
She glances behind her, breath hitching, then looks back at me—uncertain, but not unwilling.
I lift her easily, setting her on the cool surface, her legs dangling slightly, silk robe parting like an invitation she doesn’t yet know she’s extended. She shudders as my hands slide up her thighs, my mouth whispering against her skin. “Dorian.” It’s a protest as well as a plea.
She watches me with something wounded and wild in her eyes, but when I undo the silk belt at her waist and pull it free, she doesn’t resist.
Nor does she when I bind her wrists.
Or when I kiss her like I mean it.
And she doesn’t protest when Brennan captures her breast in his palm and squeezes with enough force to be distracting.
And she only gasps quietly when I part her thighs and brush aside her soaked panties to push a finger inside her with the kind of reverence usually reserved for prayer.
She leans back instinctively, her bound wrists bracing her upright on the desk.
My knot was secure, but not overly tight. I didn’t have to make it impossible to escape because she’s choosing to stay.
As we move together, her robe slips from one shoulder, sliding to her waist, exposing the curve of her breast. Brennan is sucking the tip, and I trail my knuckles between her ribs.
Then he releases her and moves behind her. He wraps his hands around her waist, holding her as I deepen my thrusts .
As always, he’s a quiet anchor to my storm as he promises, “I’ve got you.”
She leans back against him, her body trembling with something I recognize—fear, yes. But also anticipation. Trust, fragile but real, like glass warmed in fire.
I press a kiss to her thigh. “Tell me if you want me to stop.”
“I don’t,” she says, voice thick.
“Say it.”
“I want this.”
Those three words break something loose in me.
Her insides clamp down, and I need to be in her.
Pulling away momentarily, I manage to work her panties down her legs.
Brennan slides one palm up her back and fists it into her hair, pulling her head back toward him. “Breathe, sweetheart. We’ll take care of you.”
I lower my mouth to her, tongue teasing her clit with slow, deliberate strokes. She gasps, hips bucking, bound wrists clenching behind her. She’s a live wire, each touch igniting sparks that race through her.
She cries out as I suck harder, her thighs closing around my head.
Brennan’s voice is at her ear. “Let go.”
She does.
Her orgasm rips through her, sharp and shattering. Her back arches, chest heaving as the wave crashes, and I keep going, working her through every last tremor until she’s trembling and cursing softly under her breath.
When I rise, her eyes are glassy with release, but her jaw is set. “Untie me.”
I hesitate.
“I need to touch you,” she says.
I loosen the tie and toss it aside .
She stretches, then reaches for me, pulling me between her legs with a ferocity I wasn’t expecting. Her fingers tear at my shirt, her kiss hot and messy, all tongue and desperation.
“You’re mine too,” she whispers.
God help me, I want that.
I free myself and somehow remember to slip on a condom. Not spilling inside her takes too much restraint.
With a deliberate, fast motion, I thrust deep inside her hot cunt.
She moans—loud and raw—no pretense, no filter. Just need.
Brennan’s hands are on her again, cupping her breasts, teasing her nipples, his mouth finding her throat.
We take her together, our rhythm instinctual. Each movement a promise, each thrust a declaration. I don’t fuck her like I own her. I make love to her like I can’t afford to lose her.
She comes again with my name on her lips, and I follow, spilling into her with a groan that echoes in my ribs.
Brennan finishes after me, his mouth buried in her shoulder, his body shaking with restraint undone.
We collapse into a tangled mess on the desk—skin, sweat, heartbeat.
For a moment, the world is silent. No secrets. No threats. Just the three of us and the afterglow.
Her cheek rests against my chest, her fingers tracing a scar she doesn’t yet know the story of.
“I meant every word I said.”
“And so did I.” She lifts her head. Her eyes are clearer now, the edges of her storm pulled back. “When the rest of the world comes for us, don’t shut me out.”
Brennan kisses her temple. “We’ll do our best.”
I nod, because it’s the only vow I can make right now.
But inside, I feel the ground shifting beneath us. The shadows haven’t stopped moving. The Feds are circling, the senator is playing a long game, and Moretti’s words echo in my skull.
This moment of peace?
It won’t last.
And I don’t know if we’ll survive what’s coming.