CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
TESSA
Maddox hauls me through the penthouse, still thrown over his shoulder, which I realize is less about me digging my heels in and more about not wanting his family to derail whatever mission he’s on.
“Are you finally taking me to my suite?” I ask to his backside as we step into the elevator.
“Nope.” He sets me on my feet, but doesn’t elaborate. His curt response is infuriating, even as he sweeps his hand up and down my spine.
I’m starting to wonder if he isn’t going to give me my own space.
And I need it. I need to sort through everything.
His brothers calling me a Noire queen takes Maddox’s declarations in the heat of passion up a notch or even those after my migraine.
This felt bigger. He must’ve told them to claim me.
That’s why they interrogated me. They wanted to see if I’d be loyal to him.
I know enough from our members that a gesture like this is a no-turning-back scenario.
My mind is at war with how to process that. Part of me wants to push back because I wasn’t given a choice. And my life is spinning out of control. But the other part is swooning. I’m usually the one people fight against, not for.
As if he senses my internal battle, he stacks the swooning argument by seizing my lips, his fingertips skimming along my jaw until they’re holding my neck, keeping me where he wants me.
Goose bumps flame from every pore. I don’t fight him for dominance, like I have so many times.
I let his tongue command mine, his mammoth limbs engulf me, and his celebratory-sin fragrance become the scent of days that don’t feel real, but still feel like mine.
Before I know it, I’ve completely missed our trek through the lobby.
He guides me down the stairwell to Magie Noire.
I’ve never been there. Employees who don’t work there aren’t permitted inside.
There are back ways into the sex club, secret passageways.
Mercy told me about one she and Ryker take. I’d prefer that.
I stop before we reach the entrance, my heart pounding against my sternum and blood flow rushing against my eardrums, completely drowning out the jazz music piped through the speakers. “Why this way?”
He chuckles. “See? Always digging your heels in.”
I release a sigh as he trudges forward, yanking on his hand to fulfill his view of me being stubborn, but I’m not sure I’m ready for this. “Can’t we enter through a back way?”
“No.” His smoldering grays rake over me, like fleece in summertime. Too hot and too soft at once. “We’re going to my private room, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
My mind hadn’t drifted to that concern yet, but it’s valid. How many women has he entertained in here? I can’t go there. We both have our pasts. I was no angel. Still, it’s out there now.
I shake my head, struggling to find my words.
“So, it’s the worry of being seen,” he correctly discerns. “I’m taking you through the club because it’s imperative that everyone knows we’re together.”
“Oh.” My shoulders fall slightly with relief. I’m still not thrilled about it, but I guess we’ll be taking a lot of precautions. “This is for protection?”
“No. That’s a benefit.” He readjusts our threaded fingers, dusting his thumb over my skin. “We’re going to walk through there, hand in hand, because I want the whole world to know you’re mine, Tess. Magie Noire is a good place to get the ball rolling.”
I’m not sure how to argue with that. It’s another brick in the swoony pile, so I simply say, “Okay.”
We enter swiftly after Maddox scans his thumb, strolling past employees who subtly side-eye us and members who ignore me, but nod at Maddox with reverence.
That’s when it smacks me in the face. This is our first public appearance.
And it’s at the sex club he owns. It’s safe to say I’ve obliterated any delusions my mother had about my life.
Despite what her narrow-minded vision would be, it’s upscale.
Classy. We make our way through a gathering area that isn’t very crowded.
It’s designed like a ritzy nightclub. Elegant chandeliers and top-shelf liquor.
Velvet and leather and scandalous history.
The lighting is dim. You could lose track of time here, get sucked in and stay for days.
Forget which era you’re from. The clandestine Prohibition vibe that the whole resort thrives on reigns here.
Secrets written in the molding. Invitation only. Coded entry.
Exclusivity is a drug. Everyone wants to be chosen.
Men wear tailored suits, arrogance, and cloak-and-dagger intrigue. Women are clad in cocktail dresses and lust. Feathers and lace and pearls. I’m sorely underdressed. It highlights how much better I belong as an employee.
When we reach a hallway with a sign that reads Private, Owners’ Wing, nerves prickle my skin. It’s all starting to feel so real.
Maddox scans his retina and ushers me into his room. A whiff of salt and sea floods my senses, as if it were an oceanside resort. Other than his whimsically wicked fragrance, that’s my favorite scent.
The space is more elegant than I would’ve expected. Less like a seedy dungeon, more like a luxurious pleasure den. Everything is plush. Regal. Black and purple, like his bedroom. A huge king-size bed with pillars. Toys on the walls. A sex swing. One of those cross things.
And a throne.
“This is yours?” I ask, so out of my element.
I’ve always been the sexually confident one in my relationships. Even with Maddox, I’ve held my own. But he’s transformed that chemistry we had into something much more intimate over the last few days. Coming face-to-face with his royal fuckboy habitat is like whiplash.
“Ours,” he corrects.
“Okay,” I mutter, trying to lean into the sweetness of that response while also being honest about where my head is. “But this is where you …”
“It’s all new,” he explains, his gaze burning my skin. “It didn’t look anything like this a couple of days ago. And I haven’t been in here for a long time. I designed this for us, but we can add whatever you’d like.”
“Oh,” is all I can muster.
He put a throne in here. For us?
I’m not sure how I feel about that. No. I think I might be pissed about it.
He struts over to some black curtains, tying them back on a hook to display a life-size picture. “Recognize this?”
It’s one of my drawings. He had it enlarged and hung it here? I love that sketch. It’s the back of a woman. She’s naked, her dark hair swept aside and spilling over one shoulder. A rope binds her wrists behind the small of her back, accentuating the curve of her hips.
My hand rises to my chest as I try to quell the hammering inside. It’s fruitless. As if my intuition discerns the contrast, my focus flicks to Maddox. So comfortable … in his kingdom.
He slips his shoes off and unbuttons his shirt. “Did Axel and Ryker talk to you about what it means to be mine?”
The change in subject is unnerving. Everything about this day has been.
I turn back to the sketch. “Mostly about the protection offered to me and my family.”
“And how did you respond?” he presses, probably testing me, like they were.
“I politely told them I wouldn’t be bribed to be yours. That we needed to discuss it, and if I decided to be with you, it would be because it was right.” My eyes don’t move from the woman I drew. My mind won’t dismiss the sight of her bondage. “Not because they offered me something.”
“It’s a done deal.” His voice is gruff with that, brooking no room for argument.
My veins pump with ire. I knew it was a done deal, but hearing it pushes all my buttons.
“I sensed that,” I grit out, unsure if I should rage or run or simply surrender.
“I love all your drawings because there is something so authentic in them. So honest. But that one felt right for here, and I wanted you to see your mark all over La Lune Noire.” He moves behind me, his breath cascading over my shoulders and acting like a magnet, pulling me toward him, but I fight it.
My sketches are a window to my soul, like when I’m tattooing someone, etching a piece of myself onto them. His observation alone is a testament to how much better he knows me than my own flesh and blood ever did. It confuses everything.
The first beats of “Inferno” by Sub Urban and Bella Poarch trill from his phone, and I briefly wonder what playlist this is. He has so many, all designated for different tasks—driving, walk-throughs, ignoring Axel.
“I thought after the shitty morning we had, we could use a retreat.” He splays his hand over my stomach, tugging my hips back and anchoring me to him as he sways us to the beat. “But all you can think about is bolting.”
He’s right about both the need for a retreat and my desire to escape. If I dismiss the way he’s chained me to this world without my consent, I want nothing more than to enjoy him. But I can’t wrap my head around what his message is with this. I’ll never be meek and obedient.
Disregarding the mention of my urge to flee, I reroute us. “A retreat with a throne?”
“Yes,” he confirms, and the imprint of his hand on my abs and his erection spearing my backside sears into me like pinpricks of fire.
My breathing grows shallow, my war to be my own person raging within while my body longs to be swallowed by this man. Maybe we simply need clarity.
“What they didn’t tell me is what would be expected of me.” I hate the quaver delivering that, the heartbreaking lilt to my conclusion. “I’m not sure I’m what you’re looking for.”
He spins me toward him, and the scene is upside down from all my fears. I’m still dressed. His clothes are gone. His hair is down. His cock is hard and glistening.
And vulnerability stains every inch of him as vibrantly as the ink on his skin.
“I wasn’t looking.” He drags his knuckles down my cheek.
“That’s why it took me so long to make you mine.
You were right there—this gorgeous doll I was infatuated with—but I had myself shut off.
I avoided you because I think I knew if I ever broke down your walls, if I ever got to be the person who knew what hid behind your sharp tongue and quick wit, it wouldn’t be a fleeting thing.
And that terrified me. You’re everything I was afraid to want, but couldn’t escape.
We were inevitable, Tess. You’re my home. ”
My throat feels raw from his confession. “You don’t get to say things like that in the same breath that you inform me I am essentially owned by you.”
He clasps my throat, a tatted hand necklace of impassioned caution. “I’ll say what I fucking want because it’s true. I’ll tell you, you’re everything, that you make me crazy, that I can’t fucking breathe without you for the rest of our goddamn lives because you own me too.”
I own him too.
My heart explodes in my chest.
I glance past him, at the throne again, noticing the outline of either the king or queen of spades embedded into the indigo velvet and another detail. “It has constraints on it, Drac.”
“Yeah.” He winks and smiles. It’s crooked and haughty, and it loosens the tightness in my chest. “Designed for us, baby. Thought it was a good example of being Noire royalty.”
“Being bound to a pretty chair?” Trailing my fingers over his pecs to his abs, I curl my hand around his shaft, firm pressure without moving. “Is it for you or me to be strapped to?”
“Either.” He thrusts his hips into my hand and grants me a smirk when I squeeze tighter, a glutton for teasing.
“We both have a seat in this empire. There are perks to holding it, unbelievable perks that can be life changing and”—he shoves my tube top with a built-in bra down to my waist, palms my breast, and his mouth descends upon my nipple, jostling the bar to elicit a moan from me and emphasize his point—“otherworldly. But there are also drawbacks, things that might make you feel constrained.”
He walks me backward until my knees hit the bed and we topple onto it, my hand still secure on his dick, provoking him to growl and pump into me on instinct. Still, he keeps his train of thought.
“When you’re in that chair, bound to the position, I’ll spoil you”—he rips off my tube top, shorts, and panties, tossing them aside before swirling my clit—“worship you, serve you, take care of you, put your needs ahead of anyone else’s, including my own. It will be a challenge, but worth it.”
I’m cocooned in a euphoric haze, but I think about his point, not hating the idea yet unwilling to throw the white flag. “And you get tied to the throne too?”
“I’ve been tied to a throne since I was fourteen and inherited all of this.
Maybe before then. Since birth.” He hovers above me, finally brushing his lips against mine, a featherlight touch that vanishes in an instant, making me ache.
His own brand of teasing. “If you want the visual representation of that, I’ll gladly let you bind me to it.
I’ll order you to crawl to me, issue my demands, and you can make me feel good. ”
He thrusts two fingers inside me, grinning victoriously when I buck into him with a throaty groan. “But it would mean you don’t get touched. Shame when your pussy is weeping all over my hand.”
When my brows furrow, he elaborates. “The one in the chair dictates. Tied down but commanding. If I’m in that seat, I’ll only be using your mouth.”
God, he plays dirty.