CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Magic had transformed the suite beyond recognition.
The four-poster bed waited beneath cascading white orchids and verdant vines, backlit by tiny lights that mimicked stars caught in a net.
Candlelight danced across marble, softening the darkness that gathered in each corner.
Wine-red sheets draped the mattress, not just a color but a confession, fabric that had heard and kept countless whispered promises.
Roses perfumed the air, mingling with something deeper, Sandalwood. The scent I'd come to recognize as his.
I lingered by the window, watching the city's jeweled lights spread beneath us.
My fingers curled around cool crystal, the sweet liquid inside doing little to calm the flutter beneath my ribs that I wouldn't acknowledge, even to myself.
Beneath my dress, black lace clung to my skin like temptation with intent—hearts stitched into the cups and garter as if mocking the idea that anything about tonight was innocent. I would’ve laughed if my pulse hadn’t been so loud.
Alaric watched me from where he stood near the bed, one hand in his suit pocket, the other carrying his glass of rum. The tuxedo jacket was already gone; the vest hung open. His tie was loose. He looked nothing like the man who’d stood before the Dominion hours ago.
He looked like my husband.
How I wound up with one of those that wasn’t my father’s age was a miracle. His gaze dragged over me, slow enough that I felt it like fingers trailing heat along my skin.
“You’re avoiding me,” he observed, amused.
I took another sip, heat curling in my stomach. “Just giving you a moment to take it all in.”
His laughter came soft as he set his glass down on the nearest table and crossed the room with the unhurried calm he carried.
“Selene, I’ve been taking it in since the second you walked into that restaurant.”
He gently pulled my drink from my hand and sat it down. He came back and stopped in front of me, close enough that I had to tip my chin up to meet his eyes. Close enough that his heat pressed through every inch of space between us.
His fingers brushed my jaw first, then traced down the side of my neck, slow, reverent. He reached behind me, fingertips grazing the zipper of my reception dress where it dipped low against my spine. I felt the question before he voiced it.
“Let me?”
A quiet request that sounded nothing like surrender and everything like ownership offered, not taken.
I nodded.
He slid the zipper down with agonizing slowness, the fabric loosening around me like falling petals. His knuckles grazed each vertebra as he descended, each touch a spark.
“Gorgeous…” His voice brushed my ear. “Look at you.”
I did in the glass reflection.
Black lace, bare skin, the Kostas bride reflected back like a sin waiting to be confessed. I felt the last of my dress slip to the floor, pooling around my feet like an offering neither of us intended to pick up again.
The room glowed gold around us, soft lights tangled in white flowers above the bed. Everything looked unreal. Or maybe it was just the way he was looking at me. His hands framed my waist, fingers splayed, thumbs brushing the lace at my ribs as if learning the pattern by touch.
“You don’t know,” he murmured against my skin, “how long I’ve imagined this. You—standing in front of me like this.”
His thumb brushed my lower lip; I leaned into his touch without hesitation.
His mouth claimed mine with deliberate slowness that gradually deepened into something consuming.
My knees weakened beneath me as I clutched at his vest for stability.
his hand traveling up the bare skin of my back while the other secured my hip, eliminating any space between us.
The contact sent liquid fire coursing through my veins.
"Selene," he breathed against my mouth, "I can feel you trembling."
"No," I denied softly.
He smiled knowingly and pressed his forehead to mine, our breathing synchronizing in the narrow space between us.
“I want you to remember this night,” he said softly. “All of it. Not because it’s a Dominion tradition, because it’s ours.”
His fingers brushed the clasp of my garter belt, dragging lightly along the strap, sending a shiver up my spine.
“Come here,” he said, guiding me backward toward the bed—slow, deliberate, giving me time, giving me room to breathe. At the edge of the bed, he stopped, lifting my chin so I’d meet his eyes.
“No running away tonight,” he murmured. “You’re mine, Selene.”
My voice barely made it out. “And you’re mine.”
His expression shifted. He lowered his head and kissed me again before finally removing the rest of his clothes.
Alaric stripped like a man who enjoyed being watched—slow, deliberate, every movement intentional. The vest went first, sliding off his shoulders as he kept his eyes on me. That was followed by one silver clasp at a time.
He moved closer and his fingers hooked into the knot of his tie, loosening it with a practiced pull before tossing it aside.
His fingers went to the first button of his shirt.
One. Then the next. Each one undone with a patience that made me want to either claw at him or beg.
The fabric slid from his shoulders, falling to the floor like it knew better than to stay between us.
I’d seen him shirtless before. Dozens of times. Pressed beneath his mouth, riding his thigh, or kneeling between his legs with his hand fisted in my hair while he groaned my name.
I knew exactly how he liked his cock sucked, slow at first, with one hand at the base and my tongue circling the underside until his grip tightened and he muttered Greek into my hair. I knew how his mouth felt between my thighs, how his fingers worked me open until I was shaking.
But sex, that line he never breached.
I knew he wanted me; he’d never hidden that fact from the moment we started shared a bed and toeing every other line possible. It was the Dominion, the tradition, the need to keep his bride untouched until the wedding night that held him barely in check. A reputation thing on my behalf.
Tonight was different.
This was the first time I looked at him as his wife.
His tattoos were a map of every ruthless part of him, ink curling over his biceps, across his chest, down his ribs. Sharp lines. Heavy black. Greek script along his collarbone that translated roughly to For the Dominion, unto death.
His skin was warm gold under the soft lights, cut with muscle and showed all the hours he spent keeping himself in shape. He was beautiful in a way that should have been illegal. His eyes held mine, the beautiful blue darkened as he bracketed my hips with his hands.
“You’re staring,” he murmured, voice low enough to melt down my spine.
I swallowed, my palm drifting up his chest, over ink and heat and the steady beat beneath. “I’ve never seen you like this,” I whispered.
A slow, sinful smile pulled at his mouth.
“You’ve seen all of me.” He dipped, lips brushing mine without giving me the kiss.
His hands trailed over the lace of the garter, following every curve with reverence disguised as restraint. He didn't touch the obvious places. He never had to. He knew exactly where to tease.
His fingertips drifted over the delicate black hearts of the lingerie.
“You wore this to destroy me,” he accused.
“You deserve to be destroyed a little.”
A low sound left him—half laugh, half something darker. “Careful, I intend to return the favor.”
His hands slid to my hips, then up, tracing the narrowest part of my waist. I felt him everywhere, even where he wasn’t touching. His teeth grazed my skin—light, teasing, and my pulse fluttered.
He smiled against my throat.
"I like that too," he murmured, his breath warm against my ear, sending goosebumps cascading down my neck. "Just means you understand what's about to happen."
He kissed me again—slow, deep, full. His mouth moved against mine with a patience that was somehow worse than impatience. The taste of him—whiskey and mint and something uniquely Alaric—flooded my senses.
My fingers curled in the waistband of his drawers, nails scraping against the warm skin beneath, until his hand slid beneath the back strap of my bra, callused fingertips trailing fire along my spine as he unhooked it.
His lips brushed my jaw, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. "Relax for me," he implored quietly, his voice honeyed and dark.
"I am relaxed." The lie sat between us.
His eyes, beautiful and knowing, kept me captive.
He slipped a hand beneath my thigh, his grip firm and possessive, lifting it against his hip, dragging me closer so my chest pressed fully to his.
The hard planes of his torso burned through the delicate fabric of my lingerie.
I could feel every inch of him through the remaining thin lace and satin between us, every ridge of muscle, every quickened breath.
I could see his cock straining, thick and long, the outline unmistakable, always giving both my hands a workout and making my jaw ache with its girth, but I loved him in my mouth, and pressed against me like this, the heavy heat of him promising everything we'd denied ourselves until tonight.
His lips were molten, trailing down my body like he was mapping every inch of me as his personal playground.
I was sprawled on the bed, trembling with anticipation.
His hands slid along my waist, unhooking the garter belt.
The lace whispered against my thighs as he peeled it away, his fingers grazing the tender skin beneath.
I was already soaked, my pussy aching for him, and he hadn’t even touched me there yet, his tongue flicking out to taste my skin.
He kissed his way down my collarbone, his teeth grazing just enough to make me gasp.
The hollow at the base of my throat was next, his lips lingering there like he was worshipping me.