34. Alexandra
I’m half on Cole’s lap, half in my own chair, tucked into him like it’s the most natural thing in the world. His arm is heavy around my waist, warm and solid, thumb tracing lazy patterns against my hip while the brothers crowd around the table with beers and low conversation.
Ella sits across from me, perched sideways on Engine’s lap, his arm locked around her like he might forget she’s there if he lets go. She catches my eye and grins, knowingly.
This is… comfortable. Louder than anything I grew up with. Rougher. But steady in a way that settles deep in my bones.
“So,” I say, glancing around the table, “I’m going to need a favor.”
That gets attention.
Cole looks down at me. “That usually means trouble.”
“Only logistical trouble,” I say lightly. “My best friend’s flying in for the wedding.”
“A friend,” Ink repeats. “As in singular?”
“Very singular,” I confirm.
Cole smiles softly at me. He knows what Adelina means to me. How we’ve been each other’s lifeline while I lived in Romania—the one constant in a childhood that wasn’t always kind. She was more than a friend; she was my neighbor, my escape, my sister. We took the same bus to school five times a week, partied when we were old enough. Her dad… her dad wasn’t safe, so she stayed over at my place more nights than I can count. I was the only one she was ever allowed to sleep over with. That bond runs deep, unspoken, and it’s woven into who I am.
“She lands in three weeks, and someone’s going to have to pick her up.”
Cole hums. “I can do it.”
“I know you can,” I say, smiling up at him. “But you’re not allowed. You’ll scare her.”
He scoffs. “I’m charming.”
“You threatened a man with a spoon last week.”
“He deserved it.”
Across the table, Bruiser snorts into his beer.
“She Romanian too?” he asks.
“Yes,” I say, turning toward him. “And she’s… kind of unreal.”
That earns a few looks.
“How so?” Riot asks.
“She works two full-time jobs,” I say. “One as an admin worker at a non-profit, the kind that runs on grants and burnout. The other on her family’s farm. Early mornings. Mud. No days off.”
Neon whistles low. “That’s a choice.”
“More like a necessity,” I say. “And on top of that, she’s writing her PhD.”
“In what?” Bruiser asked with an interested look in his eyes.
“Bioengineering.”
That gets silence.
“Okay,” Engine says finally. “That’s… not what I was expecting.”
“She’s terrifying,” I say fondly. “Runs on coffee, stubbornness, and the belief that quitting is a personal failure.”
Cole exhales through his nose. “Careful, baby,” he says mildly. “You’re starting to sound very American. Glorifying exhaustion.”
I grin. “See? You’re rubbing off on me already.”
“I don’t like it,” he mutters, but there’s humor under it.
Bruiser hasn’t looked away.
“Farm work and bioengineering,” he says slowly. “That’s a weird combo.”
“She grew up fixing things,” I reply. “Animals. Equipment. Systems. She just scaled up.”
Something sharpens in his expression. Interest, quiet and focused.
“She tough?” he asks.
“Yes,” I say without hesitation. “But not loud about it. She just carries it. Like she’s used to the weight.”
Bruiser nods once, like that answers something he didn’t ask out loud.
“I’ll pick her up,” he says.
Cole lifts his head. “You sure?”
“Yeah,” Bruiser replies. “I’ll be around. And she doesn’t sound like someone who scares easy.”
I glance between them. “You don’t mind?”
Bruiser’s mouth quirks. “Nah. Anyone who can survive farm work and a doctorate can handle an airport and my face.”
I laugh, leaning back into Stone, his arm tightening just slightly around me.
“Adelina’s going to like you,” I say.
Bruiser snorts. “We’ll see.”
But he’s still thinking about her. I can tell. And something tells me this isn’t the last time her name will land at this table.
I lean in close, lips brushing Cole’s ear, my voice low enough that only he can hear.
“I have a surprise for you today.”
His hand tightens on my thigh instantly. “That so?”
“Yes,” I murmur. “But we need to get out of here first. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere we won’t be interrupted.”
His breath shifts, heat blooming under my skin.
“Baby,” he says, warning threaded through the word, “you’re playing a dangerous game.”
I smile against his jaw. “Good.”
He doesn’t ask questions once we’re on the bike. Just rides. Fast. Focused. Like he already knows whatever I’m about to show him is going to wreck his self-control.
The building is unassuming. Clean lines. Glass front. Nothing about it hints at what waits inside.
Stone cuts the engine and looks at me. “Lex.”
“Trust me,” I say, already stepping off. “Just… come with me.”
Inside, the space is quiet and warm, mirrors lining the walls, polished metal rising from floor to ceiling. I shrug out of my leather cut slowly, deliberately, catching his gaze in the reflection.
The studio is ours. I made sure of that. Just the low lights, the polished floor, and the chrome pole gleaming like it’s waiting for me.
“This,” I say softly, fingertips trailing up the cool metal, “is what I’ve been training.”
Cole leans against the far wall, arms crossed, trying to look relaxed and failing miserably. His eyes are fixed on the movement of my hands.
“Fuck,” he breathes.
I smile to myself and reach for the hem of my shirt. I take my time with it, peeling the fabric over my head and letting it drop to the floor. My leggings follow, slow and unhurried, until I’m standing in nothing but black lace—the set I know gets a reaction out of him every single time.
His eyes go dark, his posture stiffening as he tracks the curve of my hip.
But I’m not done. I reach down and pick up the cut I just discarded. I slide my arms back into the armholes, the heavy, cool leather settling against my bare shoulders and the heat of my skin. I don’t zip it. I leave it open, the Broken Halos patch on the back a stark contrast to the lace and skin beneath it.
I look at him in the mirror, my fingers curling around the chrome. I’m wearing his name, his colors, and almost nothing else.
“Lex,” he warns, his voice dropping into a dark, gravelly register that sends a shiver straight down my spine.
“Not yet,” I murmur, my eyes never leaving his as I reach for the remote.
Music pulses into the room—a track with a deep, distorted bass that feels like a heartbeat and a melody that clings to the air like smoke. I don’t go to him. I move toward the pole, my walk slow and deliberate, my hips swaying in a rhythm that’s meant to provoke.
Cole is anchored against the wall, his arms folded, his knuckles white against his sleeves. He looks like a man trying to survive a fever.
I begin with a body roll against the chrome, my back arching until my head brushes the metal, my hands sliding slowly down my own ribs to my hips. I can feel the heat radiating off him from across the room. I transition into a low flow, my skin grazing the floor as I circle the base of the pole, my legs opening and closing in a slow, hypnotic tease.
I catch his gaze. His eyes aren’t just dark—they’re predatory.
I reach up, my fingers curling around the cold steel, and pull myself into an inverted Scorpio. I’m upside down, one leg hooked tight, the other arching back toward my head in a line that highlights every curve of my body. The friction of the pole against the sensitive skin of my inner thigh is a sharp, grounding sting.
I let the spin take me, the room blurring into a haze of shadow and light, until I’m just a silhouette of moving limbs and arched skin.
“Jesus, Lex,” he chokes out. The sound is raw, stripped of all his usual composure.
I transition smoothly into a layback, my body suspended only by the grip of my thighs, my arms thrown back and my chest open. I’m completely vulnerable, completely powerful. I let the music carry me for a beat too long, my breathing coming in shallow, jagged hitches that echo in the quiet room.
I unwind, sliding down the pole with a slow, agonizing friction that makes the metal sing. I land in a split at the base, my back to him, my spine curved in an invitation that I know is pushing him over the edge. I can hear his boots shift on the floor—the sound of his restraint finally snapping.
I rise, my skin damp with a fine sheen of sweat that glows under the dim lights. I turn to face him, my chest heaving, my hair a wild mess around my shoulders.
“Say it,” I whisper, the word barely carrying across the space, yet hitting him like a physical blow.
“Say what?” He’s already moving. He doesn’t walk; he stalks toward me, his presence filling the room until the air feels too thick to breathe.
“That you want me.”
He reaches me in two strides, his hands colliding with my waist. His palms are hot, his grip bruisingly possessive as he hauls me upward until my toes barely touch the floor. He buries his face in the crook of my neck, inhaling sharply, his stubble grazing my sensitized skin.
“I want you,” he growls against my pulse, his voice a vibration that settles deep in my bones. “I want to ruin you. I want to keep you. I want everything.”
A triumphant, shaky breath. “Good,” I breathe, my lips brushing his ear.
The kiss isn’t a collision—it’s an execution of our last shred of restraint. It tastes of salt, exertion, and a hunger so sharp it’s violent.
“On your knees, Lex,” he growls.
The command hits me like a physical blow, bypassing my brain and going straight to my blood. I drop. The cool floor bites into my shins, a stark contrast to the fever rolling off his body. I look up at him through the mess of my hair, my chest still heaving from the dance.
He stands over me, a dark silhouette of pure, unadulterated power. His hand fists in my hair, tugging just enough to force my throat open. “Look at me. You spent the last ten minutes showing me exactly how you can move. Exactly how strong you are. Now I want to see you soft. I want to see you beg for it.”
The thrill of it makes my pulse thrum in my ears. “Please, Cole,” I breathe, my hands sliding up his denim-clad thighs, desperate to feel the heat of him. “I’m dying for it. Please.”
“Where do you want it? Tell me exactly how you want me to take you.”
“In my mouth,” I admit, the words coming out as a choked sob of wanting. “I want to taste you. I want you to take it.”
“Fuck,” he rumbles, his voice a vibration I feel in my teeth.
He doesn’t give me a warning. He takes my mouth with a brutal, rhythmic authority that makes my eyes water and my thighs tremble against the mats. His fingers stay buried in my hair, anchoring me, controlling the depth and the pace until I’m nothing but a vessel for him. He isn’t being gentle; he’s reclaiming every inch of the space I just commanded on that pole.
“Good fucking girl,” he grunts, the praise sounding more like a snarl of possession.
He pulls back abruptly, the sudden distance leaving me cold. He settles onto the floor, bracing himself firmly, his legs spread wide to make room for me.
“Ride me,” he orders, his eyes tracking the way my damp skin catches the light. “Face the mirror. I want you to watch yourself get filled up. I want you to see exactly how much of me you can take.”
My hands are shaking so violently I can barely find my footing. I straddle him, my back to his chest, and as I lower myself down, the sensation is so intense I have to bite my lip to keep from screaming. I look into the silvered surface in front of us and see a stranger—flushed, wrecked, and utterly possessed.
“Watch,” he commands, his voice a low rasp against my ear, his breath hot and demanding. “See how you look when you’re mine?”
I start to move, my hips finding a frantic, desperate grind. In the reflection, I watch the way his large, scarred hands come around to claim me. They aren’t soft. He grips my breasts, his palms rough and hot, his thumbs punishing my nipples until I’m sobbing his name into the empty air of the studio.
“Keep your eyes on the reflection, Lex. Don’t you dare look away.”
He’s thrusting up to meet me, his movements heavy and relentless. Every time we hit, I see the muscles in his forearms flex as he holds me in place. He leans forward, his teeth grazing the sensitive cord of my neck, his eyes meeting mine in the mirror.
“You’re going to come for me, aren’t you?”
“Yes—Cole, please—”
“Then do it. Take it all, baby.”
The orgasm doesn’t just ripple; it shatters me. My vision goes white, my muscles seizing as I arch my back against him, my head falling back onto his shoulder as the world dissolves into pure, pulsing heat. I watch my own undoing in the mirror until I can’t see anymore. I hear him groan, a deep, guttural sound of surrender, as he thrusts one last time and spills inside me, his body shuddering with the force of it.
I sag back against his chest, my breath coming in broken, ragged gasps. We’re a mess of sweat and tangled limbs, the air around us heavy with the scent of us.
“I fucking love you, Lex,” he gasps, his face buried in the crook of my neck, his heart hammering against my spine. “God, I love you.”
I reach back, lacing my fingers through his, my smile wet and exhausted. “I love you too, Cole. So fucking much.”
He exhales a long, shaky breath, his arms tightening around me like iron bands.
“We’re installing one of these at home,” he says, his voice returning to that dark, territorial edge. “And you’re never stepping foot in this place again. Nobody gets to see what you just did. This is mine. You are mine.”
I roll my eyes, but the weight of his words settles over me like a promise, making me melt into him until the rest of the world stops existing.