Chapter 17
MASON
The chapel emptied fast after the paperwork was signed.
Regan hugged Sienna like she was welcoming her into the family for real, then pressed a small black gift bag into her hands with a wicked little smile.
“Sexual voodoo spell,” she whispered loud enough for half the room to hear.
“Two bottles of that fancy scented lotion I swear by, three candles that smell like sin, and the tiniest white lace thing that’s going to make your new husband lose his damn mind.
Use it. Or don’t. But you’re married now, babe. Might as well make it fun.”
Sienna’s cheeks went scarlet. She tried to shove the bag back, but Regan was already gone, laughing as Tank hauled her out the door.
Twenty-eight hours later we were still in Vegas, and the marriage was no longer on paper.
We’d driven straight from the chapel to a suite Regan had booked on the top floor of a casino hotel the club had ties to—private elevator, floor-to-ceiling windows looking out over the Strip, and a massive private terrace with a hot tub big enough for six.
The brothers had cleared out after the first bottle of champagne, leaving us alone with two more chilling in a silver bucket, the candles already lit and flickering low on the wide marble ledge, and that damn gift bag sitting on the counter like a dare.
Sienna stood at the terrace railing in the white dress Regan had somehow produced—simple, knee-length, but cut low enough in the back that the smooth line of her spine made my mouth water.
The new diamond on her finger caught every neon flash from the Strip below, throwing tiny sparks of light across her skin.
I stepped up behind her, close enough that the heat of my chest brushed her back, but I didn’t touch her yet. Not until she was ready.
“You were going to run,” I said, voice low against her ear. “I felt it in the chapel. The way your fingers kept flexing like you were calculating the exact second you could bolt.”
She shivered, but she didn’t pull away. “I still might.”
“No, you won’t.” I brushed her hair off one shoulder, letting my lips hover just above the sensitive spot behind her ear. “Not tonight. Not while I’m standing here promising to keep you safe with my body, my name, my hands… my mouth.”
Her breath hitched. I felt the little tremor run through her.
I reached around her and popped the second bottle of champagne. The cork flew off into the night with a soft pop, and I poured the cold, bubbling liquid straight into two flutes. Instead of handing her one, I took a slow sip, then pressed the rim of the glass to her lips.
“Drink,” I murmured.
She parted for me, eyes locked on mine over the flute as the champagne slid down her throat. A tiny drop escaped the corner of her mouth. I leaned in and licked it off with the flat of my tongue, slow and deliberate, tasting the sweet fizz mixed with the salt of her skin.
A soft sound escaped her—half protest, half need.
I set the glass down and turned her in my arms. The white dress was already slipping off one shoulder. I hooked a finger under the strap and tugged it down, exposing the delicate white lace bra Regan had picked out. The cups were sheer, her nipples already tight and dark against the fabric.
“Fuck, Sienna,” I growled. “Look at you. My wife. Standing here in lace like you were made to ruin me.”
I dropped to my knees right there on the cool tile, pushing the dress the rest of the way down until it pooled at her feet.
The matching thong was nothing but a scrap of white lace that barely covered her.
I pressed my mouth to the front of it, breathing hot against her through the fabric, feeling her tremble.
“Mason…” Her voice was already wrecked.
I hooked my fingers in the sides and dragged the thong down her legs, slow enough to make her feel every inch of exposure. When she stepped out of it I spread her thighs with my hands and looked up at her.
“Gonna taste my wife now.”
I dragged my tongue up the center of her in one long, slow lick. She was already wet, slick and sweet and trembling. I groaned against her, the vibration making her hips jerk. I licked again, deeper this time, circling her clit with the tip of my tongue before sucking it gently between my lips.
Sienna’s hands flew to my hair, fingers tightening hard. “Oh God…”
I didn’t tease. I devoured. I slid two thick fingers inside her while my mouth worked her clit—slow, deep strokes that matched the rhythm of my tongue.
She was tight, so fucking tight, clenching around my fingers like she never wanted to let me go.
I curled them, stroking that spot inside her that made her thighs shake.
Her moans grew louder, breathier. The city lights painted her skin in gold and pink and electric blue while I fucked her with my mouth and fingers right there on the terrace.
She came hard, crying out my name, hips grinding against my face as her pussy pulsed around my fingers. I didn’t stop until she was shaking and pushing at my shoulders, oversensitive and gasping.
I rose, stripping my shirt off in one move. My jeans followed. My cock was so hard it ached, thick and heavy against my stomach. Sienna’s eyes dropped to it, dark with hunger.
I lifted her, carried her into the hot tub, and sat on the underwater bench with her straddling my lap. The water was hot, bubbling around us, steam rising into the night air. I poured more champagne into my mouth, then kissed her, letting the cold fizz spill between our tongues.
She moaned into the kiss, grinding down on my cock where it rested between us, slick and hard against her belly.
“Tell me you want your husband inside you,” I rasped against her lips.
“I want my husband inside me,” she whispered, voice shaking with need.
I gripped her hips, lifted her, and sank her down onto me in one slow, relentless stroke.
We both groaned.
She was scorching hot, tighter than anything I’d ever felt. I filled her completely, stretching her open until her head fell back on a broken moan. I held her there, not moving, just letting her feel every thick inch of me.
“Fuck, baby,” I growled. “You feel like you were made for my cock.”
I started to move—slow, deep rolls of my hips that dragged against every sensitive spot inside her. Water splashed over the sides of the tub with every thrust. Her breasts bounced in front of my face; I caught one nipple in my mouth and sucked hard while I fucked her.
Sienna’s nails dug into my shoulders. “Harder, Mason… please…”
I gave her what she begged for. I gripped her ass with both hands and drove up into her, fast and deep, water churning wildly around us. The sound of wet skin slapping wet skin mixed with her cries and my low groans.
She came again, clenching around me so tight I almost followed her over the edge.
I held off, pulling out and turning her around so her back was to my chest. I slid back inside her from behind, one arm banded across her breasts, the other between her legs, fingers circling her swollen clit while I fucked her slow and deep.
“Look at the city, baby,” I rasped in her ear. “All those lights while your husband is buried inside you. While you’re coming all over my cock like a good little wife.”
She shattered again, crying out, body shaking in my arms.
This time I let myself go. I thrust deep one last time and came hard, spilling inside her with a guttural groan, hips jerking as I filled her.
We stayed locked together in the hot water, breathing hard, my arms wrapped around her like I could hold the whole world off if I just didn’t let go.
Later—after we’d dried off and moved to the wide lounge chair on the terrace—I opened the first bottle of Regan’s scented lotion. Vanilla and something darker, something that smelled like pure sex. I poured it into my palms, warming it, then started at her shoulders.
I massaged her slowly, thoroughly, working every knot out of her back, her arms, her thighs. When I reached her ass I took my time, kneading, spreading her open, letting my thumbs brush teasingly close to where she was still slick with me.
She was whimpering by the time I flipped her onto her back.
I poured more lotion over her breasts, watching it drip down her stomach, then used my mouth to chase every drop. I licked and sucked and bit until she was writhing under me again.
This time when I slid into her it was slow and deep and devastating. Face to face, eyes locked, my body covering hers completely. I fucked her like I was trying to imprint myself on her soul—long, rolling strokes that made her gasp my name over and over.
She came three more times before I finally let myself go again, burying my face in her neck and growling her name like a prayer as I spilled deep inside her.
By the time the sun started creeping over the desert horizon, the two bottles of lotion were empty, the candles had burned down to nothing, and the marriage was no longer on paper.
It was written into her skin.
Into mine.
Into the way she whispered my name when she thought I was asleep and the way I kissed the diamond on her finger like it was a vow I’d die to keep.
She was my wife now.
And the desert could try to come for her again.
It would have to go through me first.