Chapter 36 Ace
ACE
Irotate between the security feeds, a habit ingrained after decades of training. Three cameras in the dance studio. One at the entrance, one in the corner with the widest view, and one focused on the mirrors. I told Felix exactly where to position each lens for maximum coverage.
The moment Keira walks into frame, I stop scanning.
She moves differently. All liquid confidence with none of the vigilant tension she carried before.
“Look at you,” I murmur, leaning closer to the screen.
Her dancers filter in, but my eyes never leave her. She demonstrates a sequence, her body articulating emotions I’ve never seen from her before. There’s a freedom in her movement that wasn’t there three days ago. Before Idaho. Before Henderson.
The power in her is undeniable now. No longer hidden beneath layers of trauma. She commands the room without effort.
I’ve watched her dance a hundred times, but this is different. Before, she danced like someone with something to prove. Now she dances like someone who knows exactly who she is.
My chest tightens as she executes a complex turn sequence, her body a perfect instrument under her complete command. I recognize the feeling immediately, though it rarely surfaces.
Pride.
On screen, Keira laughs at something Marco says, her head thrown back, unguarded. The sound doesn’t carry through the surveillance system, but I don’t need to hear it. I’ve memorized the cadence of her laughter.
“Stunning,” I whisper.
This is what freedom looks like on her. And it’s magnificent.
The dancers begin a new sequence, something with sharp, almost violent movements.
Keira leads them through it, her body cutting through space with the same kind of movement I typically associate with a well-executed assassination.
There’s no hesitation in her anymore. Each gesture lands with lethal intent.
Marco falters halfway through, unable to match her intensity. When the music stops, he approaches her, pulling her toward the corner of the studio. His face is pinched with concern, hands gesturing emphatically at her.
I lean forward, wishing Felix had installed audio. But I don’t need to hear the words to read this interaction.
Marco’s posture radiates anxiety—shoulders hunched, head tilted down as he speaks close to her ear, fingers twitching at his sides. Classic submission tells. He’s worried about her, maybe even afraid of whatever he’s seeing in her now.
But Keira...
The woman who left for Idaho would have softened. Would have placated him with reassurances, maybe even apologized for her intensity. Keira was always accommodating others’ discomfort.
This Keira stands with her spine ramrod straight, chin tilted up. Her hands remain relaxed at her sides, not fidgeting or apologetic. She doesn’t shrink herself to make him comfortable.
When Marco reaches for her arm, she steps back smoothly, establishing a boundary. Her lips form words I can’t hear, but her expression remains neutral, unbothered. She’s not defending herself. She’s simply stating facts.
Marco’s face flushes. He glances around at the other dancers, seeking allies, and finds none.
Keira turns from him without waiting for his response and walks back to the center position. She claps her hands once, gathering everyone’s attention, and resumes where they left off.
On screen, Marco’s face goes slack with shock. There’s been an elemental shift in her, and it radiates through her every movement.
I close the surveillance feed and check the time. She’ll be home soon.
The penthouse feels different with just me here. Cyrus left for a meeting with Knox two hours ago—something about Russian territory negotiations that couldn’t wait, but I didn’t feel like dealing with Knox’s antics today.
When the door opens, Keira breezes in glowing.
“How was rehearsal?” I ask, leaning against the kitchen counter.
“Amazing.” She drops her bag and approaches me with purposeful strides. “I’ve never felt so connected to the movements before. It’s like my body finally understands what I’ve been asking it to do for years.”
I watch her move around the kitchen, pouring herself a glass of water. She talks about the new choreography, how her dancers couldn’t quite match her energy, how everything feels clearer now.
“Marco couldn’t keep up,” she laughs, “and he looked at me like I’d grown a second head when I wouldn’t let him corner me like he usually does.”
Watching her come into herself is intoxicating. The marks Cyrus and I branded into her skin have faded, but what replaced them runs deeper — a sense of herself that, somehow, only makes her harder to resist.
“You’re amazing,” I tell her, the words cutting through her steady stream of conversation.
She stops mid-sentence, glass halfway to her lips, eyes slowly finding mine. Something in my expression makes her go still.
“I need to fuck you,” I say quietly. “Right now.”
The surprise that flickers across her face isn’t at my directness — she knows me well enough for that. It’s the reverence in my tone that catches her off guard, that thread of something deeper woven beneath the want.
“Cyrus won’t be back for a while,” I add, my voice dropping lower, already losing the fight against the thought of having her all to myself.
Keira holds my gaze for a moment, then sets her glass down with quiet deliberateness. When she moves toward me, there’s a new kind of certainty in every step, something that wasn’t there before.
“Yes,” she whispers. “I want that too.”
Keira approaches me with a look I’ve never seen before—confident, almost predatory. A hunter’s smile plays at the corners of her mouth.
“Sit down,” she orders, and I find myself obeying without question.
She pushes me back against the kitchen chair with surprising strength, her palms flat against my chest. This isn’t the woman we captured in the Hunt—this is something entirely new. Something transformed.
“I want to taste you,” she says, her voice low. “And I want you to watch me while I do it.”
My cock leaks instantly at her words. Keira sinks to her knees in front of me, maintaining eye contact the entire time.
Her fingers trace the outline of my erection through my pants with deliberate slowness.
Keira unbuttons my pants and slowly—torturously—pulls down the zipper, each click of metal against metal deliberately prolonged. There’s artistry in her teasing.
She tugs my pants and underwear down enough to free my cock, which springs upward, already fully hard. Instead of immediately taking me in her mouth, she runs her tongue along her bottom lip, making it glisten.
“I know exactly what I want now,” she whispers, maintaining eye contact as she lowers her head. Her tongue swirls around the tip of my cock with deliberate precision. “And I’m going to take it.”
When she finally takes me into her mouth, the wet heat is almost overwhelming. She moves with the same confident rhythm I watched in her dance studio, her tongue tracing patterns that make my breath catch.
The wet heat of her tongue slides along my shaft as she teases me. I grip the edge of the chair, watching her take control in a way she never did before Idaho.
“Fuck, look at you,” I growl. “Worshipping my cock like you were born for it.”
Keira hums around me, the vibration sending sharp pleasure up my spine. Without breaking rhythm, her hand slides between her thighs. She pushes her leggings aside and begins circling her clit.
“Good girl,” I rasp. “Get yourself off while you suck my cock.”
Her eyes lock with mine as she pleasures herself, taking me so deep in her throat. The sight of her touching herself is almost enough to make me explode. Her free hand grips my thigh for balance as she rocks against her own fingers.
When she comes, she moans around me, the vibration nearly finishing me. She pulls off, gasping, her eyes wild with satisfaction and hunger.
“I want to ride you,” she states, already standing to strip off her leggings.
I barely have time to adjust before she straddles me, positioning my cock at her entrance and sinking down in one fluid motion. The chair creaks as she starts to move.
“You’re my dirty little slut now, aren’t you?” I grasp her hips hard enough to bruise. “Fucking yourself on my cock as if you own it.”
“I do own it,” she hisses. “Right now, it’s mine.”
She rides me with brutal movements, her pussy gripping me like a vise with each rise and fall.
“Your cunt is so fucking tight,” I snarl, digging my fingers into the flesh of her ass. “Made to take my cock. To milk every last drop from me.”
Keira’s movements grow more frantic, her tight pussy clenching around me with each downward thrust. Her hands grip my shoulders, nails digging into my skin, anchoring herself as she chases her pleasure.
“Ace,” she gasps, her eyes locked with mine. “I’m so close.”
I thrust upward, meeting her halfway, driving deeper. “Come for me, Keira. Let me feel you.”
She leans forward, pressing her forehead against mine, our breaths mingling. There’s something different in her eyes now—not just lust or need, but something deeper. Something that makes my chest tighten.
“I’m yours,” she whispers, and the possessive thrill that usually follows those words transforms into something more profound.
Her rhythm falters as her orgasm builds. I wrap one arm around her waist, holding her steady as I drive into her with precision, hitting that spot that makes her eyes roll back.
“Look at me when you come,” I command softly.
Her eyes flutter open, unfocused at first, then lock onto mine with startling clarity. When she climaxes, she doesn’t scream or thrash—she sighs my name like a prayer, her body pulsing around me in waves that trigger my own release.
I bury myself as deep as possible inside her, holding her against me so tightly we’re practically one being. She cups my face in her hands, her thumbs stroking my cheeks with a tenderness that undoes me.
“You’re incredible,” she whispers, pressing soft kisses along my jaw, my cheeks, the corner of my mouth.
The words rise in my throat before I can stop them. Three simple words I’ve never said to anyone except Cyrus. Words I didn’t think I was capable of feeling for anyone else.
I swallow them back, certain of two things: these words should include Cyrus when they’re finally spoken, and I need to know if my brother feels the same for her.
Keira smiles at me, something knowing in her expression, as if she can read the words I’m holding back. She kisses me softly, unhurriedly, no longer the wild creature who demanded to ride me, but something equally powerful in her gentleness.