Arlo
It takes me less than five minutes to change and make my way back to the garage. The others are already waiting, coats on, tension thick enough to taste. No one says it, but we’re all thinking the same thing, we’re going after them.
Milo looks to Isaak, his jaw tight. “Where the hell does Adelaide keep the car keys? With that smug little smirk she gave you, I’d wager she’s hidden them just to fuck with us.”
Isaak exhales a short, humourless laugh. “Give me a minute.”
He strides off toward the house.
I don’t ask what he’s doing. I don’t fucking care. He’d better come back with those keys, because I’m not sitting here while Ophelia’s out there, alone, and dressed like that.
The image flashes again, uninvited. That glittering scrap of a dress, the length of her legs, every bloody thing about her, remarkably striking.
I’d wanted to drag her back, tear that dress off her until she remembered precisely who she belongs to.
My jaw tightens.
I shouldn’t give a damn where she goes, what she wears, or who dares to look at her.
But reason doesn’t stand a chance against whatever this is—this infuriating pull balanced somewhere between fury and something far more dangerous.
Isaak reappears, twirling a set of keys around his finger. “Got them.”
He heads straight for the Rolls-Royce Cullinan Black Badge. Adelaide will have his head for choosing that one, and rightly so.
He takes the driver’s seat, the man’s addicted to speed, doesn’t matter if it’s four wheels or two.
Hunter takes the passenger side, while Milo and I settle in the back. The engine growls to life.
As we turn off the chalet’s private drive and onto the main road, I lean forward. “Do you even know where they’re headed?”
Isaak’s eyes stay fixed ahead. “Somewhere they can drink, dance, and do something reckless, because Adelaide exists solely to test my patience.”
Hunter glances over. “Then we’ll have to check everything this place offers. Restaurants, bars, clubs, until we find them.”
I shake my head. “No need.” I unlock my phone, pull up the internal tracking system, and start digging.
It takes a few seconds, but I find what I’m looking for. “Adelaide’s car has GPS. They’re twenty minutes out.”
Hunter nods once. “Convenient.”
“Put it into the satnav,” I tell him.
He does, and Isaak presses harder on the accelerator. The twenty minute drive turns into ten.
The road winds through a sleeping village, snow soft against shuttered windows and faint golden light spilling from the few still awake.
When we pull in, the car park’s packed, rows of high end vehicles glazed in frost. Above the entrance, a pale neon sign hums faintly.
Le Cerf Blanc.
Isaak kills the engine. No one speaks as we climb out. The music spills into the night, vibrating through the cold air.
Two men stand at the door, Hunter slips one a folded note and the velvet rope lifts.
Inside, the air is thick, heat, perfume braided with alcohol. Bodies press together, some swaying, some laughing, some simply occupying the space.
I don’t need to look long. I’m drawn to her. The moment I walk in my eyes land exactly where she is.
She’s at the table in the corner, head tipped back, locked in laughter at something her sister has said. She looks too damn at ease.
Too untouched by everything.
Adelaide and Piper are there too, seated at the same table. Glasses scatter the surface.
They’re surrounded by local boys, well groomed, styled hair, polo shirts, completely unaware of the danger in sharing a table with them.
My jaw tightens so hard I feel it in my teeth.
Milo toys with his lighter beside me, absentminded, the motion meaningless against the music.
Hunter’s face doesn’t shift, he’s fixed on the man nearest Piper.
Isaak watches with the same cool detachment.
We don’t speak. We’re all seeing the same thing, and whatever murderous impulse lives in me, I suspect we share it.
One of the boys leans in. He pushes a strand of Ophelia’s hair behind her ear, he’s close enough that his lips brush nearly against her skin as he whispers.
I can’t hear the words. That doesn’t matter. Something in my chest locks tight. Every reasonable thought drains away, replaced by a single, raw instinct to end him for touching what isn’t his.
Her cheeks colour faintly, but what flickers in her eyes isn’t interest, it’s discomfort.
But then I remember who she really is.
A liar. Always a bloody liar.
His fingers trail over hers, and that’s enough.
Someone’s dying tonight.
I start forward, the crowd parting. The boy notices first, his grin faltering when his gaze meets mine.
It flicks from me to Ophelia and back again, and that’s all it takes. The fuse that’s been burning in my chest ignites.
He shouldn’t be looking at her like that. He shouldn’t be looking at her at all.
No one should.
No one except me.
My hand’s already fisted in his collar. He’s light, pathetically so. His shoes barely scrape the floor before I’ve got him dragged toward the door.
“What the hell, this is a misunderstanding, mate—”
I don’t let him finish. “No misunderstanding here,” I say, my tone clipped. “Just taking out the trash.”
He splutters, weakly pushing at my wrist, about as effective as a breeze.
At the door, I shove him toward the bouncers and slide a few folded notes into the taller one’s palm. “He’s done for the night.”
The boy starts mouthing off again, something about me being insane, about his rights, so I step in close, letting him see, just how little I give a damn.
“Run home,” I tell him quietly. “And pray I never learn your name. Because if I do… by tomorrow, you’ll be ruined.”
“What did I even do? I don’t under—”
I cut him off. “You touched what’s mine. Be grateful you can still stand. Now run, before I decide to start breaking bones.”
Just the thought of him putting his hands on Ophelia sends rage tearing through me. I lift my phone, snap a picture of his face.
He won’t walk away from this untouched.
I turn, not wasting another second on the bastard, and head back inside.
The crowd moves around me in waves, but my eyes find her instantly.
The bane of my existence.
The table’s nearly empty now. Piper’s speaking quietly to Hunter, Adelaide and Isaak are gone, so are Milo and Octavia.
I walk straight to her, catch her wrist, and draw her up from the chair. She doesn’t resist. She’s seen my expression.
Good.
Because I’m angry, furious, in fact. Every muscle in my jaw aches from holding it in.
I steer her down a narrow corridor, past the bathrooms.
When I push open a door marked Staff Only, we come face to face with Isaak and Adelaide.
They spring apart, her cheeks flushed, his expression murderous.
“Out,” he growls.
I slam the door shut behind them and hear the lock click.
My hand stays around Ophelia’s wrist as I drag her toward another door, also marked Staff.
I shove it open, two people sit inside, taking their meal.
“Out,” I say, my voice final.
They don’t argue. One look at my face and they’re gone.
I close the door, twist the lock, and turn to face her, the woman who’s driving me to the edge of my own reason.
My eyes snag the camera in the corner. I draw my phone, breach the feed and snuff the signal.
Ophelia watches me, arms folded across her body, the pose accentuating the sensual curve of her silhouette.
Wariness shadows her features, she knows she’s fucked up.
I take one step. “You let him touch you.”
Another pace. “Why did you let him touch you, Ophelia?”
Another. “Do you want the boy dead?”
A final step and I’m so near she can feel the heat of my breath against her cheek. “Do you want that on your conscience, ma lune? Because if you do, I will see it done.”
Her lips part on a slow, shaky breath. She trembles, and the sound she makes is small and helpless.
Every logical thought thins away until there’s only possession, fury, and a tenderness I will not name.
I ought to walk away.
I do not.
I push my thumb into her mouth, and her lips close around it, a gentle, shocking suction.
I lean in, my lips brushing her ear. “I’m so fucking angry with you, Ophelia. Do you know why?”
She gives a tiny, hesitant shake of her head.
“Use your words,” I tell her, withdrawing my thumb but keeping my grip firm on her chin.
“No,” she breathes.
A low, hollow laugh slips from me. “I’ll enlighten you.” I draw the words out. “Because you let another man lay his filthy hands on you. Because you drove off without me, alone, over icy roads to a bar in another country, with who knows what predators inside.”
“Why do you care?” she whispers.
A lie rips free of me. “I don’t.”
Then I grab her face and crush my mouth against hers.
When I break the kiss, my voice comes out low and rough. “On your fucking knees. Now.”
A long beat passes between us. Her eyes search mine, reading exactly what I mean, and then she moves.
I shrug out of my jacket, drop it to the floor, a barrier between her knees and the cold tile.
“Unzip me,” I growl, and her fingers fumble at my belt. The sound of metal and breath fills the air. When she finally frees me, she stills, her throat tightening, a slow swallow visible in her neck.
“What?” I rasp, my voice thick, control hanging by a thread.
“You’re just so… big,” she whispers, as if she’s seeing me for the first time. She isn’t, she’s put her mouth on me more times than I can count.
But fuck if that doesn’t send a bolt of pure, primal satisfaction straight to my ego… and my cock.
“Take me in your mouth.”
Her tongue darts out to wet her lips, a torturous preview. But her slow, tentative movement is too much. I don’t have the patience.
I fist my hand in her hair, guiding her mouth to me. The slick head of my cock brushes her lips, and I swear I almost come from that single, electric touch.
She opens, her tongue flicking away the bead of precum, and then, with a soft, surrendering sigh, she takes me deeper.
The feeling of her heat, her hot, wet mouth wrapping around me, is enough to make me detonate.
“Deeper,” I grunt.
She opens wider.
“Breathe through your nose, Ophelia.” My voice is strained, every muscle in my body coiled tight. “You can take more of me.”
She obeys.
And that single act of submission shattered the last of my control.
My fingers tangled in her hair, as I loose myself in the heat of her mouth with a reckless abandon.
“Swallow me,” I rasp.
And she does, taking all of me until, with a soft pop, I withdraw.
She looks up at me with those green eyes, so beautiful, so innocent, even after this.
Tears run down her face, I brush one away with my thumb, smudging her mascara.
Her lips are swollen, and I can’t help myself, I bend and claim her mouth in a fierce, all-consuming kiss.
It’s harsh and urgent and leaves us both breathless.
Needing more of her already, I pull her to her feet. Spotting a nearby table, I lift her, instinctively she hooks her legs at my waist, and I lower her on to the edge of the table.
I push her dress up and tore the delicate lace of her panties away. My fingers finding her core.
“You’re soaked,” I whisper against her skin, feeling her nod in confirmation.
In a single thrust I’m inside her, and the world narrows to the feeling of her tight, wet heat enveloping me.
I move inside her with a slow rhythm at first.
“You feel so good,” I murmur into the curve of her neck. “So perfect, so fucking tight.”
The last of my patience snaps. My thrusts become primal.
I feel her inner muscles flutter tightly around me as I push the fabric of her dress away, baring her shoulder.
My mouth finds her nipple, and the second I suck on it, her cry echoes in the room. Her entire body shudders, her pussy squeezes me so tightly.
“Come for me,” I grunt, my own control fraying, and I spill inside her at the very instant her orgasm convulses through her.
Our moans of pleasure mingle in the air.
I feel her inner muscles clenching around me, milking every last shuddering wave of pleasure.
I keep her in my arms a beat more, unwilling to lose the heat of her, I stay still, my arms a vice around her.
The world can wait a moment longer.