23. Chapter 23
Main Street looked like something pulled from a postcard. Brick storefronts lined both sides of the road, hanging flower baskets swaying in the breeze. The smell of roasted coffee drifted from an open café door.
We’d been walking for the better part of an hour—laughing, stopping for photos. Lisa pointed out places she swore had ‘the best pie in the state’. The bookstore sat between the coffee shop and an antique store, its windows cluttered with trinkets. Of course, the women zeroed in on it.
“Oh, we’re going in,” Shelia declared, already reaching for the door. “Isabella, you started this.”
I glanced down at her. She was leaning back against my chest, my arm wrapped around her waist.
“Have fun, princess,” I murmured in her ear.
A soft groan—half dramatic, half reluctant—escaped as she let her head fall back against me before finally peeling herself away.
God. She’d been finding reasons to touch me all day. Fingers grazing. Hips brushing. Leaning in closer than necessary. Was it for show? Or was she anchoring herself? Marcel planned to call later to check in. He’d want an update on how things were going emotionally.
Would telling him she’d been clinging to me and that I was there for her every step of the way make things awkward?
Or was that exactly the type of reassurance he’d want?
Before I could overthink it, I tugged her back to me, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head.
The other girls pushed through the bookstore door, the bell chiming overhead.
“Pick up something dark for us,” I teased as she stepped away again.
“Dark you say?” She turned, eyes flashing. “Anything in particular? Stalker? Primal?”
Chase choked behind me. I smirked. “Surprise me. You know what I like.”
This pretending was dangerously easy. I understood the implication in her tone. The private joke threaded between us. But did those books really exist? Or was she just bluffing her way through it, like she had at breakfast?
Victoria was the reader. Kinsley was the follower, and the damned Italian princess before me was an instigator through and through. Later when we were alone, I’d ask her. Maybe. Would it be strange to kiss her again? The thought lingered longer than it should have.
Fuck it.
I caught her hand before she disappeared inside and lifted it to my mouth, pressing a kiss to her knuckles.
Her breath hitched. Now look who was acting like the needy one.
The bell chimed again. I stayed where I was, making sure she was safely inside.
Only when I saw her talking with Lisa did I turn toward the guys.
“Man, you’ve got yourself a wild one,” Chase said with a low whistle. “Fairy porn, dark romance and game nights? Something tells me it’s not your average strip poker, either. Am I right? And what the hell is ‘primal’?”
I smiled. “Primal is a whole mood. It has layers. It’s about instincts. It’s about control. Earned. It’s rougher. More animalistic than polished. Think less choreography, more hunger.”
Chase blinked.
Reggie snorted. “Hunger?”
Trent titled his head. “Doesn’t it involve costumes, masks, and such?” he asked.
I glanced at him. “Yes and no. Stripped down at its basic level, sure. But it’s more in the way you pursue. It’s about physical tension, letting control shift without losing it or sight of the end goal.”
Chase frowned. “That sounds complicated.”
“It’s not,” I said. “It just requires trust and maintaining boundaries established beforehand.”
Poor guy was lost, like I’d switched to Russian mid-sentence. Then his attention snapped back to something he could grasp.
“Okay, but the game nights. Tell us—how does the dice work?”
“That depends on which ones Kinsley sent,” I replied. “One set only uses two dice. One lists actions, the other body parts. You roll something like ‘kiss’ and ‘neck’ or ‘lick’ and…well you get the picture,” I paused, “It’s more foreplay. Meant to build.”
Reggie nodded. “Okay. That I understand.”
“The other set,” I continued, “has more dice. Actions, positions. Locations. That one’s meant for two people who are…comfortable with one another.”
“And the deck of cards?” Reggie asked.
“Again, depends how naughty Kinsley was feeling. Some decks are harmless—question, preferences, this or that. Others dig deeper. Boundaries and fantasies. Ways to explore kinks.”
Chase shook his head. “Sounds embarrassing to do that as a group.”
I chuckled. But the truth was—for me anyway—those nights with them changed something in me. The first time I’d played, I was nervous. But every question, every turn peeled back layers, exposing how little I actually understood about connection.
Game nights weren’t just about sex. They were about honesty. About saying what you wanted. About admitting what didn’t serve you. It was where I first realized Hannah and I weren’t aligned at all.
She laughed things off. Deflected. Turned serious questions into sarcasm. When the cards dug into trust and vulnerability, she shut down. And everyone in the room noticed. I leaned back against the brick storefront and let my gaze drift toward the bookstore window.
Isabella stood near a shelf, animated talking to Shelia this time. She gestured with her hands, eyes bright. Even from here, I could see the spark in her. If she ever let herself fully relax into something like game night…If she ever trusted someone enough to let go—she’d be devastating.
Her curiosity would get the better of her, and the hunger she tried to hide would show. And whoever earned that level of trust from her would be striking pure gold. It would be some other man. Not me.
Some future version of my princess with someone else’s hands on her waist. Her nipples on his chest. Someone else earning her softness. Her fire, her moans. My jaw tightened as anger pulsed through me.
I had no business drifting into that territory. I had no claim on her or any rights to those moments. And yet—the idea of anyone unlocking her like that didn’t sit well at all.
“I heard from Hannah that you guys have non-partner nights. How does that work?” Trent asked.
My cheek twitched. Of course she told him that. I’m sure the story was only partially true. Heat crawled up the back of my neck, but I kept my expression neutral. Getting defensive would only confirm whatever narrative she’d spun. Marcel taught me that.
How did you explain the complexity of our crew to people who thought intimacy only fit inside a box?
What happened on game nights didn’t bleed into real life.
It wasn’t a free for all. It wasn’t betrayal either.
It was controlled. Agreed upon and completely structured.
Truth was—they’d lose their minds if they understood the full extent of it.
“Not nearly as tantalizing as you’re imagining,” I said. A lie, but a strategic one. “But yes. Some nights partners aren’t designated. No one is locked in. No one does anything they don’t explicitly want to.”
Reggie shifted. “Shelia mentioned that the last time Hannah and you attended, Kinsley stripped and gave a lap dance. And not to her partner for the night.”
He conveniently left out that it had been for me. My head snapped in his direction. I had to work hard to keep the anger from showing, but enough tension radiated from my stare that he understood the warning. He was getting close to crossing a line.
“Is it true?” Trent pressed.
All eyes were on me. And in them I saw the judgment, the curiosity, and the weighing of my new life. I chose my words carefully.
“Yes,” I said. “But her partners were there. Watching and participating. It wasn’t a secret dance, done in some back room with the lights low.”
“Excuse me,” Trent said, brows lifting. “Did you say partners. As in plural? I thought Hannah was exaggerating.”
“Oh, I’m sure she exaggerates plenty,” I replied. “But she wasn’t about that. Look, I’ve danced sensually with Kinsley a thousand times over.”
Chase let out another low whistle. “I would not be okay with Lisa dancing like that with another man.”
“Really? That’s funny. I’ve seen you perform with other women before.”
“But a lap dance is different. More sensual, right? Especially if she was naked while giving it,” Trent said, coming to Chase’s defense.
“She wasn’t completely nude,” I corrected. “She was wearing panties. And one of her partners considers it foreplay.” I held his gaze a second longer than necessary. “Do with that what you will.”
Silence stretched. And in that pause, I realized something uncomfortable. They weren’t just curious. They were judging. And part of me didn’t care. But another part—the part that was protective of Kinsley—didn’t like the direction this conversation was heading.
From the way their expressions tightened, I could tell the questions weren’t finished. Curiosity had sharpened into something heavier. Three grown men stared at me like I’d just described seeing a damned UFO.
“And Isabella is okay with all that? You and Kinsley?” Chase asked.
His question startled me. I shifted my weight, suddenly aware of how exposed this conversation made me feel. But the truth was, at one time, I’d been the one asking the questions. I’d been confused, intrigued, and unsure where the lines actually were.
But that was before I understood that the lines were the point. And Isabella? Isabella and I weren’t even technically together. There was no clean answer to give. The truth? She liked to watch Kinsley and me dance.
I’d caught her more than once, eyes intent, cheeks flushed as she drew us, breath heavier than usual. She studied every movement we made. Just like Nik. Just like Sebastian. Standing there, though, in the light of day and under these men’s scrutiny, the detail hit differently.
It turned her on, too.
The thought slid in uninvited.
“I’m sorry,” Trent said, shaking his head. “This is fascinating. You dance with this woman and one of her guys gets off on it? Like literally?”
His tone wasn’t mocking. It was more disbelief. But something in me snapped tight.
“This conversation is over,” I said, my Russian accent making an appearance as emotion took over.
Silence followed.
Reggie cleared his throat. “No wonder the relationship with you and Hannah ended. Makes sense now.”
Breathe. In and out. Just like Marcel taught you.
Master your anger. Just like Sebastian trained you.
“Our relationship ended for a thousand reasons,” I replied, feeling the control rush into place. “Game night just put a spotlight on things that were already cracked and broken.”
I met Chase’s eyes. “And Hannah agreed to every rule before she stepped into the room. There were no surprises waiting to blindside her. She was fully aware of how the game was played.”
Chase scratched his jaw. “Yeah, well…if your new girl is fine with another woman grinding on you, you’re living the dream.”
That was enough for me to lose it. He crossed a line and, control or no control, I couldn’t let it go unchecked. “Fuck you,” I said, jaw tight as I stepped toward him.
He lifted both hands. “Whoa. Relax. I’m joking. We’re curious. Maybe a little jealous, if we’re being honest.”
He shot Reggie a look. There was a moment of uncomfortable laughter as the group tried to right itself again.
“Hell, maybe I should’ve had you plan the bachelor party instead of this guy.” Chase slapped Reggie on the back.
“If you mention Kinsley in any capacity connected to your bachelor party,” I said, locking eyes with him, “I’ll break your jaw.”
The air shifted. Chase straightened. He exhaled and then pivoted. “Okay. Okay. Message received. But just so you know, it’s not because I’m scared of you. It’s more that beast of hers, he carries a blade, right?” He scrubbed a hand over his face.
The tension in my shoulders loosened inch by inch. I rolled them once, jaw unclenching as the conversation finally shifted. I used to think I fit in with them seamlessly.
And maybe I did—once. But standing there now, with the sun beating down on me, I knew for sure I no longer did.
“Yes. And he taught Kinsley how to use it. She’s lethal.”
“Really, she is so sweet, though,” Chase said.
“Sweet and trained aren’t mutually exclusive.”
“Your girl knows how to use one?” Trent asked.
My gaze sharpened. “You best believe she does.”
The four of us stood there in an awkward cluster, conversation teetering on another edge.
“What do I know how to use?” Isabella chimed in from behind us.
I shifted subtly so I was angled toward her. “Nothing important,” I said. “What did you find?”
She held up a small bag, triumph lighting her features. Everyone had a bag. Everyone except Hannah. Of course. Surely they had a self-help section. She could have found something.
“I opted for a male author this time,” Isabella said. “Messaged Tori. She said you’d love this one.” She gave the bag a small shake. “Not only does he write the lifestyle authentically, but he lives it, too.”
She owned the moment, performing perfectly. A rush of pride hit. This was definitely going to be mentioned when I spoke to Marcel later. Knowing Isabella, she wouldn’t be aware of the vibes she was giving off.
“A male author, huh? Well now, tonight’s evening activities just got more interesting.” I ran the tip of my index finger from her hairline down the side of her face before tucking her hair back. “We’ll have to compare notes. Male gaze versus female gaze.”
Her breath caught—barely noticeable—but I felt it. Her pupils darkened and her pulse raced at her throat.
“Not my idea of a good time, but whatever floats your boat. I don’t know about any of you, but I could use a drink or five,” Hannah grumbled.
The air shifted instantly. Hannah and her damn discontent once more sucked all the joy out of the moment. Chase glanced at me. I held his gaze a second longer than necessary. Maybe this trip would open his eyes. Maybe he and Lisa would finally see the real Hannah.
I’d made excuses for her for years, so partially my fault. I shielded her. Taken the fall more times than I could count.
Lisa clapped her hands together, sensing one of Hannah’s meltdowns coming. “Why don’t we head back to the hotel and spend the rest of the day at the beach?” she asked. “They have an amazing bar,” she added.
Relief rippled through the group, and we set off. As we started walking, my mind drifted somewhere dangerous. Isabella in a bathing suit. I’d overheard her at the spa after that full wax ordeal—declaring she was going to strut her stuff come hell or high water.
I couldn’t wait to see if she actually did it.