Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
Trey
Babygirl – DVRKTHORN
The elevator ride up is quiet, but there’s nothing calm about it—only a taut, humming tension that presses in from all sides as Seraphina stands beside me, her shoulder brushing mine with every subtle shift of the lift, her breathing still uneven, her lips parted like she hasn’t quite come back down yet, and I feel it all over again—low, sharp, coiling tight in my gut in a way that demands action I’m barely holding back.
My gaze drops to her.
She’s already looking up at me.
And that—fuck—that nearly undoes me.
TMZ—breaking news: nearly dead rockstar fingers bombshell wife at club…
“Take it easy,” they said…Nah, I’ma dick her, even if it kills me.
Her pupils are blown wide, dark and hungry, swallowing up the gray of her eyes until there’s almost nothing left, her lips parted on a shallow breath like she’s still caught somewhere between the music and what we done on the dancefloor.
Shoulda put down a wet floor sign…
I watch the way her throat moves as she swallows.
The way her chest rises, just a little too fast. The way her thighs shift together like she’s trying to ease an ache.
The way she doesn’t look away.
Every inch of her is giving herself away, even in the stillness of this confined space, even surrounded by steel walls and our Mafia escort.
And she knows I can see it.
Knows exactly what it does to me.
My jaw tightens slightly, a slow exhale leaving me as I shift just enough to close the space between us without touching, not yet, not when the anticipation is already riding the edge of unbearable.
Whoever decided the best way to act was nonchalant was a fucking sadist.
“Careful, baby” I murmur, low enough that it barely carries beyond her, my voice roughened by restraint. “You keep looking at me like that in this confined space…”
I let the words trail, my gaze dropping to her mouth before dragging back up to her eyes, holding her there.
“…and I’m going to forget we’re not alone.” I don’t touch her. Not yet. Because the second I do, restraint becomes a liability.
The doors slide open onto our floor, and Niko’s men are already in position—four of them in sharp suits, probably armed to the balls.
Worse still, I don’t recognize any of them.
Just how many fucking people does he employ?
Where is my best friend and confidant, Igor?
One steps forward immediately, lifting his hand just enough to halt us—and definitely not to offer a high-five.
“Hold,” he grunts, his accent thick and foreign. I lift my hand and smack it against his, since he left it hanging. I mean… it would be rude not to.
Seraphina glances at me, something flickering in her expression. Anticipation, curiosity, maybe even a quiet kind of awareness, but she stays close, her arm brushing mine again as we wait, that small contact enough to keep every nerve in my body lit and restless.
With a grumble, the suite door opens, and two of the men move inside, sweeping through with efficient precision while murmured updates filter back through the comms, the seconds stretching longer than they should, longer than I have patience for, because now that we’re here—now that there’s nothing between us but a door and a handful of men doing their jobs—every instinct I have is locked onto her.
On the way she shifts her weight. On the way her fingers curl slightly at her sides. On the way she knows I’m watching her.
“Clear.” The word cuts clean through the tension, and everything shifts.
Another guard steps aside, gesturing us forward. “Mr. and Mrs. Baker.”
My hand settles at the small of her back as I move her inside, the door closing behind us.
I don’t move straight away. Instead, I let myself drink her in, really look, like I’ve been denied the right all night and I’m making up for it now.
Her hair a wild spill of red curls, her lips still swollen from my mouth, her chest rising and falling beneath that black lace dress that’s been testing the limits of my control since the second she put it on.
“Do you have any idea,” I murmur, my voice lower now, roughened by everything I haven’t said, “what you do to me?” She probably thinks she causes memory loss the way you keep fucking saying it to her…
She doesn’t answer. She just steps back, slowly, acting like prey caught in the den of a predator.
My jaw tightens, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of my mouth as my fingers move to the buttons of my shirt, undoing the first one without breaking eye contact, then the next, then another, the fabric loosening as the heat between us climbs another notch.
“Running from me, baby?” She takes another step, her breath catching just enough for me to hear it.
“You weren’t running five minutes ago,” I add, quieter now, the words threaded with promise. She shakes her head, and there’s a softness there beneath the tension, a flicker of something that almost looks like play.
“I’m not running,” she says, her voice quieter than usual but steady. “I’m making you work for it.”
A low chuckle leaves me, the sound dragged from somewhere deep in my chest as I shrug the shirt open fully, letting it fall just enough to expose skin, ink, everything I know she reacts to.
“Careful, Dove,” I murmur, my tone dipping, darkening, “you might not like what happens when I start taking.”
She backs up again, each step measured, each breath a little heavier than the last, until her back meets the glass of the balcony doors and the faintest sound slips from her as there’s nowhere left to go.
Exactly where I want her.
I close the distance slowly, bracing one hand beside her head against the glass, caging her in without touching her anywhere else—not yet, not when the anticipation is doing half the work for me.
Her chest rises against mine, her breath warm against my throat, and for a moment neither of us speaks. I let the silence stretch. Let it tighten. Let it wrap around us until it feels almost tangible.
“You wanted this tonight,” I say quietly, my gaze dragging over her face, her mouth, the pulse fluttering at her throat. “You wanted to feel free.”
My other hand lifts, brushing along her jaw and down her neck with deliberate slowness, tracing a path that makes her shiver beneath my touch.
“Tell me something, baby…” I murmur, leaning in until my lips hover just short of hers, close enough that she can feel the heat of every word. “Do you feel free right now… or do you feel like you belong to me?”
Her breath hitches.
That small, involuntary reaction hits me harder than anything else could, snapping the last threads of restraint I’ve been holding onto all night.
My hand slides to her waist and pulls her flush against me, the fit of her body against mine sending a sharp, consuming heat through my veins.
“Because I’m about two seconds away,” I add, my voice rough now, edged with intent, “from reminding you exactly who you are to me.” I don’t give her time to recover from the warning, my hand sliding around her waist with quiet authority as I pull her flush against me, my other arm reaching past her to find the handle without ever breaking eye contact, because I want her to see it coming—I want her to feel it before it even happens.
Her breath catches the second she realizes.
The balcony door glides open behind her, a rush of cool night air spilling into the room, sharp and clean against the heat wrapped around us, but it does nothing to ease the tension. If anything, it sharpens it.
I guide her backward without hesitation, step by step, my grip firm at her waist as she yields to the movement, her body instinctively aligning with mine, trusting me even as her pulse jumps beneath my hand, even as her breathing grows uneven again.
“Eyes on me,” I murmur, my voice low, controlled, leaving no room for anything but obedience.
She doesn’t look away.
She couldn’t if she tried.
The city unfolds behind her as we cross the threshold—Vegas stretching wide and glittering, a living city of light and motion far below—but she doesn’t turn toward it, doesn’t take in the height or the drop or the dizzying sprawl of it all.
She only looks at me.
“Good girl…” The words slip out quieter now, roughened at the edges as I keep walking her back until there’s nowhere left to go, until the length of her spine meets the cool metal of the railing, her body caged between the open night and me.
We’re high—high enough that the world feels distant.
Top floor.
Sixty-seven stories up.
Nothing but open air and the endless pulse of a city that never sleeps.
And Seraphina. My wife.
Right here.
Exactly where I want her.
My hand tightens slightly at her waist as I step in closer, closing the last of the distance between us, claiming the space with a certainty that leaves no room for misunderstanding, because she’s already there, already mine in every way that matters.
The night air catches in her hair, lifting soft strands around her face, brushing cool against her skin.
My gaze drags over her slowly, taking her in like I’ve been starved of the sight.
“You feel that?” I murmur, leaning in just enough that my voice ghosts over her mouth, close enough to tempt, not enough to satisfy.
My thumb shifts at her waist, drawing her in tighter, eliminating the last fragile inch of space between us until there’s nothing left.
“Nowhere to go,” I continue softly, my gaze locked onto hers, unrelenting, “no distractions, no one watching… or maybe someone is, but I really couldn’t give a shit. Let them watch as I take what’s mine.”
I let the words linger, let them settle into her skin, into the way she breathes, into the tension coiling tighter between us.My gaze drops to her mouth again, to the way her breath still comes a little too fast, before I lift my hand and trace the line of her jaw with the backs of my fingers, letting the touch linger just long enough to make her shiver.
“Turn around for me, Dove,” I murmur, my voice low.