Chapter 30 This is a Safe Space
THIS IS A SAFE SPACE
Lachlan sits on the couch in his study while one of his doctors stitches up the bullet wound.
It’s deeper than he led me to believe. I hold his other hand as I sit beside him.
He hasn’t winced or even paid attention to the surgeon as the man sews up his arm, even though he refused to let the doctor numb the gash first. He’s too busy scalding Tessa.
The woman stands at the end of the couch, taking Lachlan’s tongue-lashing like a frightened teenager. It’s a side of her I didn’t know existed.
Wes stands behind her as if to stop his sister from leaving should she try. Not once has he defended her.
Tears gleam in her eyes. “I swear I never would have sent Emery to Maisie had I known she had ties to Angus. I would never do that to you.”
“To me,” Lachlan snarls. “But Emery is free game? She’s my wife, dammit! If you attack her, you attack me.”
Tessa turns to Wes. “Please believe me. I never meant for her to be taken or harmed. I thought at worst she and Maisie would get caught trying to leave the pub. I didn’t think they’d escape anywhere, least of all to Angus. I didn’t know they were connected. Why would I? We’re not friends.”
“I’m not defending you in this,” Wes snaps. “Emery could have died.”
“I’ll do anything,” she begs her brother. “I swear.”
“Pack your shit and get out of my castle.” Lachlan’s tone rings with finality. “You’re done here. There’s no coming back from this.”
Her head swings to Lachlan, her face in shock. “No! No.” She whispers the last word, and her knees give out.
Wes catches her when she crumbles.
Lachlan doesn’t give her a second glance. “Get her out of my sight.”
I almost feel bad for her, but then I look at Lachlan’s bullet wound and consider that he could have died had the bullet hit him somewhere else. Because of her.
After that night, things shift between me and Wes. He doesn’t scowl at me like he wants to kill me from across the room and even nods at me on occasion.
It’s minor, but I’ll take it.
Two weeks after Tessa left, the three of us sit down to dinner.
We haven’t eaten together since before my attempted escape when I overheard Wes and Lachlan talking on the phone.
I sit at the head of the table next to Lachlan—where I’ve been ordered to sit until we move back to America.
Rory is to my left and Wes is on Lachlan’s right.
Two courses in, Rory says, “Are you riding tomorrow?”
“Yes.” I set my wine glass down and smile at the thought of the sun and warmer temperature. The grass is greener. Purple wildflowers bloom everywhere. Even the ocean is calmer. The seagulls seem to like it too, squawking more regularly and increasing in number.
“Mind if I join you?” Rory asks.
“Not at all,” I say. Lachlan went riding with me once. He’s good, but he doesn’t love it the way Rory and I do.
“I saw you the last time you rode,” Wes says to Rory. “It was impressive.”
The comment is odd. Has he never seen Rory ride before? I’m not about to ask. Wes might not scowl at me anymore, but we don’t make small talk.
I keep my head down and continue to eat my lemon butter sole, analyzing the question in my head.
Maybe Wes doesn’t like horses and that’s why he asked.
No, that can’t be right. He and Lachlan played polo in college.
I only know because I found a framed picture of them tucked on a shelf in the tower library.
If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I wouldn’t have believed it—especially after watching them spar recently with equal parts worry and awe.
My brain never could’ve conjured images of those two sculpted underground fighters wearing bright polos and playing such a preppy sport.
They looked good on the horses. Both of them had longer hair, the strands peeking out under their little helmets.
Younger Lachlan was hot and turned me on as much as he does now.
I couldn’t help but think if we’d been closer in age when we met, that he wouldn’t have wasted a glance in my direction.
But when I think about our chemistry and the way it charges when we’re near each other, my body and heart whisper, who are you kidding?
Lachlan and I would have fought and fucked like we do now. We would have hated that we loved it until we gave in and just loved it. We would be exactly how we are today.
Lachlan clears his throat. “Emery?”
I pull myself from my thoughts and meet his gaze. “Yes?”
“Wes was talking to you.”
“When?” What did I miss?
His sets his fork down and tilts his head, examining me. “Just now. He said he saw you riding.”
“He was talking to Rory.”
“Nope.” He smirks. “He was talking to you.”
I look over at Wes. Amusement dances in his blue eyes, his sideswept bangs skimming one as a faint smile curls his lips.
Holy Chanel!
When Wes isn’t brooding, he’s fashion-model worthy. I never looked at him long enough before to notice, but damn.
My gaze shifts to Lachlan then back to Wes. How are women not trying to hump these two on the daily? Add Rory, with his green eyes, into the mix and you have a trio of hells angels.
“What are you thinking?” Lachlan asks in a knowing, teasing tone.
My face heats. “Nothing.” I grab my wine glass and take a big sip.
“She was thinking something,” Wes chimes in. “Look at those cheeks.”
My neck prickles with the heat of three sets of eyes on me.
“You can tell us.” Rory joins in the teasing. “This is a safe space.”
Oh god. There is only one way for me to get out of this. “Fine.” I set my glass down and look at each of them. “You want to know?”
“Safe space.” Wes raises his hands encouragingly.
So this is what the three of them are like when they’re playful.
This should be fun. I clear my throat. “I was thinking about what it might be like to have an… orgy with you three.”
Wes’s eyes and mouth turn into saucers.
Rory gapes with a shocked laugh.
Lachlan’s brows slam down. “The hell you were.”
He shoves the chair away and stands. Taking my wrist, he yanks me to my feet and drags me from the room.
“I was teasing.” I struggle to keep up in my heels as we cross the gallery toward the grand staircase. “Lachlan, slow down.” This is what I get for poking the bear.
He picks me up and tosses me over his shoulder as he climbs the stairs faster than seems humanly possible. We’re in his room in record time. He swings me down onto the bed.
“Strip.”
I rise on my knees. “We didn’t even get to the main course.”
“Strip, Emery. I’m going to fuck that image right out of your pretty head.” He’s already down to his pants, his sculpted abs on display, his hard pecs, the Celtic tattoo.
I lick my lips. Even the scar on his bicep is a turn on. He got it rescuing me.
His gaze follows my tongue, and he groans. He rips off his belt and snaps the leather between his hands.
My brows shoot up. “You’re not going to spank me with that.” His palm I wouldn’t mind, I don’t think, but not that.
“I’m going to tie you to my bed like I promised many times before.” He stalks toward me.
“Wait,” I say, nervous and excited. “If you tie me up, I can’t strip for you. Don’t you want to watch me strip?” I pull my hair over one shoulder and reach behind me for the zipper.
Lachlan halts.
Submission from him? I’m going to work this for all I can.
My bronze silk dress clings to my figure, hugging my breasts and showing just enough cleavage to be tasteful for dinner.
I slip a finger under the spaghetti strap and ease it down.
It falls to my elbow. I do the same with the other, then I move my hair behind my back and slowly guide the zipper down all the way.
Lachlan’s erection prods through his pants like a sword aimed at its target.
Taking my time, I slide the dress under my breasts to reveal my hardened nipples.
He wipes his hand down his mouth.
I ease the silk dress lower, exposing my abdomen, hips, and satin panties. Once it’s to my knees, I wriggle out of the dress and toss it aside before lowering onto all fours and crawling across the giant bed to him. The entire time, my gaze stays locked on his.
He looks feral and hungry.
I climb off the side of the mattress and turn, arching my back so my hair brushes my thong. “If you tie me up, you won’t be able to move me around like this.” I glance over my shoulder at him, feeling sexier than I ever have.
In an instant, he’s behind me, his cock pressed against my backside. His hand shoves into my hair and twists it into a makeshift ponytail. He tugs my head back and claims my lips with a brutal kiss. The way he towers over me, his rich taste, and the heat of his body have me rocking against him.
I love when he loses control because of me. I love that he can’t imagine me thinking about any other man but him. I love that he needs to prove his dominance over me.
This is how love should be—for us anyway.
“Lachlan?” I pant and send my fingers into his hair, massaging the back of his head. “Fuck me, please. Fuck me hard.”
“Christ, Emery,” he says, surprised.
I’ve never acted like this with him before.
Still fisting my hair, he uses his other hand to play with my nipples then lowers it to slap me on the ass. “Spread your legs.” I do as he says. His fingers slide into my panties and run over my sensitive clit, causing me to moan. He slips a finger in me and hisses.
“You only get wet for me. No one else, Emery. Say it.”
“I only get wet for you. No one else.” I pant as pleasure courses through me and continue to rub my ass against his engorged cock.
He shoves one finger inside me and pumps it in and out before adding two.
“If you ever think about fucking someone else, know they will be dead before the day is over.” It’s a harsh whisper in my ear as he pounds his fingers into me.
He slides them out to slap my clit then shoves them back inside me.
I come and collapse under the weight of the pleasure. Lachlan releases my hair, and I fall onto the bed, my face buried in the covers.