Chapter 3
JAKE
Wedding Night
The elevator at the Wynn glides upward with a smooth, silent confidence I’d normally appreciate.
Right now, it’s torture.
Talia stands beside me in the elevator, swaying slightly as she hums something under her breath, the tune barely recognizable. I can tell this isn’t drunkenness anymore. It’s just her brand of loose, carefree energy.
I like it.
When the elevator shifts, her hip bumps lightly into mine.
Electricity shoots through me instantly, and my mind flashes back to outside the chapel.
The way she wrapped her legs around my waist without hesitation.
The way she kissed me back.
The way her eyes dropped.
Lingering.
Low.
Heat floods my bloodstream all over again.
Her gaze had stayed there for a second too long, curiosity and hunger written all over her face as she took in the unmistakable evidence of exactly what she was doing to me.
I knew what she was thinking.
She wanted to touch.
She wanted to explore.
She wanted to taste.
I shift slightly now, my jaw tightening as the memory collides violently with the present.
She bumps into me again, playful, her fingers tracing the muscle of my arm absentmindedly.
Or maybe not absentmindedly at all.
She glances up at me through her lashes.
Her eyes flick down.
Just for a second.
Then back up.
But that second is enough.
Enough to tell me everything.
Enough to make heat coil low and tight in my stomach.
Oh, she knows exactly what she’s doing.
She doesn’t look embarrassed.
She doesn’t look shy.
She looks curious.
Hungry.
Fuck!
My pulse spikes, hard and heavy, my grip tightening on the railing behind her just to keep myself grounded.
“You’re very quiet,” she murmurs, her voice low in my ear.
The sound of it sends a shiver straight down my spine.
I lean closer, my mouth hovering near her skin, close enough to feel the warmth of her, close enough that if she turns her head even slightly, our lips will meet.
“I’m exercising restraint,” I tell her, my voice rougher than I intend.
Her smile spreads slowly, deliberately, like she enjoys knowing she’s the reason.
“That doesn’t sound like fun.”
“No,” I admit quietly. “It’s not.”
Her breath catches.
She shifts closer, her body brushing mine, her fingers sliding lightly along my chest like she’s testing the boundaries of my control.
“You don’t have to restrain yourself once we’re in your room,” she promises softly. “I’m your wife, after all.”
The elevator dings softly.
Penthouse.
Thank God.
I lead her down the hallway, my stride purposeful, my pulse a heavy thrum in my ears that drowns out the distant sounds of the casino floor below.
She matches my hurried steps, laughing under her breath.
“Husband,” she says, like she’s still testing the word. “You walk very fast.”
“I have motivation,” I mutter.
She squeezes my hand.
I reach the door to my suite and swipe the key card, my hand steady now. Good thing my body burns through alcohol fast, because I have plans for tonight.
The little green light flashes.
Access granted.
The heavy mahogany door swings open, revealing the expanse of the suite.
It’s a temple of excess.
Floor-to-ceiling windows spill neon light across polished marble and dark wood. The Strip glows beneath us, alive and pulsing, like the whole city is watching.
The bedroom sits off to the side, partially visible—dark sheets, wide and inviting.
“Hoooooly crap,” Talia breathes as she steps inside, like she’s just crossed into another universe.
She lets go of my hand and spins in a slow circle, her yellow dress flaring out around her thighs. Her laughter fills the room, bright and reckless and completely intoxicating.
“Hercules,” she says, staring around in awe. “This isn’t a room. This is a kingdom.”
I close the door behind us.
She walks deeper into the suite, fingertips grazing the marble bar, the leather couch, like she needs to touch everything to make it real.
“Are you like… rich?” she asks, squinting at me suspiciously.
“Don’t worry about it,” I grunt.
Because money is the last thing on my mind right now.
She drifts toward the windows, pressing her palms flat against the glass. The city glows beneath her, painting her skin in gold and pink.
“Look at the lights,” she whispers. “Everything looks like tiny little jewels from up here. Even the traffic.”
I watch her instead.
The curve of her back.
The way the thin fabric of her dress hugs her waist.
The sparkle of the cheap ring on her finger.
My ring.
My wife.
I move toward her slowly, the silence of the suite amplifying everything—the soft sound of her breathing, the faint rustle of fabric as she shifts her weight.
“You’re fucking beautiful,” I say.
The words come out low.
She goes still.
I step in behind her and wrap my arms around her waist, pulling her back against my chest.
She fits perfectly.
Like she was meant to be here.
Her body relaxes into mine without hesitation, her head tipping back against my shoulder. I can feel the warmth of her everywhere, the softness, the quiet trust of the way she leans into me.
She turns her head slightly, her lips brushing the line of my jaw.
She smiles, tilting her head back to look at me. Her hair is a messy halo of blonde against my shoulder, strands catching in the neon glow from the window.
“Do you know you’re my husband?” she murmurs, her voice soft with wonder.
“I never thought I’d end up married to Hercules.
It’s like I’m living in some ridiculous fairy tale.
I’m so lucky to have you as my husband. And Elvis was our witness.
” She laughs quietly, shaking her head. “Isn’t that kind of amazing? ”
Her innocence in this moment destroys what little control I have left.
“Damn, wife,” I mutter, burying my face in the crook of her neck.
Her skin is warm and soft beneath my mouth. She smells like vanilla, strawberries, and something unmistakably her—something addictive.
She shivers in my arms.
I tighten my hold on her, my hands locking at her waist like I’m afraid she might slip away.
“You’re driving me crazy,” I confess against her skin.
Her heart is racing. I can feel it fluttering wildly beneath my forearms, matching the violent rhythm of my own.
“You’re my wife, Talia,” I murmur, the words tasting unreal and inevitable all at once. “You’re mine.”
She turns in my arms, slow and deliberate, until she’s facing me.
Her hands come up to rest on my chest, right over the scotch stain, her fingers splaying there like she’s claiming territory of her own.
“You’re very bossy,” she whispers, her lips curving, “for a guy who just met me four hours ago.”
I slide my hands down her sides, gripping her hips.
“Believe me,” I say quietly, leaning closer, “I know how to take charge.”
Her breath catches.
“Do you?” she whispers.
Her fingers curl into my shirt, tightening, pulling me closer until I can feel every inch of her pressed against me.
“Well, then,” she says softly, her voice dropping into something darker, something dangerous, “maybe you should stop talking about it… and show me what that means.”
That’s it.
Whatever fragile thread of restraint I was clinging to snaps completely.
I reach down and scoop her up, my hands sliding beneath her thighs, lifting her effortlessly.
She gasps, then laughs—a breathless, reckless sound—as her legs wrap around my waist instantly, like she’s been waiting for this.
Her mouth finds mine before I can even take a step.
The kiss is pure chaos.
Teeth.
Tongue.
Heat.
Her fingers dive into my hair, gripping hard enough to make me groan. I kiss her deeper, harder, needing more, needing everything.
I start moving toward the bedroom, but we don’t make it far.
My shoulder clips a side table, sending a decorative vase rattling violently. It wobbles, teeters—
Neither of us cares.
I pin her against the wall, my body braced around hers, trapping her there. Her back hits the surface with a soft thud, and she gasps into my mouth.
Her hands are everywhere now—pulling at my collar, sliding over my shoulders, scratching lightly at my chest through the fabric.
She’s not shy.
She’s not hesitant.
She’s hungry.
“The bedroom,” she whispers against my lips, her breath hot, still smelling faintly of tequila and sugar.
I drag my mouth along her jaw, down the line of her throat, feeling her pulse racing beneath my lips.
“Too far,” I growl.
My hands slide down to her hips, pulling her harder against the thick, aching need in my pants.
She lets out a soft, broken sound that goes straight through me.
Her teeth close gently around my lower lip, tugging just enough to make my control fracture further.
My hands move frantically to the zipper of her dress, pulling it down slowly, the sound of the metal teeth separating echoing in the quiet room.
The fabric parts, revealing her smooth skin, and the ivory lace of her underwear.
She steps out of the dress, leaving it pooled at her feet.
I groan at the sight of her, my control slipping further with every passing second.
Her small tits are perfect, her nipples already tight, begging for my mouth.
I take my time, savoring them until she’s breathless.
"Hercules, please," she whimpers, her hands fluttering around aimlessly. “Please, please. I want you. Now.”
"Not yet, Sunshine," I murmur against her thigh.
I know how some guys are.
Men can be absolutely selfish assholes in bed.
But I’m not one of them.
I gotta make sure Talia is taken care of first.
I want her completely undone.
I thrust against her, grinding hard, my cock aching to be inside her. Her head falls back, a sharp gasp escaping her lips.
“Now. Please. I need you,” she repeats.
I carry her the few steps to the couch, laying her down roughly, the cushions sinking beneath her weight.
Her blue eyes lock onto mine, full of hunger, full of need. I tear off my shirt, tossing it aside, her gaze lingering on the tattoos that cover my arms.