Chapter 22 #4
“Um, absolutely. Um, congratulations,” she stammers out, and I give her a feral grin before looking up at Hunter.
His eyes are on me, and I expect to see amusement flashing in them, maybe even a little confusion, but what I find stops my breath.
It’s white-hot need, his jaw tight and his body vibrating as he stares at me as if he’s claiming my very soul.
Ever so slowly, he leans down, pressing an almost reverent kiss to my cheeks. “Fuck, I like my last name on you, Peaches.” His words are just above a growl, and his hand on my waist tightens as he inhales. “I like the idea of owning you like that.”
Molten lust fills my veins, my lungs dragging in a huge breath and being filled with his rosemary and mint scent until I feel like I might be drowning in it.
“Let’s get this nuptial celebration started then, shall we?” Roman teases, and I look at him to see amusement in his eyes, and maybe a touch of jealousy. Fuck, I can’t help feeling my joke backfired just a little.
He leads the way, Hunter’s grip on my waist still tight as we walk down the corridor to another set of doors. They open as we approach, music pulsing out of them, and we enter a world full of strobing lights and writhing bodies.
The space is so much bigger than I feel like it should be, the ceilings high, and just like they promised, dancers in gilded cages dangle like exotic birds.
The DJ booth is high up on its own platform, and there’s a mezzanine level with a glass balcony, more bouncers, and a rope at the base of some stairs.
“We knocked the whole of the ground floor together, which included a ballroom,” Hunt tells me, practically having to shout in my ear as we walk towards the bouncers.
Again, they have to rope open before we’ve even reached it, and the guys give them a nod as we walk up the stairs. The music isn’t as loud as we get to the top, and we find a man in a suit waiting for us.
“We have your usual table ready, sirs, Mrs Anderson. And may I offer my congratulations and those of all the staff here at Depravity,” he greets, a smile on his face as he looks at Hunter. “About bloody time too.”
Hunter chuckles, slapping the guy on the back. “Thanks, James.” He keeps hold of me as James leads us to our table, which is towards the side of the VIP area and has a view of the entire club down below.
“Dom Pérignon, as requested,” James says as a server holds a bottle of champagne before filling four glasses.
“Thank you,” I reply, blushing as Hunt laughs. He takes a glass, passing it to me, then grabbing one for himself as the twins do the same.
“To my beautiful bride,” he toasts, and the others echo him as my heart races. Why does this feel less and less like a joke and more real with every passing second?
I bring the flute to my lips, sipping the light, bubbly champagne as I stare into my fake husband’s eyes.
I wonder what it would be like to actually be married to Hunter Anderson, but then a small pain flares inside my chest because there are three others who seem to have just as much of a claim on me as Hunt does, and I don’t think I could ever choose.
“Take a seat, Mrs Anderson,” Roman teases as he sits down and pats the booth next to him, and shaking my head at his silliness, I slide in, the leather cool against my overheated skin.
It’s a curved booth facing both the VIP area and the club below and a round, polished black table in front of it.
Hunter slides in next but Rowan stays standing, observing the people around us while sipping his champagne.
Fingers from my left tickle up my thigh and I take in a sharp breath as they move higher. My hand grabs his wrist, but it does nothing to stop him. “Roman.”
“They may all think that you’re his wife,” he whispers, his fingers gliding underneath my barely there skirt and teasing along my knicker line. “But you belong to me too, and I’m going to make you come while they all watch.”
He doesn’t even give me time to answer, sliding his fingers inside my lace thong and going straight for my clit.
My fingers tighten around his wrist, but I don’t push him away like I really should.
Instead, I stifle a moan into Hunt’s neck as Roman sets to work destroying me as quickly as he can, and there’s something about the fact we are in a public place that makes my blood sizzle in my veins.
“What’s—” Hunter cuts himself off, and I move my face so I can look up at him.
His gaze is hooded, his stare between my thighs as Roman moves his fingers lower, sinking two of them inside me so suddenly that I can’t stop the cry from escaping.
“Fuck, we really don’t need this kind of distraction,” he mumbles, but then his hand is on my thigh, pulling it open to give Ro better access.
“Evenin’, Hunter, boys,” a deep male voice says, and I hide my face in Hunter’s neck again, my nails digging into Roman’s skin as he slowly pumps his fingers in and out of me. “I hear congratulations are in order.”
“Thank you, Roger,” Hunter answers just as Roman strokes that spot inside me that is sure to make me see stars. “May I introduce my wife? Iris, this is Roger Sterling.”
Gritting my teeth, I try to school my face and turn to look up at Roger.
He’s older than Hunter, maybe mid to late forties, handsome in a silver fox kind of way, and smartly dressed.
There’s something a little unsettling about him though, like a beautiful snake that will hypnotise you and then sink its fangs deep.