“I’ll. Always. Be. yours. Just. Don’t. Stop.” She screams. Just as I’m about to cum, I sink my teeth into her shoulder, hard enough to bruise, but not hard enough to break her perfect skin. She shatters around my cock.
“Treyyyy!” She screams again, before going boneless.
I swing her around and lift her on my thighs, before I continue thrusting into her. Her head rests on my mine, as her body trembles, my hand snakes up to her throat while I whisper into her ear what a good girl she is, as I flood her with my cum. I ease slowly out of her, resting her back on bed as she shivers, her breathing almost making her sound cold, before falling at her side. She turns her body to me, pupils blown wide, before fisting my hair and slamming her lips to mine. She laughs shakily, fucking laughs, against my lips. As she pulls back, I search her face.
“That was one hell of a way to wake up.” I laugh with her, because I think, no, I know, I’ve caused my wife to crave me just as deeply as I crave her.
“Do you think the others heard?”
“Nah…”
The whole damn house a hundred and ten percent heard—probably the patrolling guards too. But I’m not about to embarrass my beautiful wife. Or stop her from screaming just as loud tomorrow.
The house hums with energy—music thumping from the speakers, laughter bouncing off the walls, the faint bite of hairspray hanging in the air. Half-drunk coffees clutter the counter, cords snake across the floor, and the rhythm of our pre-show chaos is in full swing.
Logan’s pacing the hallway, cursing at a cufflink that won’t cooperate. Mac is perched on the arm of the sofa while a stylist works on her curls. Sam’s arguing with the makeup artist about “not needing powder,” and Chace—half-dressed—is tearing apart the living room looking for guitar picks that probably don’t exist.
I’m in the bathroom, shirt hanging open, tattoos on full display, watching Seraphina in the mirror.
She’s seated on the vanity stool, her reflection catching mine as the stylist finishes the last curl of her hair. Black leather trousers hug her legs, a silky champagne top draping like liquid light across her shoulders. Simple, effortless and entirely devastating.
“Stop staring,” she teases, her mouth curving into that quiet, knowing smile.
“Not my fault,” I murmur, stepping closer. “You’re the only thing worth looking at.”
The stylist clears her throat delicately, pretending she didn’t hear that. Sera’s smile widens, but her gaze doesn’t waver.
When the woman steps away to grab a brush, I take my chance. My hands slide down Sera’s shoulders, fingertips tracing the soft line of skin at her collarbone. I lean in, brushing a kiss beneath her ear, breathing her in.
“Trey,” she warns softly, though her breath betrays her.
“Relax, Dove,” I whisper, my lips grazing her skin. “Just making sure you’re camera-ready.”
A quiet laugh trembles through her. She tilts her head slightly, just enough for our noses to almost touch.
“You’re impossible.”
“Mm.” I steal a kiss, quick but deep enough to leave a promise behind. “You love it.”
A knock hits the door. “You two done flirting, or should we give you five more minutes?” Logan’s grin carries straight through the wood.
“Make it ten,” I call back.
“Yeah, not happening,” he shoots, laughing as his footsteps fade down the hall. “We leave in twenty.”
Sera shakes her head, standing as the stylist declares her finished. I reach for my black blazer, sliding it on over my half-buttoned shirt. Sera steps in front of me, fixing the collar, smoothing a wrinkle with delicate precision. Her fingers linger just above my heart.
“You look unfair,” she murmurs, her voice warm and low.
“So do you,” I answer, meaning every word.
She’s almost ready—almost perfect—standing by the edge of the bed, light slipping across her skin in ribbons of gold from the window. I pause before we leave, something tugging at me.
“You need jewelry,” I say, moving toward the dresser.
Sera glances up, brow furrowed as I pull open the top drawer. My fingers brush velvet until I find the small black box I’d bought weeks ago. I flip the lid open and the room seems to shift with the glint of what’s inside.
Diamond earrings—simple, elegant, drops that catch the light like captured stars. Resting beside them, a cross. Not small. Not subtle. Four inches of sculpted gold, every inch set with tiny diamonds that shimmer like frost beneath sunlight.
