I paused and let myself revel in it.
It wasn’t about sex. It wasn’t even about urgency.
It wasneed.The kind you feel in your lungs and makes you ache just to be touched. Just toknowit’s real.
I married a man with nothing left to prove, and he proved I wasworth everythingby claiming me like his greatest win.
Callum stepped up behind me, hands curving gently over my hips. “Wear something easy to get you out of tonight. That’s a command.”
I smirked. “Anything for my husband.”
He exhaled like I’d knocked the wind out of him, then dipped me backwards. He kissed me gently and full of gratitude, like I was some kind of miracle.
Maybe I was. Maybe we both were.
As his tongue swept over mine, I realized he didn’t take my name away today. He took myfaith, and I never wanted it back. Because I didn’t find God in this room—I found my husband, and that was enough to believe.
And the flesh became covenant.
And the covenant became us.
Milos wasn’t knownfor nightlife, but this place was different. High-end, tucked away, the kind of spot where billionaires and discreet royalty came to misbehave.
The restaurant dripped with quiet opulence. Low ceilings, dark wood, polished granite, and the faint smell of leather and sea salt. The lighting was golden, flickering, and just dim enough to excuse bad decisions.
Andfuck, Auri glowed in it.
She walked a step ahead of me, hips swaying with that unbothered, post-sex looseness that came from a fresh orgasmic haze, in a white sundress that did nothing to hide the heart-shaped curve of her ass. Thin straps, bare shoulders, and a cherry anklet I’d clasped on her ankle myself right before she stepped into her wedges. She’d fucking giggled, too. That girlish, sinful sound I wanted to bottle.
All I could think wasmine. My wife. My ruin. The reason I was still half-hard and off balance and seeing Heaven in candlelight. And as soon as I saw her framed in the decadent lighting, I knew I’d never survive dinner.
Every man in this restaurant would look at her, a feminine vision of softness and sin, and every man would know they couldn’t touch.
I pressed a hand to her lower back as we made our way through the maze of sleek booths and low conversation, guiding her deeper into the restaurant like I was leading her into a confessional. I angled us around a sweeping wooden column and into the place’s back corner, where we found the others already seated in the booth.
We were late. Of course we were.
It was a square setup, deep and plush, built for privacy and loose inhibitions. Ivy and Marco sat tucked close on the left side, shoulders brushing, drinks in hand. Her lip gloss was a little smudged. His sleeves were pushed to his elbows, revealing all those tattoos he spent his life hiding.
Maybe it meant he was letting himself be seen. Maybe it meant he felt safe with us now. Like our found family had become something real and worthy.
Kimi and Lucy sat across from them on the right, thoughtogetherwas generous. There was a good six inches of obvious, raw attraction between them, the kind you could both feel and taste. Kimi had one arm stretched along the back of the booth behind her, not quite touching. Lucy’s hands were in her lap, spine rigid, cheeks flushed as she stared determinedly at her water glass. No one spoke to the other.
God, the sexual tension at this table could’ve started a forest fire.
A bottle of chilled champagne already sat, sweating and open on the table. The glow of candlelight flickered against glass and polished wood, catching in Aurélie’s hair as we approached.
“You’re late,” Marco called as we approached, voice full of mischief.
“Fashionably,” Aurélie replied breezily as we stopped at the head of the table. “We had to take care of something.”
“Oh no,” Ivy muttered, reaching for the bottle of champagne in the center. “Youjustgot here.”
Marco leaned over the table, eyes wide. “Wait. Was that a sex thing? Itwas, wasn’t it?”
“Please don’t elaborate,” Kimi huffed.
“Actually,doelaborate,” Marco insisted.
