"It's not funny," I snap.
"Baby, it really kinda is," she says, her eyes dancing with amusement. "You're standing here looking like someone pissed in your cereal while all the other boys are playing with their secret decoder rings."
Copeland lets out a laugh, his whole face lighting up. "I knew I liked your little dancer," he says, nodding at Reese. "She's fucking perfect for you. Although I don't really wanna know what you two are about to do in there." He jerks his thumb toward BEDLAM's entrance. "I got my own business to tend to."
He starts walking away, already pulling out his phone,probably to text Delaney about whatever fucked up shit they're into these days.
"Tell Delaney I say hi!" Reese calls after him. "And to text me about our next girls’ night!"
Cope throws up a middle finger without even turning around, and Reese just laughs.
I grab her by the back of the neck, my fingers tangling in her hair as I tug her to me. Her body collides with mine, soft curves against hard muscle, and I can feel her pulse jumping under my palm.
"Your mouth is getting pretty fucking smart," I growl against her ear, "so I might need to stuff it."
She pulls back just enough to meet my eyes, her lips curving into that wicked smile that makes my dick twitch. "Oooo, kinky," she purrs. "Like with my panties?"
Before I can respond, she dances away from me, hips swaying as she backs toward the entrance. The bouncer nods at her, already unclipping the velvet rope. I follow, my body on autopilot, drawn to her like she's got me on a fucking leash.
Because she does and I’ll gladly wear a collar and leash and let her lead me around. She’s my everything, my moon and my stars. My compass. I care about two things in this fucked up world, her and my family. Just so happens they both end and begin with her, and I wouldn’t have it any other fucking way.
If she smiled at me and asked me if she could burn the world down, I’d hand her the gasoline and matches and say light it up, baby girl.
Epilogue
REESE
Istumble across my old notebook while cleaning out the bottom drawer of the end table. It's been months since I've even thought about it. My infamous bucket list that started this whole wild ride with Ramsey.
Curling up on our bed, I flip it open, smiling as I see all the crossed-out items. But these aren't my neat little check marks. These are heavy black slashes that practically tear through the paper. Ramsey's work, for sure. He's always been possessive about everything, even my stupid list.
I'm about to write down a new idea when I notice something on the next page. Ramsey's handwriting—sharp and aggressive, pressing so hard into the paper I can feel the indentations on the other side.
REESE'S REAL BUCKET LIST (by the only person who knows what you truly need):
1. Stop thinking you can hide anything from me. I see everything.
2. Accept thatyour body belongs to me now. No more teasing other men.
3. Let me fuck you in the dance studio after hours. I want you bent over that barre.
4. Call me Daddy when you come. Every. Fucking. Time.
5. Wear my cum inside you all day. No cleaning up.
6. Remember who made you scream so loud the neighbors called the cops.
7. Stop pretending you don't like it when I'm rough.
8. Marry me.
P.S. I crossed out all that vanilla bullshit because this is what you really want. I've watched you long enough to know. Don't bother denying it.
I slam the notebook shut, my face burning hot. That arrogant, presumptuous, completely fucking correct asshole.
The front door opens and closes. Heavy footsteps in the hallway.
"Find something interesting?" Ramsey's voice is low behind me, and I know without turning thathe's leaning against the wall, watching me with that predatory look that makes my thighs clench.
