“If you want to have a collar-only experience in Magie Noire,with visibility”—he arches his eyebrow with that—“it would be a powerful way for me to truly announce you.”
ONE-two-three. ONE-two-three.
My panties are wasted—or rather, the flimsy lingerie I’m clad in. There’s merely a useless mop of arousal at this point, but I buy myself some time to digest his suggestion by being flippant. “Because the last time was so ordinary—you announcing me as your fiancée at the Prohibition Ball before they all shouted in unison, ‘Drink and conspire,’ and the place erupted like it was New Year’s Eve.”
“Exactly.” He grins, and it’s the gleam of a devil who paints hell like a haven.
Cocoon me in eternal damnation.
“I have questions.”
He presses his lips to my temple, spinning me around the dance floor as if we were a couple out of a Jane Austen novel, not one negotiating exhibitionism. “Of course you do.”
“I’m going to list them all so I don’t forget, and then you can answer. Have you done this with anyone else down there? Please don’t hold back because it’s our wedding. I can handle it, and I need to know. Where will it be? A specific room?Whowill be present?” I slant my head toward the family with that one. “You wouldn’t be jealous? What will we do? And maybe, maybe”—a lust-drenched, ragged breath blasts out of me—“can we go soon?”
His laugh is grand and boisterous, begging attention from the entire room, but reserved for just me. “I adore you, ZaraNoire.” He releases my hand to palm my head, peppering kisses over my battering pulse point and the column of my throat. “I love you with everything I am.”
Zara Noire.
I’m dizzy, desperate for his lips to be in other places, but I manage a breathy, “I love you more,” as I peer at my very own Atlas.
“Not possible, darling.” He pecks my jaw, straightening with wolfish approval of my greed and returning us to more demure waltzing. “Let’s get the guests out of the way first. Everyone present here is explicitly uninvited to be in Magie Noire this evening.”
“That saves us a lot of awkward mandatory dinners.”
ONE-two-three. ONE-two-three.
“That it does.” He chuckles before his tone drops to a husky tenor. “As far as jealousy, I’m a selfish man; I do not share. No one else will ever touch you. I won’t ever budge on that. You’re mine and only mine, so there might be moments that I feel murderous at anyone else witnessing how extraordinary you are in the throes of ecstasy. But more than that, it excites me because you listed it as one of your greatest fantasies, and I want nothing more than to be the man who makes your every dream come true.”
“I don’t need it,” I protest, my stomach swooping with giddiness over his possessiveness and his willingness to stretch himself for me. “It was—”
“I know you don’t. Let me answer the rest.” A more somber veneer stains him, but his one-two-three steps never falter. “My past with Magie Noire is sordid. My father made me go there weekly, so up until I was about twenty-five, I used the amenities, but nothing public. Then I reclaimed my feelings about all of that and left it behind. There’s a similar club run by a buddy of mine—discreet, exclusive. That’s where my experiences have takenplace for the last decade-plus. I wanted complete anonymity. But I have a private room here.”
There are so many elements to pluck from that admission—anger for what his monster of a father forced on him, curiosity and jealousy about his past experiences, pride that he wants the opposite of anonymity with me, and a bit of confusion regarding what he’s suggesting.
“Private?” I ask as he twirls me and pulls me back to him.
“All of us have private rooms in the owners’ wing,” he goes on. “Mine butts up to the voyeur hall. That was purposeful. It was a statement, announcing that if I was willing to share that part of my life, I would. It’s been unoccupied since we added that wing. And now … we spent so much time hiding, Zar. If you want me to show others how much I love you, that you’re the one I’ve chosen because you are fucking perfect, I’d be honored.”
A part of him wants this experience too. With me.
My heart thrashes wildly, thrill surging through my veins. “So … what …”
“You’ve got some drool here, wife.” He brushes his lips to the corner of my mouth, his tongue darting out for a teasing lick. “I have some ideas for what we can do, but if you’d prefer to have more control in this situation—”
“No.” I shake my head. “For one night, I just want to be the Noire queen, submitting to my king.”
He stiffens, his eyes romping all over my face. “What happened on that call with your father?”
I knew Rena would tell him what she’d overheard, but I intended to keep my frustrations from touching us today.
“Nothing.” When his stern leer warns me to be forthcoming, my shoulders deflate. “Nothing I want to discuss tonight. Please, Axel. Let’s keep to our marriage and our mission—dreams and desires—which looks like it’s going to be you fucking me in front of your kingdom.”
The slightest tint of conflict flecks his midnight eyes, but he squashes it, his lips crashing into mine. He kisses with the deepest parts of him, and just like the first time his mouth conquered mine, I feel his dominance and his surrender. That duality awakens everything within me.
He releases my mouth, his gaze flicking from my lips to my collar to my eyes.
And he knows. He owns me.
