The lights must be all the way up because despite the golden hue, the brightness is obliterating. I shut my lids and simply revel in him filling me, in his piercing scraping deep crevices in my core, purrs of contentment pouring out of me.
He rolls my peaked nipples between his fingers, massages my sore muscles, and circles my too-sensitive bundle of nerves, all while pounding into me to the tempo of a future I am zealous for.
“It’s just you and me, Zara.” His voice is a husky, lust-strained lullaby. “No matter what else we’re facing, no matter what kind of fishbowl we’re in, no matter who is glaring at us, it’s only us.” His finger traces the outline of my face, compelling me to open my eyes.
And I do. To the savage spectators who are foaming at the sight of us and ravaging one another. To the lights that leave nothing concealed. To the union I’m desperate to protect because despite Axel’s romantic oaths, the forces against us are magnanimous.
To him—to the vulnerability he’s extending to me and to his club. To the path we’re forging. To his tats that are works of art from a man he raised. And the pecs, abs, and forearms that are sculpted from a fire he can’t escape. And his deep-ocean blues that spear me with fortitude.
To the ring on his finger, declaring he’s mine.
We get lost in the rhythm, our bodies thriving in unison, our muscles slick with sweat, our moans a theme song for our climb to the summit. And when we are merely steps away from our peak—murky clouds curtaining my vision, my breaths puffing out, my bones abuzz with the greed he often accuses me of—he lies atop me.
His elbows bracket my head, my heavy ankles drop to rest the bar on his lower back, and his glimmering eyes latch to mine. “You, my radiant wife, are my favorite part of every heartbeat. Everything I am, everything I have, and every dream you hold—it’s all yours now. Tell me you’re mine. That’s all I need.”
My chest constricts with a warning, as if my intuition seeks to rob me of this tranquility, to remind me that just today, I was threatened with all the ways this could be ripped away from me. But I choke it down and permit myself to be fully devoted to this victorious fusion.
“I’m yours, Axel. And you’re mine. My best friend, my husband, my home. My Atlas.”
“That’s my girl,” he coos, picking up his pace and swirling my clit until he sees I’m teetering on the edge for the sixth time tonight.
And as his pumps grow ragged and his breaths become choppy, he glances from me to our voracious audience with a delighted smirk and issues his final command of the night. “Come for your kingdom, my darling queen.”
AXEL
Zara and I are drained—in that glorious way that racks you when your mind and muscles have harbored as much elation as one day could possibly proffer. We shared yesterday with everyone else. The family moments were treasures. And the image of her bound, avid, and bravely seizing her greatest fantasy will be burned into my brain for all time.
It was perfect, but thankfully, our exhaustion is our send-off to lazy days alone.
As we’re following the guards to the garage so we can jet off to Greece, Bernard sidles up to us, urgency guiding his stride.
“I’m sorry to catch you at the last minute. I’ve received news, and I thought it was best not to wait.” He hedges there, debating on whether to share in front of Zara.
That immediately has my hackles rising. “Reason to delay our trip?”
“I don’t believe so.” He glances at Zara with unmistakable empathy.
Her face hardens to stone. “Please don’t handle me with kid gloves. We all know I can cope with just about anything.”
If this involved KORT, he’d have cornered me separately.
I wrap my arm around her waist, tugging her close and giving a go-ahead nod to Bernard.
“Beck Davis was found murdered in his home.” He studies her reaction, pained by whatever he deems it to be. “I’m so sorry, Zara. Truly.”
They may have only beenfriendly—whatever the fuck that meant—but she respected him nonetheless. And she trusted him enough to share a room with him when she arrived, which means he likely knew why she was here.
She grips her chest, swallowing what appears to be bile. “Were there any details?”
He clears his throat, so soft for my wife that his unflappable composure is faltering. “Swift entry, one bullet to the head while he was having a drink, no obvious theft.”
Not personal. A for-hire hit.
Utter bafflement coils around me. This is another loose end, like Shep’s arrival at La Lune Noire. Neither aligns with her working for KORT, but both have a clear connection to her.
“Maybe it’s best to put our trip on hold,” I suggest, partly to see if that’s what she prefers. Although that may not be the best idea since I’d like time with her before her loyalty test and this honeymoon affords us that.
With a headshake that borders on frantic, she processes everything and hugs him. “Thank you, Bernard. I’ll miss you.”
