I close the distance slowly, bracing one hand beside her head against the glass, caging her in without touching her anywhereelse—not yet, not when the anticipation is doing half the work for me.
Her chest rises against mine, her breath warm against my throat, and for a moment neither of us speaks. I let the silence stretch. Let it tighten. Let it wrap around us until it feels almost tangible.
“You wanted this tonight,” I say quietly, my gaze dragging over her face, her mouth, the pulse fluttering at her throat. “You wanted to feel free.”
My other hand lifts, brushing along her jaw and down her neck with deliberate slowness, tracing a path that makes her shiver beneath my touch.
“Tell me something, baby…” I murmur, leaning in until my lips hover just short of hers, close enough that she can feel the heat of every word. “Do you feel free right now… or do you feel like you belong to me?”
Her breath hitches.
That small, involuntary reaction hits me harder than anything else could, snapping the last threads of restraint I’ve been holding onto all night.
My hand slides to her waist and pulls her flush against me, the fit of her body against mine sending a sharp, consuming heat through my veins.
“Because I’m about two seconds away,” I add, my voice rough now, edged with intent, “from reminding you exactly who you are to me.” I don’t give her time to recover from the warning, my hand sliding around her waist with quiet authority as I pull her flush against me, my other arm reaching past her to find the handle without ever breaking eye contact, because I want her to see it coming—I want her to feel it before it even happens.
Her breath catches the second she realizes.
The balcony door glides open behind her, a rush of cool night air spilling into the room, sharp and clean against the heatwrapped around us, but it does nothing to ease the tension. If anything, it sharpens it.
I guide her backward without hesitation, step by step, my grip firm at her waist as she yields to the movement, her body instinctively aligning with mine, trusting me even as her pulse jumps beneath my hand, even as her breathing grows uneven again.
“Eyes on me,” I murmur, my voice low, controlled, leaving no room for anything but obedience.
She doesn’t look away.
She couldn’t if she tried.
The city unfolds behind her as we cross the threshold—Vegas stretching wide and glittering, a living city of light and motion far below—but she doesn’t turn toward it, doesn’t take in the height or the drop or the dizzying sprawl of it all.
She only looks at me.
“Good girl…” The words slip out quieter now, roughened at the edges as I keep walking her back until there’s nowhere left to go, until the length of her spine meets the cool metal of the railing, her body caged between the open night and me.
We’re high—high enough that the world feels distant.
Top floor.
Sixty-seven stories up.
Nothing but open air and the endless pulse of a city that never sleeps.
And Seraphina. My wife.
Right here.
Exactly where I want her.
My hand tightens slightly at her waist as I step in closer, closing the last of the distance between us, claiming the space with a certainty that leaves no room for misunderstanding, because she’s already there, already mine in every way that matters.
The night air catches in her hair, lifting soft strands around her face, brushing cool against her skin.
My gaze drags over her slowly, taking her in like I’ve been starved of the sight.
“You feel that?” I murmur, leaning in just enough that my voice ghosts over her mouth, close enough to tempt, not enough to satisfy.
My thumb shifts at her waist, drawing her in tighter, eliminating the last fragile inch of space between us until there’s nothing left.
