Page 148 of Vow to Claim You

“Aric—”

“You’re going to smile and host and charm every person in that room, and the whole time you’ll feel me inside you.”

“I’m close⁠—”

“Good.” His pace increases.

We shatter together. His forehead drops to my shoulder. My fingers curl in his hair. I feel him pulsing inside me, feel the warmth of him flooding me, and the sensation triggers another wave of aftershocks that make me clench around him.

When he finally pulls back, there’s something soft in his expression. Something I’m still learning to read.

“We’re going to be late,” I murmur.

“Fifteen minutes.” He presses a kiss to my forehead. “Worth it.”

“My hair is destroyed.”

“It’s perfect.”

“I’m a mess.”

“You’re beautiful.”

“You’re biased.”

“Hopelessly.”

He fixes his pants and helps me off the desk. Holding my hand, he slowly walks me where my dress pools on the floor. Then he steps behind me and zips the dress back up the way he took it off. Slowly. Inch by inch. His mouth is at the back of my neck while his hands trace the line of the silk closing up my spine. He smooths my hair with hands that were rough five minutes ago and are gentle now. The contrast undoes me every time.

“Ready?” he murmurs in my ear.

“I can feel you dripping down my thighs,” I whisper, turning to him.

His eyes darken again, a flash of that feral hunger returning. “Good. Now every step you take tonight, you’ll feel me.”

I take a breath. I am about to spend an evening pretending I am not soaked through with the man behind me.

CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

Ayanna

The ballroom takes my breath away, which is ridiculous, because I’ve watched it transform from an empty space to a construction zone to something approaching beauty. But seeing it now, filled with light and music and people in gowns and suits, seeing my vision made real, made alive—it’s something else entirely.

Black silk drapes the walls, champagne roses spill from towering arrangements, the string quartet plays “The Four Seasons” by Vivaldi in the corner, and everywhere I look, there are people.

Powerful people. Dangerous people.

My guests.

“Breathe,” Aric murmurs beside me, his hand warm at the small of my back. “You look like you’re about to either faint or conquer a small nation.”

“Can’t I do both?”

“Sequentially, perhaps. Simultaneously might send the wrong message.”

I glance up at him. He’s doing that thing where his face is perfectly neutral, but his eyes are amused—the Aric Vold equivalent of a belly laugh.

“I can’t believe I pulled this off,” I admit quietly.