Page 100 of Theirs to Tempt: The Marriage Claim

“Such a greedy little wife,” Lucian murmurs against my breast, voice dark with satisfaction. “Already wet for us again.”

I try to protest, hips twitching. “I can’t—not again—please⁠—”

But Caleb pushes one finger inside me, slow and deep, curling just right while Lucian’s thumb presses firmer on my clit.

Together they work me, their mouths never leaving my nipples, fingers stroking and teasing until the pleasure coils tight and sharp in my belly.

Caleb adds a second finger, stretching me, while Lucian pinches my clit lightly. I come with a broken cry, back arching off the bed, thighs trembling as waves of it crash through me.

They ease me down gently, kissing the undersides of my breasts, my stomach, murmuring praise against my skin.

“Our good girl.” Lucian’s voice is warm and approving.

Caleb kisses my temple.

Slowly, reluctantly, still breathless, clutching the sheet to my chest, I sit up and accept the mug.

It’s strong, exactly how I like it. I take a grateful sip, trying to gather my scattered thoughts. “You said you had a surprise?”

Lucian stands, already dressed in a crisp button-down and dark trousers, looking unfairly put together. “We’re heading to Vegas in under an hour. We’ll have a private plane, and you’ll want to pack light.”

My eyes widen. “Vegas? But I have clients⁠—”

“It’s handled.” He moves to the closet and pulls out one of my sundresses and a pair of sandals. “You won’t need a bra or panties.”

His request is like a spark on dry tinder, making heat flood my face.

“You’re a married woman now.” Caleb’s smile is slow and wicked. “And after last night, the fabric on your sensitive little nipples is going to feel incredible every time you move. And we want access to our pussy during the flight.”

Response floods through me.

How is that even possible?

I’m still protesting as they tell me to dress.

“I need a shower.”

Lucian folds his arms. “Absolutely not. You’re not washing away last night or what we just did to you. We want you marked as ours.”

Mortification threatens to drown me.

These men are even worse than I could have imagined.

Rather than waiting anymore, Lucian helps me into the sundress.

Damn Caleb. He’s right. My nipples are sensitive from last night and just now, and the fabric rasping against them makes me hot.

The private jet is nothing like anything I’ve ever experienced.

The moment we step on board, the crew greets Lucian and Caleb with quiet deference and the kind of familiarity that speaks of long service.

The pilot’s gaze lands on me with polite warmth. “Mrs. Hawthorne-Pierce. Welcome aboard.”

Mrs. Hawthorne-Pierce.

I manage a small nod, cheeks warm, as Lucian’s hand stays firm at the small of my back, guiding me deeper into the cabin.

The interior is pure luxury—cream leather seats that look more like recliners than airplane chairs, dark wood accents, and soft ambient lighting that makes the space feel like a high-end lounge rather than a plane.