Page 150 of Theirs to Tempt: The Marriage Claim

Caleb’s hand cups the back of my head. “You feel like victory. Do you have any idea what that does to me?”

Lucian eases off my clit just before I break. “I want you on the bed. I want your wrists in our ties so you can stop thinking and only feel. If that is too much, say so.”

“It is not too much. Do it.”

Black silk around my wrists—tight enough to feel held, loose enough that I could twist free. Caleb kneels and drags his tongue through me. Lucian kisses me and pinches one silk-covered nipple, then soothes it with his thumb.

“Please,” I whisper. “I need you inside me again.”

Caleb pushes in. Lucian rubs my clit in tight, ruthless circles. “Let us see what tonight did to you.”

I shatter so hard the ties bite. Caleb follows with a groan. Then Lucian takes his place—slower, filthier—until I break again and he comes with a sound I will hear for the rest of my life.

They free my wrists and kiss the faint marks. They do not take the dress off. They lie on either side of me in ruined black tie, my gown twisted around my hips, the city still burning beyond the glass.

“Are you all right?” Lucian asks quietly.

I kiss him. Then I kiss Caleb.

“I am better than all right,” I say. “And I am not finished with you tonight.”

Caleb’s smile is a dark promise against my skin.

“Neither are we.”

Chapter Forty-Two

Lucian

Malcolm fucking Voss.

Piece of shit.

I stare at the message glowing on my phone, reading it a second time even though every word was perfectly clear the first.

You were always so fond of informed choice, Hawthorne. Make certain your wife has hers.

For several seconds, I don’t move.

Beyond the glass walls of Lorenzo’s penthouse, Las Vegas is beginning to pale beneath the first thin wash of morning. The city has finally gone quiet enough that I can hear Sophie breathing beside me.

She is on her side, beautiful and trusting, between Caleb and me, her face turned in my direction, one hand tucked beneath the pillow. The sheet rides low across her back, leaving the smooth line of her shoulders bare, and her hair is an impossible tangle from our hands.

From hers too.

A slow, almost primitive satisfaction moves through me at the memory.

Last night, she didn’t simply surrender to us.

She reached for me.

Then for Caleb.

She told us what she wanted, chose what we did to her, and somewhere in the middle of all of it, when I told her she was ours, she looked straight into my eyes and calmly reversed the claim.

“And you’re mine.”

The words have followed me into the handful of hours since, disturbing something I’d spent most of my adult life making certain remained untouched.