Page 4 of Theirs to Tempt: The Marriage Claim

Heat coils low in my belly, thick and insistent, pressing against the front of my trousers.

I let it build without rushing, savoring the way my cock twitches at the thought of Sophie’s glittering green eyes widening in that same stunned surrender.

Eight years I have carried the memory of her fire, the way she stood in that jasmine-scented courtyard with her chin lifted and her hands trembling.

Now the wait is over.

The queen of hearts landed exactly where we needed it, and Richard Langford’s empire—every bridge loan, every seized property—belongs to us. And so does she.

Near me, Caleb’s dark eyes track the monitors with predatory focus, the slight flex of muscle along his jaw the only outward sign of the storm I know rages beneath his street-sharp calm.

I feel the heat of him, the way his shoulder brushes mine in silent communion, the partnership we forged in Geneva smoke now complete in this final, exquisite win.

I couldn’t have done this without him.

Couldn’t be who I am without him.

His fingers curl loosely at his sides, and I know without looking that he is imagining her between us already—her soft curves yielding to our harder frames, her analytical mind fracturing under wave after wave of the sensation we will wring from her body.

Altair carries glasses toward us, the crystal catching the low light as he turns to face us.

His golden eyes gleam with shared understanding, the kind only another man who rules this world can offer.

We each accept a glass.

“Hell of a win, gentlemen.”

“It was indeed.” I lift my glass toward Caleb.

Caleb mirrors the motion, his movements unhurried, deliberate. Our glasses meet with a clear, resonant clink.

The whiskey burns a smooth, smoky path down my throat, warming me from the inside out.

I let the burn linger as my gaze drifts back to the monitors.

On the left screen, the bound woman comes apart, her body convulsing in rhythmic spasms as her Dom curls his fingers just right, and her cry fractures into something raw and beautiful.

My own breath deepens, chest rising and falling in time with the scene, my cock now fully hard and pressing insistently against my zipper.

Sophie will sound like that soon. She will shatter between us exactly like that—her independent walls crumbling under the relentless possession of our hands, our mouths, our cocks—until the only thing left is the truth she has fought for eight years: she belongs to us.

She’s strong and fierce, wearing the independence she built like armor after that night we destroyed Adrian’s proposal. I know she still carries the scar of that shattered moment, convinced we are the monsters who ruined her fairy tale. She has no idea we saved her from a far worse cage and have spent every day since preparing the only one she will ever crave.

My mind slips back to the courtyard unbidden, the humid Houston night thick with jasmine and floating candlelight on the pool.

Adrian on one knee, the diamond catching moonlight like cheap theater. Sophie’s face alight with hope, her breath catching as she whispered his name.

Then our strategic interruption—my slow, deliberate clap slicing through the romance, Caleb’s lethal presence at my shoulder. The way her green eyes flashed pure fury when I told her she would thank us later.

The ring box falling, velvet hitting stone with a soft, forgotten thud. I bent and retrieved it, brushing invisible dust from it before holding it out to her trembling hands. That was the last ring she ever touched. Ours will be the first she wears. The only one. We will be the only men who will ever possess her completely.

A fresh wave of obsessive heat surges through me at the thought. I set my glass down with deliberate care, the soft click against the polished bar echoing my resolve. No other man will ever slide anything onto her finger. No other hands will map her body the way ours will. Every inch of her—mind, heart, cunt—will learn our rhythm until she cannot imagine breathing without us inside her.

Caleb shifts beside me, his shoulder pressing more firmly against mine now, the contact sending a spark of shared hunger straight to my groin.

I glance at him and catch the dark promise in his eyes, the way his lips curve in that predatory half smile that tells me he is thinking the exact same thing. We will move her into the penthouse after the upcoming gala.

There will be no negotiation. No escape. And our forced marriage will happen within a month.