Page 96 of Theirs to Tempt: The Marriage Claim

“Come for us,” Lucian orders, his voice dark velvet. “The first time you shatter for your husbands. Show us how well you’re planning to take us…”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Sophie

The words, the dual stimulation, the entire day—the vows, the rings, the wanting—all crash together, and I climax with a broken cry, clamping down with a pleasure so intense it borders on pain.

Tears spill hot down my cheeks, and I sob their names without meaning to.

My knees fold, and Caleb is there, holding me up. Lucian strokes me through every aftershock until I am trembling and oversensitive and undone.

Only then do they ease their hands away.

Lucian’s voice is rougher now, control fraying. “We want you in the bedroom. Unless you want the first time against the glass.”

I can’t answer with a sentence.

This time, it’s Caleb who lifts me and carries me down the hallway.

The enormous bed waits beneath the low lights. I have stood in this room before and panicked at Lucian calling it ours. Tonight Caleb sets me in the center of it and starts on his jacket. Lucian does the same.

For the first time, I get to watch them undress. There is something strangely fair about that.

Lucian starts with his cuff links, the little emerald-eyed owls I've come to recognize disappearing one at a time into his palm.

Even now, he is precise. The jacket is already gone. The shirt follows, white fabric parting over a chest that looks carved rather than built—lean muscle, a narrow trail of dark hair, the kind of body that belongs to a man who has never had to raise his voice to be obeyed. He is beautiful in a way that feels almost unfair. Smooth. Controlled. Unmarked except for the intensity in his eyes when he catches me staring.

I don’t look away.

He unhooks his trousers and pushes them down.

He is already hard. Heavy. Thick enough that my pulse stumbles. The size of him is not decorative. It is a fact, flushed and blunt and unapologetic, and the thought of taking that inside me sends a nervous, helpless heat between my legs.

“You can look,” Lucian says quietly. “I want you to.”

Caleb is less ceremony and more gravity.

His shirt hits the floor, and I understand instantly why he has always felt larger than the room. Broad chest. Thick arms. A body made for impact. Dark hair dusts his chest and arrows down a stomach that flexes as he moves.

Then I see the scars.

Most of them I could have predicted. A pale line along his ribs. Another nick at his shoulder.

And then…

I suck in a breath.

A thick, vicious scar slashes from just beneath his left collarbone down across his chest, ending near the base of his sternum. It is old but not neat. Whoever closed it was not trying to make him pretty. They were trying to keep him alive. The skin there is raised and tight, a brutal interruption in all that strength, and for a second, I cannot stop staring at it.

Caleb notices.

He does not cover it. He does not explain it. He only watches my face while he unzips his tuxedo pants and shoves them down.

If Lucian is elegant, Caleb is blunt force.

His cock is thicker. Heavier. Darker, veined, the head already slick, and there is nothing careful about the way my body reacts to the sight of him. Want. Alarm. A dizzy, traitorous pulse that says yes before I have decided anything at all.

“Sophie.”