Page 31

I walk straight into the private VIP lounge, kicking the heavy velvet curtains shut behind me, sealing us in the dark.

Iris stands near the leather booth, breathing hard, her hands resting on the back of the banquette.

Before she can speak, I hit her like a freight train.

My hands find her hips, and I lift her clean off the floor. She gasps, a sharp, surprised sound that I swallow with my mouth as I slam her back against the velvet cushions of the booth. Her legs part on instinct, wrapping around my waist, and my heavy frame settles between her thighs like it belongs there. It does. It always has.

"You liked that, didn't you?" I growl against her lips, my fingers digging into the soft flesh of her waist. The lace gives way under my grip, tearing down the middle with a sound that makes her breath hitch. "You danced out there knowing every man in this room was watching. Knowing it would drive me out of my fucking mind."

Her small hands find my hair, tangling in the dark strands, pulling my mouth down to hers. She tastes like champagne and defiance.

"Maybe I did," she pants, her hips already rocking up against the hard line of my cock through my trousers. "Maybe I wanted to see how fast you'd burn this place down to keep me."

"I'd burn the entire world down, Iris." I crash my mouth over hers, savage and bruising, a collision of teeth and tongues that is less a kiss and more a claim. She moans into it, her nails raking down the back of my neck, and I feel the vibration of it all the way in my chest.

When I break away, we are both breathing hard. Her lips are swollen, slick with my spit. The club noise falls away, muffled by the velvet and the dark, until the only sounds are her ragged breath and the thud of my heart.

"That boy by the bar," I say, my voice low and dangerous against her mouth. "The one who looked at your throat like he had a right to touch you. I sent Enzo to walk him outside. If he is lucky, he still has his teeth. If he isn't, every time it rains, he'll remember my name.

Her breath catches. Not fear of me. Fear of how much she likes the sound of it. I can see it in the way her pupils blow wide, in the way her cunt clenches around nothing, and a slick pulse I can feel through the wool of my trousers.

"Say you wanted me jealous," I demand.

"I wanted you." She nips my jaw, sharp and quick, a little flash of pain that makes my cock jerk against her thigh. "Jealous was a bonus."

"Then take what you bought. And keep your voice down." I pull back just enough to look at her, to let her see the dark hunger in my eyes. "They can know I am fucking my wife. They do not get to hear how you sound when you come."

I shove two fingers into her mouth. She sucks them on instinct, sloppy and eager, her tongue working the digits like she is already imagining something else. The sight of her lips stretched around my fingers, her cheeks hollowing, almost makes me come in my trousers like a teenager on his first date.

"That's it. Get them wet."

I pull them free, slick and shining, and push both into her cunt in one stroke.

She jerks against me, a muffled cry caught in her throat. She is soaked, her inner walls hot and clinging, and I can feel every ridge of her, every flutter, as I finger-fuck her to the distant bass. I curl my fingers into that swollen spot inside her, the one that makes her thighs clamp around my wrist, and I work it with a slow, grinding rhythm that has her panting into my neck.

"Romeo," she gasps, her hips rolling as she chases my hand. "Please."

"Please, what?"

"Please fuck me. I need your cock. I need it now."

I pull my fingers out and slap her clit with them, two wet, sharp taps that make her whole body jolt. "Not yet."

"You bastard." Her thighs tighten around my hips, pulling me closer, grinding her soaked cunt against the rigid line of my cock.

"Your bastard." I free myself with one hand, shoving my trousers and boxers down just far enough to let my cock spring free. It is heavy and thick, the head dark and shining with precum, and I drag it through her wet cunt, tapping her clit, painting her with her own slick. "You danced for me. It drives me wild. I want to own you, fuck you, care for you, and do it all over again the next day."

Ignoring her cry of protest, I flip her onto her stomach on the seat. She lands with a gasp, her ass in the air, the torn lace of her dress bunched around her waist. I look at her, spread open and glistening, my come and her slick still dripping from her cunt, and I feel something savage and possessive roar to life in my chest.

"You wanted to be watched," I say, running a flat palm over the curve of her ass. "You wanted every man in that room to see you and want you. Now you get to feel what happens to a woman who belongs to me."

The first slap lands before she can brace. Sharp. Loud. The sting blooms red across her skin, and she gasps into the velvet bench.

"Count," I command, waiting.

"One," she whimpers, wiggling her ass back and forth.

The second lands on the other cheek. Harder. My palm leaves a bright red handprint on her pale skin. She jolts forward, her fingers clawing at the booth, and I can see her cunt clench around nothing, dripping everywhere on the seat.