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“Revenge,” I smile. “I want revenge.”

VESPER - 1 YEAR LATER

The heatof Oscar's mouth between my thighs makes me forget I’m supposed to be reviewing the quarterly reports from our Boston operations. My fingers dig into the edge of the mahogany desk, body arching as his tongue finds that rhythm that makes my toes curl.

“Fuck,” I breathe, one hand tangling in his hair, guiding him closer. “Right there.”

His blue eyes flick up to meet mine, dancing with mischief as he doubles down on his efforts. Even on his knees, Oz exudesthat same calculated control that first drew me to him. Every stroke of his tongue is deliberate, crafted to push me to the edge without letting me fall.

The mansion is blissfully quiet for once. Matteo is down for his afternoon nap with Talon standing guard, and Z has taken the security team through their paces on the grounds. These stolen moments have become precious currency in our new life.

“Someone could walk in.” I make no effort to stop him. If anything, my thighs tighten around his shoulders, keeping him exactly where I need him.

Oscar's laugh vibrates against my core, sending fresh shivers up my spine. He pulls back just enough to speak, his breath hot against my sensitive skin. “That's half the thrill, solnishko. Besides, I locked the door.”

“Like a locked door has stopped Z or Talon. They’re both professional locksmiths at this point.”

His mouth returns to its exquisite torture, and I let my head fall back, surrendering to the pleasure building inside me. The quarterly reports scatter across the desk, forgotten as Oscar slides two fingers inside me, curling them.

“God, I've missed this,” I gasp, my free hand knocking a pen holder to the floor with a clatter that neither of us acknowledges. “Missed you.”

Oscar has been gone for five days, handling a situation at our West Coast operations. Five days without his steady presence, his methodical touch that knows exactly how to take me apart.

The pressure builds, my thighs trembling as I hover on the precipice. Oscar senses it, he always does, and slows his pace deliberately, drawing me back from the edge with maddening expertise.

“Don't you dare,” I warn.

He lifts his head. “Patience, solnishko. We have time.”

“I don't want patience,” I growl, using my grip to guide him back. “I want to come on your tongue before someone interrupts us.”

His smile is wicked as he lowers his head again, giving me exactly what I demanded. The rhythm shifts—faster, rougher—his fingers working in sync with his mouth until the tension finally shatters. My back arches off the desk as pleasure rips through me, raw and consuming, Oscar’s name tumbling from my lips like a prayer, a curse, a benediction all at once.

He stays with me through it, easing me down from the heights with gentler strokes until I collapse boneless in my chair, my chest heaving over my large belly. The twins are expecting in two months' time. Oscar rises with fluid grace, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before leaning in to capture my lips in a kiss that tastes of me.

“Welcome home,” I mutter against his mouth, feeling his smile.

“If that's my welcome, I should leave more often,” he teases, helping me straighten my skirt.

I catch his wrist, pulling him closer. "Don't you dare. It’s going to take all of us when these two arrive.” My fingers swirl over my swollen belly.

“Never for long, solnishko. You know that.”

The bulge in his tailored pants hasn't escaped my notice. I reach for his belt, but he catches my hand, pressing a kiss to my palm.

“Later,” he promises, his voice rough with restraint. “Z is probably already suspicious about why I rushed straight to your office instead of debriefing him first.”

As if summoned by his name, three sharp knocks sound at the door, followed by Z's unmistakable voice. “If you two are done fucking on the desk, we have a situation.”

“Your timing is impeccable as always, brother,” he calls out, straightening his tie.

I smooth my skirt, trying to regain some semblance of professional composure.

Oz walks over to the door, unlocking it. Z pushes the door open, his silver eyes taking in the scene with a knowing smirk—the scattered papers, my flushed cheeks, Oscar's slightly rumpled appearance. He leans against the doorframe, crossing his tattooed arms over his chest.

"Nice to see you too, brother," Z drawls, his observance lingering on Oscar before shifting to me. “Though I was hoping for an actual briefing on the San Francisco situation before you debriefed our queen.”

“I was getting to that. Priorities, brother.” Oscar replies smoothly. He moves away from the door and perches on the edge of my desk with casual elegance. “You and Talon have had her to yourselves for nearly a week. I think I should be given a little grace.”