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“Yes,” she moans, grinding against my face. “Only you. Please don’t stop.”

I curl my fingers inside her, feeling her walls clench around them as she gets closer to the edge. Her thighs tremble against my shoulders. I want to devour her whole, claim every inch of her body and soul.

“Come for me,” I demand. “Let me feel you come apart on my tongue.”

The taste of her arousal fills my mouth, sweeter than any wine. Her fingers tighten again in my hair, pulling almost painfully as she chases her release.

“Zeke.” She pants. “I’m so close.”

I increase the pressure of my tongue, curling my fingers to hit that spot inside her that makes her see stars. Her whole body tenses, and then she’s coming apart with a cry that echoes off the study walls. I hold her hips down as she bucks against my face, drinking in every drop of her pleasure.

When her tremors subside, I pull my mouth away from her sweet pussy, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. She lies sprawled across the desk, chest heaving, wedding dress crumpled around her waist. Pleasure glazes her eyes, gin lingering—but there’s a clarity there I haven’t seen all day.

I rise slowly to my feet, my knees protesting slightly from kneeling on the hard floor. The sight of her like this—thoroughly debauched on our wedding day—sends a surge of possessive pride through me.

Gently, I smooth her dress back down her thighs, covering the evidence of our encounter. Her skin is flushed pink, and I see confusion warring with desire in those emerald eyes as they track my movements. The gin seems to have worn off somewhat, replaced by a different kind of intoxication.

“Why …” she starts, then licks her lips. “Why aren’t you taking me? Demanding your own pleasure?”

And god, do I want her. My cock is painfully hard, straining against my suit pants. But I won’t take her like this—not when she’s still partially drunk and confused about her own desires. I want her to remember every moment when I finally claim her again. This time as my wife.

“I’ll only fuck you again when you beg for it,” I tell her, my voice rough with restraint. “When you’re completely sober and desperate for my cock.”

A small whimper escapes her. I reach down and pull her to her feet, steadying her when she sways. Her pupils are blown wide with arousal, and I can smell her lingering arousal mixed with the gin on her breath.

“But,” she protests weakly, her fingers clutching at my jacket.

I capture her chin between my thumb and forefinger, forcing her to meet my gaze. “When you beg for it, Eve. Not before.”

I guide Eve back into the reception, my hand firm at the small of her back. Her steps are steadier now and the flush still staining her cheeks has nothing to do with alcohol.

The moment we enter, I sense his presence. Nicolo stands near the center of the room, commanding attention without saying a word. Conversations die as he turns those cold eyes toward us, a predatory smile curving his thin lips.

“There’s the happy couple.” His voice carries across the now quiet room. My muscles tense as he approaches, but I keep my expression neutral. “I was beginning to wonder where you’d disappeared to.”

Eve stiffens against my hand, but to her credit, she doesn’t back down. Her chin lifts—that detective’s instinct kicking in despite everything.

“Mr. Moretti.” I keep my tone respectful while maintaining eye contact. “I don’t recall inviting you.”

“And miss seeing the great Ezekiel King finally tied down?” Nicolo laughs, there’s no warmth. His gaze slides to Eve, observing her like a specimen under glass. “I had to see for myself what kind of woman could accomplish such a feat. So young. So beautiful.” Nicolo looks back at me. “Are you sure an old man like you can handle such a feisty young woman?”

“I’m not that young.” Eve defends herself before I speak, proving she’s just as feisty as Nicolo made her out to be. “And he’s not that old.”

Nicolo barks out more laughter. “I like you, Detective Landry.” Nicolo continues, extending his hand to her. “Or should I say, Mrs. King now? Or is it Detective King? Your reputation precedes you.”

The implied threat in his words makes my blood run cold, but Eve surprises me. She takes his hand without hesitation. She grips his hand in what looks like a firm shake despite the slight tremor I can feel running through her body.

“Mr. Moretti,” she replies, her voice strong. “I’ve heard quite a bit about you as well.”

Nicolo’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Indeed. Though I must admit, I never expected Zeke to settle down.” He eyes her with predatory interest. “Tell me,mio caro, how does it feel to be married to a man with such … colorful associations?”

Eve’s spine stiffens under my hand, but her voice remains solid. “I’m more interested in who my husband is now, not who he might have been in the past.”

“Ah, but the past has a way of catching up to us all, doesn’t it?” Nicolo’s gaze flicks to me, heavy with meaning. “Sometimes sooner than we expect.”

Eve stands taller and her face remains composed. Pride swells in my chest at her strength, even as fury burns through me at Nicolo’s implied threat. She may not be happy she’s now legally tied to me by marriage, but she’s still defending me like I matter to her.

“If you’ll excuse us,” I say, keeping my tone light despite my rage, “I believe it’s time for us to get some food.”