Page 44

P acing the waiting room of SOHO INK is not how I planned to spend my day.

But the second my hidden team— yeah, the one I assigned to shadow my wife without her knowing —pinged her location, I was already halfway into my car.

Didn’t even wait for the follow-up text confirming she was fine.

Is it invasive? Yeah.

Do I give a single fuck? Not one.

The guy who owns the shop, Billy Jones, is a big bastard—heavily inked, cool-headed, and thankfully married.

First thing I do is size him up, make sure he’s not the one touching my wife’s skin.

Once I know that it’s his wife, April, who’s handling Lucy’s tattoo personally, I breathe easier. A little.

He clocks me right away. My energy. My obsession.

But he doesn’t judge. He just gestures toward the back office and says, “We got a monitor if you need it. No sound.”

I slide him ten grand in hundreds before he finishes the sentence.

The screen flickers on, grayscale and silent, but what I see?

It drops me to my fucking knees.

Lucy.

Mine.

Shoulder bare. Head tilted slightly as she talks to April. Her cousins hovering nearby, throwing support and sass in equal measure.

But she—she’s focused.

She hands April a sketch. I recognize her drawing style. Just something she likes to do when she thinks no one is looking.

It’s loose and graceful, like her.

And then I see it.

A phoenix. Blade in its talons. Flame-tipped wings rising in defiance.

It’s not delicate. Not girly. It’s powerful.

Fierce.

Beneath it—my name.

Balor.

Etched in bold, scrolling script. Not dainty. Not hidden.

Claiming me.

A fucking brand stamped across her skin.

Public. Permanent.

My chest clenches, breath locking in my throat. And goddamn it, I wipe my face before anyone notices the tears trying to escape.

I can't sit still anymore.

I push off the wall and call Billy inside.

“What’s up, bro?” he asks, eyebrow raised.

“You got time to do one for me?” I jerk my chin at the screen.

“Her design. I want it. Her name, too.”

He grins.

It’s slow and knowing, the kind of smile from a man who’s seen love like this a few times in his life, and who knows when not to talk someone out of something permanent.

After a moment, where I assume he is getting a copy of the image, he pulls out a stool, preps the station, and nods toward me.

“Where we placing it?”

I unbutton my shirt and point to the right side of my neck and upper shoulder.

“Here. High. Visible.”

Billy whistles. “That’s prime real estate.”

“Exactly.”

I write her name out by hand— sharp, deliberate strokes.

My pen digs into the paper like it’s carving her into my bones.

The needle hums to life, but I barely feel it.

My gaze stays locked on the screen as I watch her wince, breathe, smile.

She’s so damn brave.

So goddamn beautiful.

I can’t believe she’s mine.

When he’s finished, I look in the mirror.

It’s perfect.

And I already know exactly what I’m going to do with it.

I take a calm breath, and I go find my wife.

Her cousins file out first, heading to the front to pay and chat. One of them is talking about grabbing matcha lattes or smoothies— whatever.

I don't care.

Because I know she’s in the back dressing room now. Alone.

I move quietly through the narrow hallway until I reach the half-closed door. I knock once.

“Yeah?” Her voice is soft. Tentative.

I push it open slowly.

She’s just slipping her arms into her top, I think it’s called a halter top. Her back is to me, long dark locks spilling over her shoulders.

She hasn’t fastened the clasp yet around her neck yet, and her gaze flicks up at the mirror in front of her.

She sees me.

But then—she sees it.

The tattoo on my shoulder and neck. Her name. The phoenix.

Identical.

Claiming her the way she’s claimed me.

Because I’ll always belong to her. And she will always be mine.

Together we rise up.

Her breath catches.

“Balor,” she whispers. Her voice cracks, her eyes welling.

She turns around fully, chest rising and falling like she’s holding back a storm of emotions.

“How?” she asks. “Why would you do that?”

I step into the room, slowly, deliberately. My hands are fisted at my sides because I’m shaking. She deserves more than words. But it’s all I have.

“Because I’m yours,” I rasp, voice low and rough. “You don’t get it yet, do you? You already own me. Every part. Mind, soul, fuck, even my nightmares.”

Her eyes glisten, lips trembling.

“You followed me here.”

“I followed you here,” I agree, letting her in. Letting her see how wild I am for her.

Mad. Crazy. Unhinged.

“Saw what you were doing, Angel. And I wanted it, too. All official like. Wanted it inked in my skin. Your name. Your phoenix. Your fire. It’s where you belong. Where you live now. Right under my skin where you’ve always been.”

“Balor—” she whines my name, her pupils blown as she watches me with hunger. “It’s so big and high. Is that a diamond in the sword?” she asks, looking at my new tattoo with pride and hope— and fuck, so much love.

And it’s all for me.

“Yeah, it is. That’s for you, my Diamond Girl. I want the whole world to know who I belong to.”

A pause.

“D-do you like it?’ she asks and turns slightly to let me see hers.

“You branded yourself with my name. And I returned the favor. Now we match. Like it, Angel? Nah, I don’t like it. I fucking love it. Love you.”

A tear slips down her cheek, and she laughs through it, shaking her head like she can’t believe me.

“I love you, too,” she whispers.

My voice breaks.

“Yeah, well, you better. Because I’m never walking away again.”

She steps into me, pressing her hands to my chest, mouth trembling against mine.

“Good,” she breathes. “Because you’re never allowed to leave.”

“Come here,” I growl, and I close the door, remembering what Billy said about the place being private and secure.

I only hope it’s fucking soundproof.

Lucy’s lips crash into mine, and I growl as I lick into her deep and sure.

Careful with her clothes because I have to be, I undress her just enough so my fingers can slide between her slick folds.

“So wet for me, Wife. So ready, aren’t you?”

“Yes. Balor, please,” she whimpers.

I push my fingers into her sopping wet heat, groaning as her body sucks them inside. Like she can’t get enough of me.

“Wanna fuck you here, Wife. You gonna let me fuck you in here? Gonna let me make you come?”

Lucy nods. Her hands are already on my buckle. She drags down the zipper, reaches inside, and pulls on my cock.

“Need you inside me, Balor. Now, please.”

“I got you, Angel. I fucking got you. Hold on,” I growl, my voice ragged with need.

Her eyes widen, wild and wanting, as I lift her up against the cool wall, my hands gripping the lush curve of her ass like I’ll never let her go.

Her thighs wrap around my waist instinctively, clutching me like she knows exactly how much I need this. Need her.

And then I sink into her.

One brutal, soul-crushing thrust, and I’m inside.

Buried to the hilt in heat and velvet and the only goddamn place I’ve ever truly belonged.

She gasps— a broken, helpless sound —and it undoes me.

She feels like heaven.

Like every wound I’ve ever carried just got kissed clean by fire and light. Like all the hollow parts of me she never saw—every scar, every secret—are being filled with her. With her sweetness. Her strength. Her fucking love.

“Balor,” she breathes against my throat, arms winding tighter around my neck. “Oh my God…it’s so good!”

I shove my shirt up, guiding her face against my chest, needing her closer even though we’re already one body now.

“Bite me if you have to,” I murmur hoarsely. “Mark me. Scratch me. I want it. But keep those sounds for me only, Angel. Just me.”

Because this isn’t just sex.

This is something primal. Something sacred.

And even though we’re in a borrowed space, a hidden hallway with the faint scent of ink and citrus cleaner in the air, it doesn’t matter.

Nothing matters but her.

Her voice, breathless and breaking, is the only soundtrack I need.

Every stroke, every grind of my hips, she takes like a goddess carved in pleasure.

She moves with me— for me —tilting her hips, clenching around me like her body was built to break me apart and remake me in her image.

I kiss her cheek. Her neck. Her throat. Soft and reverent between growled curses and shattered prayers.

“Mine,” I mutter into her skin. “You’re mine, Lucy. You hear me?”

“Yes,” she whimpers. “Yours.”

And when her nails dig into my back, her body fluttering and pulsing around me, I know she’s close. So fucking close.

And so am I.

My balls tighten, spine locking as I drive into her with desperate, filthy thrusts. I want to give her everything.

Every desperate drop of love, rage, obsession—all of me.

And when she finally comes, clenching down on my cock, trembling in my arms like she’s being set free, I follow.

My whole body stiffens, and I come so hard I lose track of everything except the feel of her arms holding me tight and the sound of her voice whispering my name like a vow.

“Love you so much,” she whispers.

“I love you, Lucy Cruz. From the second I saw you. You were always meant to be mine.”