Page 40

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Back at the hotel, I follow Reece into his room. I’m a woman on a mission.

The moment the door’s security latch slides home, I take my phone from my purse, open the music app, and pull up what I need.

A bass line rolls out like a purr. “Glory Box” by Portishead. Classic. Slippery. A little filthy.

Reece turns, eyes narrowing. “Oh?” His watch clatters onto the bedside table, followed by his cufflinks.

I hum, already walking to the windows, hips swaying. I throw a little saucy smirk his way because I want his eyes on me and only me. Reaching for the curtain pulls, I give them a little theatrical snap, and the fabric swishes closed.

Now it’s just the soft glow of that ethereal ceiling.

Perfect.

I turn and beckon him to the couch with a single finger. “Sit.”

He obeys, ’cause he’s a good boy and happy to surrender.

I step to the center of the room, framed by shadows and gold light. The music slinks and coils in the air. I strike a pose and lock his gaze to mine.

Just like that first night, I won’t give him a chance to look away.

And so the show begins.

I reach for the silver cuff first and slide it off with deliberate care. I run my tongue slowly across the inside curve, and he shifts on the couch, eyes fixed on my mouth.

I toss it to him. He catches it midair; god bless those F1 reflexes.

Next comes the silver belt.

I snake it out from the dress loop, slow and even, then snap it against my thigh like a whip.

I turn my back to him and hook it under my ass.

Two little tugs on each end and the belt lifts my butt cheeks.

So saucy . I dip and sway my hips with the song, keeping the belt under my ass, because my good boy deserves a little bump and grind.

Then I release one end of the belt, swing it around, and toss it away.

I glance over my shoulder, wink, and turn.

Reece’s jaw is tight.

As it should be.

The music swells as I roll my hips and run my hands up my sides to my breasts. I press them together and give him the “Ooo, yes, I know you wanna touch these” face. Gotta remind him why we’re here and that I know exactly what I’m doing.

Then comes the dress. I dive my hands down my stomach, slow, steady, deliberate.

Reece’s gaze follows their lead. He’s fucking putty in my hands now.

Time for the “Oh, god, I need to touch myself” face, eyes half-closed, lips parted — men love that one — and I grab my crotch Michael Jackson style.

I look up at him from beneath my brows, arch one, and slide my hands away while Beth Gibbons croons.

Time to lose the dress. Unlike my stage gowns, this one has a side zipper, which isn’t ideal, but I make it work.

I twist, draw it down inch by inch with a sultry grimace — because honestly — and let the fabric fall off one shoulder, then the other.

I shimmy it down my body with exaggerated effort, pretending to struggle just long enough to make it a bit funny.

I glance up at Reece with a “Can you believe this shit?” look, and he laughs.

Then I turn.

The dress falls over my hips, slow as syrup, and slides to the floor with a whisper.

Reece groans. “Christ.”

Beth tells her man to keep being a man, while I glance at mine again, in nothing but my bra and panties — and heels, of course. Gotta have the heels.

A little more bump and grind, a little more teasing and touching my own skin, before I reach behind me, unhook the bra with a little shrug, and slowly slide one strap down. Then the other. I’m facing him now, but when the cups slip forward, I turn away.

I let it fall, then look over my shoulder at my husband, and give him a little one-shoulder “Oh well” shrug.

“Tease.” He’s leaning forward, hands on his thighs, breath uneven.

I smile, dance down and up, hips swiveling, making him wait. Then I turn and let him see the girls in all their perfect naked glory. Yes, I really do have quite a nice pair of tits.

“Goddamn,” he hisses, to which I wink and do another slow hip grind as Beth begs her man to give her a reason to be a woman.

Finally, it’s time for the panties.

I hook my thumbs under the waistband and tease along it, taunting him as I dance and grind. Finally, I pull them down in one slow glide. Step out. Kick them toward him like a prize.

He catches them, of course, ’cause he’s a champion.

Then I climb into his lap, straddling him, warm and bare and smug as hell.

“You looked like you needed a distraction tonight,” I whisper against his mouth as I cradle his face.

“Yeah. This’ll do.” He slides his hands up my thighs, slow and steady, palms broad and warm against my skin. His touch isn’t tentative. It’s reverent. Like he knows exactly what he’s holding.

Me.

“You trying to kill me?” His voice is low and gravel-soft as his thumbs trace the curve of my hips.

I tilt my head. “A little bit.”

He laughs, but it’s tight, wrecked. Maybe his lungs don’t quite work anymore.

I rock forward just enough to drag myself across the front of his trousers.

He groans and grips tighter. “Fuck. You’re so beautiful, Mai.”

I lean in, mouth close to his ear. “Then touch me like you mean it, Reece.”

He shifts under me, hands sweeping up my sides, dragging me tighter against him as his mouth finds mine. There’s no hesitation. No slow build.

He kisses me like he’s finally found the thing he didn’t know he needed.

I grind down, rolling my hips deliberately. His hands slide to my ass and pull me tighter against the hard line of his cock.

“Let me taste you,” I whisper.

His breath stutters. “Fuck, Mai?—”

I slide off his lap and onto my knees, easing between his legs. He watches me with eyes gone dark and reverent.

I open his shirt and kiss the trail of dark hair just above his waistband, taking my time and relishing the heat and musk of his skin. Then I undo his belt and zipper, and tug down his trousers and briefs just enough to free him.

He’s already hard and slick.

I wrap one hand around the base of his cock and look up at him as I lap the head like a fuckin’ ice cream cone.

He groans and grips the edges of the couch.

I drag my tongue along the underside, then take him into my mouth. I’m going down slow and deep, just like I stripped, letting him feel the heat of my mouth, the brush of my teeth. This man needs to be savored, and I’m the lucky woman who gets a taste.

His hips shift, trying not to thrust. I moan softly around him just to hear his rumbling answer.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” He threads his fingers into my hair, not yanking, just there .

I pull back with a soft pop, give him one last long stroke with my tongue, then wipe my mouth and smile. “You look wrecked already.”

“You’re an evil little minx.”

“I’m just getting started.” I climb back into his lap and guide his cock into me with one smooth slide.

We both groan.

He’s thick, hot, and perfect inside me. Hands on his chest, I roll my hips, finding the rhythm I want. Reece grips my waist, but he lets me move how I need to.

“You feel like sin.” His eyes are locked on mine.

“’Cause I’m a little devil.” I laugh, though my breath catches.

He groans, thrusting up to meet me, and I bite my lip to keep from crying out too soon. Every inch of me is lit, tight, aching in the best way. I ride him slowly, building tension, grinding down. He slides his hands up my body, cups my breasts, and brushes my nipples with his thumbs.

“Fuck.” I roll and grind harder. “You’re so deep…”

“Take what you need.”

I ride him like I own him, because in this moment, I do. The air between us is thick with sweat and sound, the slide of skin and breath and want . He thrusts up into me now, harder, matching my rhythm with one that threatens to break me.

I grab the back of the couch for leverage and move faster. Every stroke hits just right, lightning crackling across my spine.

When my thighs start to tremble, Reece slides his hand between us and presses his thumb against my clit in tight, dirty circles.

I cry out, head falling back. “There. Right — there?—”

The orgasm strikes through me white-hot and electric, and I clench around him, breath gone, sparks shooting down every nerve.

Reece holds me tight and thrusts up once, twice, then stills with a groan and a curse.

We collapse together, breathless and sweat-slick. I bury my face in his neck as he strokes my back in slow, dazed circles.

His heart pounds under my palm.

I pull back just enough to look at him. “Still alive?”

“Barely.” He grins, ruined and beautiful. “You?”

I smirk. “Cocky bastard. You should be thanking me.”

He cups my face. “I’m never going to stop.”

We stay like that for a while, tangled and flushed, his hands tracing lazy shapes along my spine while my heartbeat slows against his chest.

Then, because I can’t help myself and it’s an inevitable question, I ask, “How many women have come before me?”

Reece huffs. “That a real question?”

“Dead serious.”

He brushes my hair back from my cheek. “Not many.”

I lift my head. “Define ‘not many.’”

He shrugs, and his eyes shift slightly as his expression grows a little guarded. “Peony.”

I blink. “That’s it?”

“She was my only actual girlfriend.”

I straighten because I want him to see my face and know I’m not mocking him. “You only dated one woman before me?”

“Dated, yeah. There were others. Casual. But nothing serious.”

I process that. “Peony.” I lift my left hand to display the diamond ring. “Previous almost owner of this, right?”

“Yeah. Peony Jones-Musgrove.”

I rest my hand on his chest. “Tell me about her.”

“Why?”

“Why not?”

He’s quiet a beat. “She was very… missionary when it came to sex.”

I snort. “You’re not.”

“She wasn’t my choice.”

My head tilts. “Wha? What does that mean?”

He scrubs a hand over his face. “Graham selected her for me. She came from the right family, had the right education, a good image. Polished. No history. She was acceptable .”

“Ooooh. I see. And Daddy Dearest thinks I’m not .”

“He thinks you’re good fodder for shitty TV.”

I smile, the cat that ate the canary. “He’s gonna be so disappointed when I don’t break apart.”

Reece cups my cheek. “I think you already rewrote the show.”

I lean into him, lips brushing his. Then I rest my head on his shoulder and trace the edge of his jaw. “I have another question.”

“Uh-oh.”

“It’s serious.”

“Hit me.”

I lift my head again. “What was our wedding like?”

He laughs. “You really don’t remember?”

I scrunch up my nose. “I remember gin and Mario Kart. That’s pretty much it.”

He shifts beneath me, his grin lazy and a little crooked. “Okay… picture a gas station designed by Liberace.”

“Oh no.”

“Neon hearts that flickered like a horror movie. Faded silk flowers in wreaths that looked like someone murdered Cupid in one of those dollar stores. And a cherub with one wing duct-taped back on.”

I blink. “You’re making this up.”

He grins. “I wish. Hector was our witness-slash-spiritual advisor, and you told the receptionist we were on a mission from Goat Yoga.”

I crack up. “Goat Yoga?” My voice goes high on the last word.

He laughs. “Yeah, I wasn’t sure if you thought that was a god or what?”

“Oh my lord.”

“You put fake flowers in your hair. I promised you rhinestones and eternal snack privileges.”

“This is just… wow.”

He’s smiling and I can tell he’s loving these memories. “You laughed through half the vows and cried when Elvis pronounced us husband and wife.”

“I cried ?”

“Just a little.” His voice softens, and he brushes my hair over my shoulder. “Not in a sad way.”

I stare at him.

“Then I carried you across the threshold out to the parking lot. Elvis was still singing, and Hector filmed the whole thing.”

My throat tightens. “Shit. I wish I remembered.”

“Maybe I can get the video from Hector.”

I nod and study the ring on my finger, turning it so it sparkles in the dim light, then I look at him. “Can I ask you something else?”

Reece grins. “That’s two questions in one night. You sure you wanna blow through your quota?”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I. Go on.”

“You said Graham chose Peony for you. So were you really going to marry her? Even knowing she wasn’t your choice?”

His amusement fades and he sighs. “Yeah. I guess I was.”

“Why?”

His gaze drifts to the ceiling, and he takes a minute, probably asking himself that same question.

Maybe it’s something he hasn’t wanted to ponder before.

“I thought that’s what stability was. Predictability.

Acceptability. She came with a pedigree Graham liked and no sharp edges.

She wouldn’t shake anything up or embarrass anyone, and…

I didn’t miss her when I was gone for more than half the year.

” Reece’s gaze cuts back to mine. “That used to feel like the safe choice.”

“And now?”

He fingers a lock of my hair. “Now I know being safe isn’t the same as being seen. Or chosen back.”

I rest my cheek on his shoulder, heart thudding in quiet harmony with his.

He doesn’t say anything else, and he doesn’t need to because I haven’t forgotten the pain in his voice when he told me how he’d caught her with someone else.

I will never forgive her for wounding him.

“I do remember something important from that night, speed demon.”

“What’s that?” He’s resumed the lazy circles across my back.

"You said you kept the ring so when we met you'd have it. Then you put it on my finger and when it fit, you said I was supposed to be your wife."

He kisses my head, so gently. “Yeah, and you liked how much it sparkled.”

“I still do.” I turn my head to see his face. “But I like you more.”

His brows arch. “More than sparkly diamonds?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Wow. That’s huge.”

I nod and close my eyes. “Yeah. That’s how much I love you, Reece.”

He sighs and kisses my head again. His arms tighten around me. “Good. ’Cause I love you more than fast cars, Maiken.”

And, shiiiit, how easy and right was that?