Page 235 of Intense

I press my lips firmly against hers. Fuck. She’s perfect.

“That was easier than I thought,” she mutters as she pulls away and puts her hand in mine like nothing happened.

I lead Stephanie straight to the bar. The air is thick with cigar smoke, laughter, and the sound of money being thrown around like it means nothing. A string quartet plays to Polish the Illusion of Elegance, but underneath it all this room reeks of predators in expensive suits.

My brothers are already in place, posted on either side of the bar, scanning the crowd with eyes that miss nothing. The Volkov men are scattered strategically around the floor. Frankie and Zara waltz on the dance floor like this is any other Saturday night date.

“Champagne?” A deep British voice cuts in behind me.

“Sure,” I mutter.

The flute is in my hand a second later, but Stephanie goes stiff beside me. Her body jolts against mine.

“What is it?” I lean down, my mouth close to her ear.

“I—uh… I don’t mean to be rude, but that guy’s face was a mess.”

A mess?

She swallows, her voice dropping lower. “Like… broken. Like he took a heavy beating and walked away without an eye.”

I frown. That doesn’t fit with the kind of staff they hire to work these floors. My gaze flicks to the man, but he’s already moving—disappearing through the double doors into the kitchen, back turned before I can get a good look.

“Maybe he’s part of one of the families that run this place,” I tell her, though the unease prickles my skin.

I wish I’d seen his face for myself.

Stephanie takes a sip of her champagne, a soft moan slipping from her lips. My eyes follow the drop that spills down, sliding from the corner of her mouth along her chin.

I put my glass down, curl my hand around her waist, and pull her flush against me. My tongue sweeps over her skin, licking the champagne from her chin.

“Don’t moan like that in public,” I growl against her mouth.

“Why not?” Her eyes spark with challenge, blue fire burning me alive.

Because she doesn’t understand. I’m obsessed. Addicted. Every sound, every look, every part of her is mine, and mine alone.

“Because your moans belong to me,” I mutter, stealing a kiss.

My hand grips her ass hard enough to make her breath hitch. She sets her glass down beside mine, her smile lighting her face until everything else in the room falls away.

She’s the center of my fucking universe.

“Dance with me?” I whisper against her lips.

Her mouth tips into a grin, teeth catching her bottom lip. “My husband wants to dance with me? In front of everyone?”

“Careful,” I warn. “Keep pushing and I’ll fuck you in front of them too.”

Her mouth falls open, shock and heat clashing across her face, and I smirk. We both know I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. She’s mine. Only mine.

Her hands slide slowly down my chest, her touch a brand. “I’ll dance with you, rich boy.”

A growl rips out of my chest as I duck my head, sinking my teeth into her neck hard enough to make her gasp.

“Whatever my wife wants, she gets,” I murmur, pulling back just enough to see her smile.

She tilts her head, still looking at me like I’m the only thing that’s ever mattered. “I just want you.”