Page 21

I flip her off and head for one of the suite's many bathrooms, choosing the one farthest from the party.

I'm washing my hands when my phone rings.

"Still having fun?" Doran's voice is low, amused.

"Tons," I confirm, sitting on the closed toilet lid. "Your sister's insane."

"I'm aware. Tell me about the stripper who looks like me."

"Jealous?"

"Curious." There's an edge to his voice now, darker. "Did he touch you?"

"It was a lap dance. He was close to me."

"Where did he touch you?"

My thighs clench at his tone. "My shoulders. My hair. He... guided my hands to his chest."

"Did you like it?"

"It was fine."

"Fine?" He chuckles darkly. "Tell me, little wolf—are you wet right now?"

The question sends heat straight through me. "Doran?—"

"Answer me. Are you wet from him dancing for you?"

"No," I admit, pressing my thighs together. "I'm wet from you. From your voice."

"Good girl." His voice drops lower, pure sin through the phone. "Where are you?"

"Bathroom. The party's still going."

"Lock the door."

I do, my hands shaking slightly with excitement. "Done."

"What are you wearing?"

"A dress. Black. Short. Too short, according to Dalla."

"How short?"

"Mid-thigh."

"Perfect. Take off your panties."

"Doran—"

"Do it. Now."

The command in his voice makes me clench.

I shimmy out of them, the cool air hitting heated skin. "Okay."

"Touch yourself. Tell me exactly how wet you are."

My hand slides between my legs, finding evidence of how his voice alone affects me. "So wet. Dripping."

"That's my girl. My perfect, needy little wolf. Circle your clit, slowly. I want you to edge yourself while I talk."

I obey, biting my lip to stay quiet.

Through the door, I can hear my friends laughing, having no idea what I'm doing.

"I can picture you," he continues, voice rough with his own arousal. "Cheeks flushed, trying not to make noise. Your pretty pussy dripping for me while you're surrounded by other people. Tell me—are you close already?"

"Yes," I gasp, moving faster.

"Slow down. You come when I say, not before."

I force myself to slow, torture and pleasure mixing. "Please?—"

"Please what? Use your words."

"Please let me come. I need it."

"Put two fingers inside. Imagine they're mine. Imagine I'm there, bending you over that bathroom counter, fucking you while your friends are right outside."

I do as he says, and the fullness makes me whimper.

The mental image he's painting isn't helping my control.

"Quiet, little wolf. Unless you want them to hear what a needy slut you are for me. Is that what you want? For them to know you're finger-fucking yourself to my voice?"

I bite my hand, moving my fingers as he instructs—slow, then fast, then slow again.

He keeps me on edge, voice commanding even through the phone.

"Add another finger. Stretch that tight pussy for me."

"Fuck," I whisper, adding a third finger.

The stretch burns perfectly.

"Such a good girl," he praises. "Taking orders even when you're drunk in Vegas. Even with a room full of strippers, you're in here touching yourself for me. Tell me who owns this pussy."

"You do," I gasp, so close it hurts.

"Say it again."

"You own it. You own me."

"That's right. And when you get home tomorrow, I'm going to fuck you so hard you forget any other man exists. I'm going to mark every inch of you, make you scream so loud the whole building knows who you belong to."

"Doran, please?—"

"Come for me. Now, Revna. Come on your fingers while you think about my cock."

I shatter, his name muffled against my palm as waves of pleasure crash over me.

My legs shake, threatening to give out as I ride the intense orgasm.

"Beautiful," he murmurs. "I can hear how hard you came. Such a perfect little wolf. Clean yourself up and go enjoy your party. Think of me every time you feel how wet you still are."

"Tomorrow?" I manage, still catching my breath.

"Your flight lands at three. I'll be waiting. And Revna? Don't bother wearing panties."

He hangs up, leaving me disheveled and satisfied in a Vegas bathroom.

I clean up with shaking hands, check my appearance, and rejoin the party.

"You okay?" Dalla asks, eyeing me suspiciously. "You were gone a while."

"Just needed a moment," I say, accepting a fresh drink.

"Your face is all flushed," my mom observes. "And your eyes are glassy."

"It's warm in here."

Rhiannon gives me a knowing look but doesn't comment.

Instead, she raises her glass. "Another toast! To the bride, who's marrying my brother and making him less of a controlling bastard!"

"I don't think that's possible," I say, still feeling the aftershocks.

"Probably not," she agrees cheerfully. "But at least he'll be a happy controlling bastard!"

We drink and laugh and share stories until the early morning hours.

My mother and Charm sing an off-key duet that has us all in tears from laughter or emotion, hard to tell.

Greer shares embarrassing stories about Doran as a child. "He once tried to pay a girl to be his girlfriend in third grade."

"I love you all," I announce, definitely drunk off my ass. "Even you, Rhiannon, you crazy Irish woman."

"Love you too, future sister," she slurs back. "Even if you are marrying my insane brother."

"He's not insane," I defend. "He's... intense."

"Intensely insane," Dalla offers.

"Intensely hot," Elfe corrects.

"Both," Greer concludes. "Just like his father."

We end up in a pile on the massive couch, watching the sun rise over Vegas.

My bachelorette party, surrounded by women who've become my family in ways I never expected.

"Thank you," I tell them. "For this. For everything."

"Don't get sappy on us now," Charm says, but she's wiping her eyes.

"Too late," my mom sniffles. "My baby's getting married."

"To the scariest man in Florida," Elfe adds helpfully.

"The scariest man who's completely obsessed with her," Everly corrects. "That's the important part."

"Still scary," Elfe insists.

"Good scary," I murmur, thinking about the phone call, about his voice commanding me from hundreds of miles away.

"Definitely good scary," Rhiannon agrees. "Now, who wants to hit the casino before our flight?"

"No!" We all shout in unison.

She pouts. "You're all boring. I'm telling Doran you were boring."

"Please do," I say. "Maybe he'll postpone the wedding."

"Not a chance," Greer says confidently. "That boy's been waiting for years. A nuclear bomb couldn't stop this wedding."

She's right. In one week, I'll be Revna Volkov. But tonight—this morning—I'm just a drunk girl in Vegas with my favorite people, pretending the real world doesn't exist.

"Come on," Dalla says, pulling me up. "Let's get some sleep before the flight. Something tells me Doran's going to want his bride back in one piece."

"Spoilsport," Rhiannon mutters, but she's smiling.

We stumble to our rooms, leaving a trail of shoes and bachelorette party debris.

As I fall into bed, my phone buzzes one more time.

Doran:

Sweet dreams, my drunk little wolf. Tomorrow you're mine again.

I smile into my pillow, still feeling the echo of my orgasm, still wet from his words alone. Yeah, tomorrow I'm his.

But tonight was mine.

And what a night it was.