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CHAPTER TEN

Doran

She's the last one off the plane, sunglasses hiding what I know are hungover eyes, pulling a small carry-on behind her.

The other women stumble past—my sister practically being carried by Dalla, Revna's mother looking like she might die of embarrassment, Charm still wearing penis-shaped sunglasses.

"Never again, I’m so fucking tired," Everly mutters as she passes.

"Guess the preggers couldn’t keep up with the rest of us. You crashed out so early!" Rhiannon slurs, then notices me. "Brother! Your bride's a fucking champion. Out-drank everyone."

Who invites a pregnant woman to Vegas anyway?

Fuck it, not my problem.

"Good to know," I say, but my eyes are on Revna.

She approaches slowly, like she's not sure what version of me she's getting.

The last time we spoke, she was coming apart in a Vegas bathroom to my voice.

Now, in the harsh light of the airport, reality settles back in.

"Hi," she says simply.

"Hi." I take her bag, lean down to kiss her.

She tastes like airplane coffee and bad decisions. "Good flight?"

"I threw up twice."

"Lovely."

"Your sister's fault. She made us do shots at the airport bar." She pulls off her sunglasses, revealing bloodshot eyes. "Before we got on your father’s jet."

"Sounds like Rhiannon." I guide her toward the exit, hand on her lower back. "The car's this way. And, little wolf, that jet is mine, not my father’s."

"Doran," Mum calls out, managing to look elegant even though I can tell she’s clearly hungover. "Dinner tomorrow night? All the parents?"

"We'll see," I say, focused on getting Revna alone.

We leave the others to their own rides—Mum’s driver collecting the ones too drunk to drive, Dalla somehow still functional enough to get herself and Revna's mother home.

My focus is entirely on Revna, on the way she leans into me slightly, seeking support she'd never ask for verbally.

The parking garage is dimly lit, my Aston Martin waiting in a corner spot away from other vehicles.

Always thinking ahead, always preparing for possibilities.

The concrete pillars create shadows, giving us privacy I intend to use.

"Thank you for picking me up," she says as I open her door.

"Where else would I be?"

She slides in, dress riding up her thighs.

No panties, just like I told her.

Good girl.

I round the car, get in, and start the engine.

But before I can put it in drive, her hand lands on my thigh.

"Wait," she says softly.

I turn to look at her—really look.

Hair messed from travel, makeup mostly gone, wearing yesterday's clothes.

She's never been more beautiful.

"What?" she asks, self-conscious.

"Just thinking."

"About?"

"About how much I missed you."

"It was one night."

"One night too many." I reach over, trace her jawline. "Did you think about me?"

"You know I did." Her breath catches. "Especially during..."

"During?"

"You know what during."

"I want to hear you say it."

She bites her lip, cheeks flushing. "During the bathroom. When you made me... when I..."

"When you fucked yourself with your fingers while I talked you through it," I finish. "Yes, I particularly enjoyed that part."

"Doran—"

"Did you know," I continue, sliding my hand up her thigh, "that I could hear everything? Every little gasp, every whimper you tried to muffle. I had to lock my office door and stroke my cock while listening to you fall apart."

Her thighs part automatically, invitation clear. "You did?"

"Came all over my hand thinking about you fingering yourself in that bathroom." My fingers find her center, already wet. "Fuck, you're soaked."

"I've been thinking about seeing you since I woke up."

"Just thinking?"

"And remembering. Your voice. The things you said." She arches as I slide two fingers inside. "Doran, we're in public."

"Tinted windows." I curl my fingers, finding that spot that makes her gasp. "No one can see. But they might hear if you're too loud."

A car passes by, reminding us we're not alone.

It only makes her wetter.

"Someone could walk by," she protests weakly, already riding my hand.

"Let them." I add a third finger, stretching her. "Let them see who you belong to."

"Fuck," she gasps, grinding against my palm. "This is crazy."

"This is us." I lean over, bite her neck just hard enough to mark. "You love it. Love being my dirty girl in public."

"Not your—oh Gods?—"

"Yes, you are. My dirty girl who fingers herself in bathrooms when I tell her to. Who's dripping wet in a parking garage." I speed up my movements. "Who's about to come all over my hand where anyone could see."

She comes embarrassingly fast, biting her hand to stay quiet, clenching around my fingers.

I work her through it, then bring my wet fingers to my mouth, tasting her.

"That's just the beginning," I promise. "When I get you home, I'm going to fuck you properly."

"Home," she repeats softly, still catching her breath. "Your place isn't home."

"It will be."

The drive to my penthouse feels longer than normal.

She's turned toward me in her seat, dress hiked up, legs slightly parted.

An invitation I'm fighting not to accept while driving.

"Tell me about Vegas," I say, needing distraction before I pull over and fuck her on the hood.

"Your sister is insane."

"Established fact."

"No, like clinically insane. She hired strippers that looked like you on purpose."

"I know."

She sits up straighter. "You know?"

"She asked for my measurements. Said it was for wedding stuff." I glance at her. "I figured it out when you texted."

"And you're not mad?"

"Why would I be? You went to a bathroom to touch yourself for me instead of enjoying your lap dance. I'd say I won."

"Everything's a competition with you."

"Not everything. Just the things that matter."

"Like me?"

"Especially you." I reach over, squeeze her thigh. "You've been the prize since you were fifteen."

"That's still creepy," she says, but she's smiling slightly.

"Probably. Good thing you like creepy."

"I like intense," she corrects. "There's a difference."

"Is there?"

We make it to my building, into the private elevator, before I break.

The second the doors close, I have her pressed against the wall, dress pushed up, my belt already undone.

"Doran—"

"Need you," I growl against her neck. "Been thinking about this for hours."

"The cameras?—"

"Are mine." I lift her easily, her legs wrapping around my waist. "Security knows not to watch."

"That's not—fuck—reassuring," she gasps as I grind against her.

"Would you prefer they watch? See how desperate you are for my cock?" I nip at her throat. "Maybe I should make them watch. Show them who you belong to."

"Don't you dare?—"

I slide into her in one thrust, both of us groaning at the connection.

She's tight, wet, perfect. Everything I remembered and more.

"Missed this," she gasps as I fuck her against the elevator wall. "Missed you."

"Never leaving me again," I tell her, punctuating each word with a thrust. "Never."

"One night?—"

"Too long."

The elevator dings, doors opening to my penthouse.

I carry her inside, still buried deep, kicking the door shut behind us.

We don't make it to the bedroom.

I take her on the couch, the kitchen counter, against the windows overlooking the city.

By the time we finally collapse in my bed, we're both spent, covered in sweat and each other.

"I'm going to be sore tomorrow," she murmurs against my chest.

"Good. Every time you move, you'll remember who you belong to."

"Possessive bastard."

"Your possessive bastard." I run my fingers through her tangled hair.

"I should shower," she says.

"Later." I hold her tighter. "Need to tell you something first."

"If it's bad news, can it wait? I'm in a post-orgasmic happiness bubble. Again."

"It's... neutral news."

She props herself up, looking down at me with suspicious eyes. "What kind of neutral?"

"Njal's been spotted. He's heading back to Jacksonville."

Her entire body tenses. "When?"

"Yesterday. Maybe the day before. He's being careful, staying off main roads."

"Is he... do we know what he's planning?"

"No. But I have people watching for him. You're safe."

She relaxes slightly, processing this. "Okay. That's... okay. What else?"

"What makes you think there's something else?"

"You have that look. The 'I made a decision you're not going to like' look."

I'm impressed. This woman is starting to really understand me. "You're learning my looks already?"

"Doran. What else?"

"I invited Bembe Reyes to the wedding."

She goes completely still.

Then, slowly, she sits up, sheet clutched to her chest. "You did what now?"

"It's strategic. A show of good faith?—"

Her voice is dangerously quiet. "You invited the man who killed Erik and Anders to our wedding?"

"He didn't personally?—"

"His people, then. His orders." She stands, looking for her clothes. "You invited my family's enemy to our wedding without asking me?"

"It wasn't a discussion. It's business."

Wrong thing to say.

She whirls on me, eyes blazing. "Business? Our wedding is business?"

"The alliance is business. The marriage..." I reach for her but she steps back. "Revna, be reasonable."

"Reasonable? You want me to be reasonable?" She's pulling on her dress with sharp movements. "You made a decision about my wedding, my family's safety, without even mentioning it to me!"

"Because I knew you'd react like this."

"Like what? Like a person with feelings? Like someone who should have a say in her own fucking life?"

"You don't understand?—"

"No, you don't understand!" She's fully dressed now, looking for her shoes. "This is exactly what I was afraid of. You, making unilateral decisions about my life. Treating me like property instead of a partner."

"I'm trying to protect you?—"

"By inviting a killer to our wedding? How does that protect me?"

"By showing strength. Unity. By making the Culebra part of our alliance instead of our enemy."