Page 99 of Sire

“Wilder.” He salutes with his mouth full. “The Pastor’s wife is pretty and poisonous. Copy that.”

When I return, Sire’s silhouette looms at the top of our penthouse stairs. “How’dthatgo?”

“As you knew it would.” I stomp up the stairs. “Wilder is bat shit crazy, but I trust him now.”

He steps back. “You going to feed every man I hire to guard you?”

“Feed them.” I swish past him. “Or poison them. Instinct: every woman should listen to it.”

“Poison them?” Sire smiles, impressed. “With what? There’s no oleander outside.”

I shrug. “Poisonous yew berries grow in the graveyard. They make great jam.”

Nash pauses with his mouth open. He’s about to eat another biscuit, but this time, he found my cranberry jam. It’s touching his shocked lips, but I wink. “You’re safe.”

Then I turn to Sire, using air quotes, “And since when am I yourprincess?”

“Since we haven’t officially made you a queen yet.”

Sire’s still shirtless and unshowered. His amber cologne mixes with his masculine musk and the pussy-purring sight of his sexy face with that devilish body and the animal in his shorts, and … it’s done.

I’m horny.

His.

And unafraid.

“Well then,” I linger my fingertip down his naked abs, “why don’tyouandallthe kings make a queen tonight?”

“Ahem.” Nash chokes on his biscuit.

I glance at Axel, and he’s devouring my cookies, grinning. “We’re ready when you are, princess.”

“Fuck you,” Sire snaps at him. “I’mnot ready, and neither is she. We don’t initiate her until her body is ready.”

I stand toe-to-toe with my deadly, devoted husband. It puts my button nose to his inked pecs. I’m so in love with him and pissed off … I’m the threat.

I poke his chest. “While I admire the patriarchal bullshit you’re shoveling, it’s my body, not yours. My virgin ship hassailed. And with the way we’ve been going at it for months? The Titanic has less fucked holes than I do. I’m ready.”

Nash snorts. “Should we excuse ourselves?”

“No.” I turn to him. “Because I want you to be my second king. You’ll initiate me, too.”

“You’renotready for all of us.” Sire flares his nostrils. “I know it’s your fantasy, Wren, but this is a fact: your body isn’t ready.”

That’s not it. Not all of it. I can see it in his eyes.

“My body?” I touch his chest. “Or your heart?”

His face softens. “Both, Angel.”

These have been the best months of my life. Being married to Sire is heaven, in life and in bed. We share everything. We talk for hours. He holds me all night.

He said he wanted me all to himself for a while, and I understood.

All those virgin flower metaphors have some merit. I have bloomed. I’ve blossomed into a grown woman—a very grown woman who’s very sure of our love.

“You know you have all of me,” I assure him. “But I feel left out. It reminds me of years ago, when I didn’t belong, but I do now. I belong to you, and I’m ready to be a queen.”