Page 138 of Theirs to Possess: The Marriage Claim

“You’re perfect,” Dorian murmurs, his voice a low growl as he enters me, slow and deep, stretching me with every inch.

Brennan teases my clit with his fingers, circling, teasing, while he strokes his cock with his free hand. The sight pushes me closer to the edge.

Dorian’s thrusts are steady and possessive, each one claiming me deeper, while Brennan’s touch is a counterpoint that drives me wild with need.

“Tell us you’re ours.” Brennan’s voice is demanding, and his fingers continue to be relentless.

“I’m yours,” I whisper. My body coils tighter as my pleasure builds to a breaking point.

Dorian clamps his hand on my hips, angling me slightly so I can take more of him while Brennan leans in, his lips brushing mine in a kiss that’s soft, reverent, a contrast to the storm they’re unleashing.

An orgasm hits me like a tsunami, and my cries fill the cabin as I shatter between them.

Dorian follows, his growl vibrating against my back as he spills inside me, his grip bruising.

Brennan’s release comes moments later, his hand going still as he groans my name, the sound raw and intimate.

We collapse together, a tangle of limbs and ragged breaths, the Gulf’s gentle rhythm rocking us. Dorian strokes my hair, and Brennan drapes his arm across my waist.

For the moment, the world outside—the threats, the secrets—fades away.

But as my pulse slows, the text’s words creep back.Debts don’t disappear.I know this isn’t over. And whatever comes next, I’m not just their wife, their lover—I’m their partner.

I will fight for them, no matter the cost.

Unfortunately I have no idea how soon my world will splinter around me…

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Isla

A month later

I can’t believe this is my life.

Since we returned from our honeymoon, I’ve slipped into a rhythm that’s equal parts thrilling and exhausting. Living with Dorian and Brennan is like dancing with a wildfire, dangerous and as consuming as it is unpredictable.

Their alpha presence fills every inch of our penthouse atop Vale Tower, a fifty-story skyscraper in the heart of downtown Houston. Of course my husband owns the whole damn building. I still shake my head at the thought, remembering how my jaw dropped when our driver pulled up to the private entrance that first day.

Even now, after weeks of waking up here, the sheer scale of it—sleek black marble, smoked glass, polished steel—makes my breath catch. I grew up in my parents’ sprawling Tanglewood mansion, but this place, with its sharp edges and quiet opulence, feels like another world.

And that’s not the only change.

This morning, Dorian informed me that a designer would be arriving around lunch time with a selection of dresses for tonight’s gala. After that, a makeup artist and a hair stylist were scheduled.

Though we’ve been to dinner with friends and colleagues since our return to Houston, this will be the first time I’ve acted as his hostess, and I’m very much aware of how much is at stake. He’ll be glad-handing and seeking support for his upcoming Senate run.

In typical Dorian fashion, he’s made everything as easy as possible for me. He assigned one of his employees to organize the event. And Vale Tower itself will be our venue.

From the living room, I am aware of Dorian and Brennan’s voices. No doubt they’re enjoying a whiskey as I finish getting ready.

Wondering if I’m suitable, I move to the full-length mirror. The stunning sapphire dress is a floor-length creation of silk chiffon. Its off-shoulder neckline is traced with delicate crystal beads that shimmer like stars against midnight.

There’s a thigh-high slit that adds a whisper of allure…just enough to turn heads without raising eyebrows, more than appropriate for a future senator’s wife. Or so the designer assured me.

My collar, with its vine-like curves, is a constant reminder of my bond with Dorian and Brennan.

Though my husband promised I wouldn’t have to wear it all the time, he’s asked me to keep it on. And since I don’t mind the outward display that I belong to them, I’ve left it in place.