by K. T. Samois
“Fine,” she says in poor grace, clutching her book to her chest. Even wrapped, she still blushes to think of what’s in it. Hardin walks her to the front door of their empty apartment like a gentleman, but when he pins her against it for one last possessive kiss, it’s all rogue.
Ree responds in kind; his leg goes between her thighs, so she hitches hers over his hip. The pendant around her throat is a heady promise, and Ree’s got a timer counting down in her head.
“Please. Please, please,” she can hear herself repeating like some desperate prayer, and then Hardin’s hand is at the small of her back, tugging her close against him. Her entire world is on fire. Everywhere they touch burns, and Ree clings to him—
As the door behind her opens, and he takes that fraction of a step back.
“Sweet dreams,” he whispers in her ear, and offers her a sharp salute.
Then, he clicks the door shut in her face, leaving her standing in the hallway, book in her hand and a lust-drunk expression on her face.
“Oh my God,” she mutters, and whips off a rapid fire text.
RIONA 22:31
Foul! That’s cheating!!!
She can hear him laugh through the door, the bastard.
HARDIN 22:32
It’s strategy, Riona. I will see you tomorrow. Sleep well.
***
She still can’t quite believe it’s real.
Ree stares at the carved wooden doors of the cathedral and runs her fingers over the band of her engagement ring. Her father misinterprets disbelief for nerves, reaching over to hold her hand.
“Are you ready, Riona?” Oisin asks.
“Yes,” she says after a breath’s consideration. “I am. I feel like I ought to be more nervous,” she admits with a little laugh. “But I’m not — I want this. I want a life with him.”
“I wasn’t nervous at all, not once I saw your mother. The moment you see him, my darling, you’ll all but sprint down the aisle. I’m just here for the ballast.”
“You’re embarrassing me, Da.” Ree says, touching her flaming cheeks with the back of one hand. “Don’t make me walk down the aisle red-faced.”
“Riona, lamb. It’s all right to be in love with your husband; he’s a good man. Not the most conventional-” and she could shrivel up like a salted snail, because that’s a knowing look if ever she saw one, “-but you’ve never been half so ordinary as it pleases you to let others think you are. I’m glad he’s never tried to stifle that.”
A grin crosses his bearded face, and Ree can see the fond mischief in her father’s eyes. “You’re more yourself when you’re with him, and he makes you dance again. You’re glowing like a candle. How could I not be endeared?”
Oh, and now I’m going to cry before I even see him. Hell.
Her father springs to the rescue, dabbing away the tears that threaten to ruin the ninety-minute makeup job she’d endured. All to make it look like I’m wearing nothing at all. Christ. She frantically dabs at her running mascara until Oisin intervenes.
“No, Riona, my darling girl, don’t weep. Here-” he says, dabbing away the last tear like he’s done a million times. “All better.”
“Thank you, Da. Do I look all right?”
“A rare beauty. You remind me of your mother,” he confesses, a bit teary-eyed himself. “So proud, and beautiful as a star. Neither of you trust easily, but by God, you love fiercely. You’re a blessing, darling girl. You’ll take his breath away.”
He presses his lips to her forehead, and Ree knows it’s the highest praise he can give.
Ree chokes up again.
“Oh, Da. Thank you, for everything.” Tears well up again, but he gives her hand a steady squeeze.
“There now, love. The music’s starting, and I think your young man’s waiting.”
She can hear it now through the carved wood doors of the cathedral, and true to her father’s words, she can feel her pulse beat in time with the beat. Hardin’s on the other side of those doors, and I’m a heartbeat away.
Oisin presses a quick last kiss to her cheek before dropping the veil down; it’s hand-picked lace so fine Ree can see clearly through it. Another exorbitant gift from Evelyn, the thing stretches for yards behind her and makes Ree feel like a princess.
The ushers swing the doors open wide, and the interior of the cathedral is dazzling.
The arches soar up into darkness, but the aisle is lit by the glow of a thousand candles, all in tall votive clustered around the bottom of the pews. There are sprays of orchids spaced in the grand arches along the sides of the cathedral, and spread down the stairs at the front, where she can see Hardin waiting for her.
He’s dressed in his full military uniform and starched to within an inch of his life. He’s wearing gloves again, although today’s are the colour of a snow-drift and shockingly white against the ink-black of his suit. When he sees her, he snaps to full attention, and all of her nerves disappear.
He’s waiting for you, Riona.
Ree takes one last steadying breath and steps out into the light.
***
Hardin is having an out-of-body experience.
Or you’ve stepped on a landmine, soldier. It’s a possibility.
His groomsmen have been solicitous — Who would have thought you’d be a groom, let alone have men to stand for you? — and his in-laws mostly harmless. Evelyn has declared herself for the groom and has deigned to wear a suit; given that she’s bankrolling everything, the least he can do is indulge her. Now he’s glad he allowed her to win that battle, because there is nothing so elegant that her money can’t buy.
And this isn’t about you. It’s for Riona. She deserves nothing less than whatever she wants whenever she wants it. And it would appear, soldier, that what she wants most and best is you.
He still can’t quite believe it, but when the organ starts and the door opens, the reality is Riona, gilded in candlelight and draped in white lace. She looks like a queen, like she was born to wear gowns and command every eye.
By the time her father places her hand in his, Hardin is sure he’s forgotten how to breathe.
His right hand cradles her left, and for a moment, everything in the world fades out but her, and the feeling of her knuckles under his thumb.
“Hi, Hardin,” she says under her breath, and though he fights the smile, it leaks through regardless. It makes her light up, so any loss of composure is worth the trade. When he leads her up the dais, the rest is sound and light, irrelevant knowing that soon, Riona will vow to take him for better or worse until death does part them.
“I do.” Ree says, and he’s barely waited for the old man’s blessing before he’s lifting her veil with steady hands.
He’s always enjoyed the anticipation of unwrapping a gift and peeling back the first layer of lace is a thrill. When she smiles up at him, he can’t resist. Cupping her cheek, he teases her with a restrained kiss. He’s pleasantly surprised when Ree deepens it of her own accord and indulges her for long enough that he hears Evie cough to hide a chuckle.
“And since they’re clearly impatient to hear it.” Hardin can hear the priest tease. “I now proclaim you husband and wife!”
Hardin hazards a look down at Ree, beautiful and shining and his, and dips her into a proper kiss.
***
Hardin stares at his reflection in the mirrored panel of the elevator.
He’s vain enough to admit he likes what he sees. The man in the mirror is wearing a bespoke silk tuxedo tailored to perfection. A shirt crisp as fresh snow stretches over muscles he has the time and luxury to maintain, and his bow tie is a black slash of high octane elegance. He’s wearing a watch he couldn’t have afforded a knock-off of two years ago. The cuff links glinting in the light are a gift from his father-in-law.
The ring he’s twirling restlessly is a gift from his wife.
Her hands had been rock steady as she’d slipped it onto his finger. The diamond at her throat had flashed in the candlelight, but Riona had b
een more beautiful in that instant than any precious stone. In the aftermath of success, victory feels like a fresh spring on a desert island. He wants to bask in it, gulp down avaricious mouthfuls, luxuriate in the taste-
The reflection’s hands have gone white-knuckled. The mirror’s reflection is ruthless; there’s nothing to hide his arousal, and he’s grateful that the penthouse elevator makes no additional stops.
He’s sure Ree’s expecting him.
The door dings softly, but it’s still enough to make him snap to attention. When the doors scroll open directly into the foyer of the penthouse suite, they show Ree freezing in place, hands on the curtains of the suite.
The lights of the city stretch out for miles far beneath them, and Hardin feels like the master of the universe. The view from the top is magnificent, and a bed the size of a yacht faces the Manhattan skyline, all for his viewing pleasure. Hardin feels a reflexive burst of envy at all the luxury that money can buy—
But no money in the world could have purchased him Ree, silhouetted against that artificial starlight.
She’s closed every curtain but the one she stands in front of; in silhouette, she’s a birch tree in autumn. Pale as bark, and her red hair smoothed into an elegant chignon. She looks beautiful, but he can see the rigidity in her spine. At first, he wonders if he ought to worry, if something has changed—
But her voice is shaky, and Hardin notices that her hands quiver.
“Guess — guess I don’t like heights.”
It breaks his heart, but he won’t let it show. Instead, he closes the distance, pressing into her space so she can feel the warmth and weight of his body. She relaxes against him almost instantly, and when she does, Hardin reaches out with gentle tenderness, and slides the gauze blinds shut.
“That’s all right, Riona,” he murmurs into her ear, pitching his voice low. “I don’t like to share.”
Her tension releases like a snapped string; Ree’s never met a quip she hadn’t wanted to make. Her nerves escape in a champagne giddy giggle. Hardin can feel goosebumps blossom on every inch of exposed skin, and this time when she trembles, he knows it isn’t with fear.
“It probably says ‘doesn’t play well with others’ in your old report cards.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” he says, tone so insinuating that Ree blushes just to hear it. “We play very well together, kitten.”
“Yes, we do.” Her voice is smoky with desire, and when his eyes meet hers, his smile goes lascivious. She can feel the heat of him pressed against her, and the length of him against her thigh. When he kisses her, it’s hot enough to scald. She shivers, lace and silk rustling as she moves against him. Her bridal gown had been a froth of feminine lace and the bright flash of diamonds both old, new, borrowed and — courtesy of some eye-watering extravagance on her eldest’s sister’s part — blue. The peignoir she’s wearing now is still lace, cut tight to her body and picking its way over her decolletage and arms, and over the bias-cut silk gown that caresses her like a lover. She can’t wait for him to rip this pretty seven-hundred dollar nightgown clear off of her.
“Speaking of playing…” She kneels, resting her cheek on his thigh. “May I play with you?” Ree asks, sweet as sugar.
Hardin makes a choked noise, but doesn’t say no. With that tacit invitation, Ree nuzzles at his tuxedo trousers with easy abandon.
“Thank you, Sir.”
“You’re very welcome,” Hardin grits out through clenched teeth. It has been a test of will and determination to court Ree, and a masochistic exercise in delayed gratification. Now, this close to her and to the end of his endless wait, he’s struck with the genuine fear of unmanning himself before doing his duty.
“-you’re in another world up there, aren’t you?”
“I am wholly focused on you, Riona,” he says with vicious sincerity.
Ree, perched on her knees, works at the front of the trousers with eager fingers. “Just not listening.”
“There are other senses,” he replies archly, and Ree’s lacquered red lips broaden into a feline smile.
“That’s what I was asking. I wonder if it’ll taste different now?”
Hardin stares down at her, reasonably convinced he’s hallucinating. “What?!”
“You know, like how liquor’s less fun when you’re legal,” Ree chirps.
The noise that should be a laugh slams out as a wheeze instead; Riona’s tested her theory by wrapping her lips around the head of him and taking him to the root like she’s practised it. Hardin thinks of every single night spent finding every single loophole with Riona, an eager accomplice at his side, or on her knees, and is suddenly and acutely reminded of his new wife’s mob-accountant memory.
“Fuck-” Hardin snarls, and he can feel Riona laugh at him.
***
It feels like victory, like glory, to know that the same man who rappelled down a skyscraper as though it were nothing for her sake goes weak in the knees at her kiss.
Hardin’s hands clench at his side; she knows he’d love to bury them in her hair, but he’s far too conscientious of her dignity to make a mess of it.
My officer and gentleman, Riona thinks with possessive fondness, even as she indulges herself by sneaking a peek of him through her lashes. Hardin is a column of taut muscle above her; his expression is one of intense focus. When their eyes lock, Ree can feel the electricity in the air. Very deliberately, and with exquisite slowness, Ree takes him as deep as she can. She holds his gaze the whole way. When she pulls back for a breath, he makes a noise like ripped silk, but when he cups her cheek, his touch is gentle. Tender caresses aren’t doing it for her, so Ree pops his thumb into her mouth. Curling her tongue around it in a mirror of her mouth on him, she’s gratified to hear him groan.
“If you keep doing that, Riona, I will finish,” Hardin warns, voice barely staying even. Ree knows he’s trying to be a gentleman, but she’s sure her face reflects her thoughts, because he chuckles.
“I’m just being polite-” he says, and Ree can’t help it.
“I love you,” she replies, and he freezes. His momentary pause allows Ree to seize the advantage.
She leans in, using her hands to stroke where her lips can’t, and teases him with ruthless precision. Pouring every ounce of banked desire into the service of him, Ree enjoys every moment. He’s a feast for the senses; she can feel his muscles clench and relax as she changes speed or depth, and hear the way he repeats her name like a prayer. Riona feels powerful, and beautiful, and desired.
She’s close, but he’s closer, and when she swallows without complaint, the way Hardin moans her name makes Ree throb between her legs.
When she rises, he looks as if he’s seen a divine revelation. He helps her to her feet and then busies himself pouring them champagne; Ree rinses her mouth out in the en-suite before settling herself back into her husband’s lap like she owns the place. Helping herself to a flute of champagne, she indulges herself by pressing sugary kisses to the side of Hardin’s throat and then chasing the taste.
“Make yourself at home,” Hardin teases, lips a susurrus against the column of her neck.
“I think I just might,” Ree says, rolling her hips against him. She doesn’t have any plans to go anywhere for a while, so she wriggles until she’s comfortable. Her thighs spread out on either side of his hips, while her hiked-up nightgown is a puddle of lace in their laps. That leaves her bare against him, and it’s clear Hardin’s suffering at her hands.
“It will take me some time to recover, Riona,” he says through gritted teeth, and Ree chuckles. A slow roll of her hips earns her another low groan, but Ree’s done playing fair.
“Why?” She asks, shifting to rest more closely against him. “Did your mouth fall off? It’s called foreplay, Hardin.” When he stares at her, Ree can’t help it; she clicks her glass of champagne against his with a high note. When she swallows that in one shot, too, the look on her husband’s face is worth every second of abstinence.
He stares at her a moment longer, as though he wants to engrave the atoms of her in his memory. Or as though he’s come to some momentous realization, and can’t wait to test it out.
“Right,” he says sharply, and stands all at once. She locks her legs around his hips with a wild little giggle.
When he walks them both to the bed, she knows he can feel the heat of her. She feels the muscles of his lower abdomen clench and relax, and hides her smile in his neck. When he deposits her on the edge of the bed, she spreads her legs as wide as the silk will allow. He laughs at her boldness and helps by ripping the fabric up in one ruthless move.
“Wider,” he orders with barely restrained savage heat, and Ree rushes to obey.
***
Hardin’s seen nothing more beautiful than his wife. She’s unfailingly giving — of affection, of time, of energy and passion. Of love.
Of trust, as she does as he tells her, despite the flush of red he can see creeping over the skin of her cheeks, and pinking up the flesh of her thighs. They’re spread wide enough to strain the muscles; Hardin can see the tremble of the gracilis in her inner thigh, the way she longs to snap her legs shut. How she holds them splayed, anyway. He drops to his knees in one fluid movement; she sits up higher to see him better. It’s an inspiration for him, as well; Ree is the sort of vision lesser men carve statues of.
Bolder men marry them, he crows, and victory makes him greedy.
His hands cup her hips and tug them bodily closer to his mouth.
Ree gasps, but doesn’t resist; instead, she hitches her leg over his bicep. He spreads his arms for balance, pinning her legs open like butterfly wings on a board. Her wedding nightgown is a froth of torn lace around her hips, a seven-hundred dollar irrelevance. Hardin’s mouth waters at the sight of her.
“I am going to have you like this every night,” he vows with the fervour of a man facing deathbed conversion.