by Meghan March
Life isn’t black and white anymore. It’s filled with color, and not just gold.
“Are you going to follow through, Lachlan, or did I do all this prep work for nothing?”
She challenges me every day. It keeps me on my toes—and my dick hard—nearly 24/7.
“Oh, hellion, you should know better than to test me.”
I pull the plug from her ass and grab the lube she had stashed in her purse. Have I mentioned she’s also the most resourceful woman I’ve ever met?
I coat my finger before pushing it into her nearly virgin hole. “Who owns this ass?”
Her expression turns mulish. “I do.”
I push a second finger inside and press a button on the remote beside me. “Want to try again?”
“That is so not fair!” Her voice rises an octave as she presses into my touch, vibrations ripping through her body from the toy in her pussy. “I’m going to come.”
“Not until I’m buried deep inside that ass I own. My woman. My wife. My love.”
A tender expression flashes across her face. “You don’t play fair.”
“I never have. I never will. Not when it comes to you. Now, tell me what I want to hear.” I move my fingers in and out, and her muscles clench.
“I love you.”
“And?”
Keira
I swear, he always wins.
But lucky for me, when he wins, I win.
Lachlan pulls his fingers free and grabs a wet wipe I stashed with the lube. Because while I might still technically be a virgin in this area, I’ve got plenty of experience now. He coats his cock with the lube, and I tense as he presses the head against my tightest hole.
With a tug, he pulls the remote-operated vibrator out of my pussy and presses it against my piercing.
“That isn’t fair!”
He pushes himself forward just enough to breach the ring of muscle, making my nerve endings zing with pleasure and sparks burst across my vision.
“Tell me,” he says as he teases my clit.
“I belong to you.” Triumph flares in his gaze as he pushes inside, and the sensations have me moaning the last part of my declaration. “But you belong to me.”
As he buries his cock in my ass, my husband smiles. “You better fucking believe it. Body. Heart. Soul.”
He pulls back and fucks into me, but I’m already on the edge of orgasm.
I come again and again until he roars his climax and it echoes in the cabin of the plane. Our hearts hammer in time, sweat dripping from both our brows.
“Now, where the hell are we going?”
I smile. “You’ll see.”
Mount
As the plane touches down on the runway, Keira pulls a folder from her bag and hands it to me.
“What is this?”
“Don’t get mad . . .”
I tense at the caution pervading her tone. “Why would I get mad?”
“Because I stole your DNA, submitted it under a false name using a PO box . . .”
I blink twice, replaying her statement in my head. “Why the hell would you do that?”
I snatch the folder from her hand and stare down at it. I’ve never wanted to know about the woman who left me in front of a church, but I can’t deny I’ve always wondered about my roots, especially after seeing how Keira felt when she saw Dublin.
“Because I wanted you to know where you come from. I wanted to be able to tell our kids what their heritage is—from both sides of the family.”
My gaze cuts to her face. “Are you—”
Keira shakes her head. “Not yet. But I definitely want to talk about it soon.”
Kids. A family. Things I never considered before her, but think about all the time now. I used to avoid any connection for fear of weakness, but now I have no doubt that she’s my greatest strength. She gives me a reason to wake up every morning and rule our empire with honor. Even if it’s tarnished and dented.
I open the folder, and the results are on the first page.
73% Italy/Greece
“So, where the hell are we?” I lift my eyes from the page, shocked beyond belief.
“Greece. I thought we’d start here and see what you think. Sicily is next. Seemed appropriate. Then I figured we could head wherever you want to go next from there.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything. I just wanted to give you something I didn’t think you’d ever give yourself. Something you gave me—a chance to see where I came from.”
“I’m . . . literally fucking speechless.”
“And that’s totally fine. But in case you’re wondering, it doesn’t matter where you came from. All that matters is that you became the man you are. The one I love. The one I’m going to spend the rest of my life with. The one I’m going to raise a family with. And someday, the man who’s going to meet my parents, preferably before we have our first kid.”
She says the last part on a laugh, and I stand and pull her from her seat.
“They can meet us in Italy. Greece is our honeymoon. No parents allowed.”
A smile breaks over Keira’s face.
“Deal.”
Epilogue
Keira
One month later – Mardi Gras
Sometimes, making a deal with the devil is the best thing you can ever do. Especially when you realize he’s not the devil at all.
Except tonight.
I school my features into a smile at the toy vibrating inside me as I listen to the owner of the New Orleans Voodoo Kings extoll the virtues of Seven Sinners whiskey, and his new favorite—the Phoenix Label.
“I’m so glad you’re enjoying it.”
“I’ll be buying up as much as I can. I bet the commissioner would enjoy a bottle or two. And here I thought you couldn’t top the Spirit of New Orleans.”
“I’ll make sure to hold a few bottles back for you, sir.”
“I’d appreciate it,” he says before taking another sip.
“If you’ll excuse me for just a moment, I need to check on a few things.”
“Of course. Y’all throw a hell of a party. We’ll definitely be bringing the boys back in the future.”
By the boys, he means the entire football team, and I barely hold myself back from fist pumping. “We’ll look forward to making future arrangements with you soon.”
“Thank you, Ms. Kilgore.”
I step away from him and tense as vibrations rip through my body.
Lachlan and I nearly went to war over the fact that he wanted to completely take over security for the event. I disagreed, because Seven Sinners is my baby.
“Considering the fact that I’d like you to be having my baby, I have a right to keep you safe.”
“You better not start this now. I’m not even pregnant.”
“I’ll start whenever I want. You’re my wife.”
Our argument escalated to bellowing in our suite, and ended with us tearing off each other’s clothes in a frenzy, which is pretty much how all our arguments end.
In the aftermath, with the sheets tangled around us, Lachlan proposed a compromise. My security would be supplemented as necessary by his, but he wouldn’t take control.
I agreed.
But when I stepped into the living room tonight in my ball gown, he was waiting in his perfectly tailored suit, holding a familiar-looking leather box. When he flipped the lid open, a black-and-gold toy lay inside, looking innocent, even though I knew it was far from it.
“You can put it in, or I will. But you’re not leaving without it.”
“This is a business event, Lachlan.”
“Tick tock, Keira.” He looked down at his watch. “You have fifteen minutes before we’re supposed to leave.”
I growled, a habit I picked up from him, and countered. “Only if you get on your knees first.” I lifted one stiletto-clad foot to the chair and pulled up the full skirt of my gown so he could see the sparkling thong beneath it.
His dark gaze flashed. “Only for you. Gladly for you.”
“Damn right.”
Fast-forward three hours, and I’m dying for him to drag me off into a corner so I can beg him to fuck me—but first I have to find him in this sea of giants wearing Mardi Gras masks to match their flashy tailored suits.
I nod and smile, thankful that my face is obscured so no one sees my almost O face, and spend the next half hour looking for him as he torments me relentlessly.
Where the hell did he go? I’m going to kill him when I find him.
V is stationed near the elevator, wearing a mask. He asked for this post so he could keep an eye on the kitchen and Odile. I’m not sure what’s happening there, but he’s become protective of her. Mostly, I’m just happy to see that he’s capable of smiling, especially since I’ve never heard him speak again.
“Where the hell is my husband?” I whisper in his ear.
He points down.
“My office?”
V nods.
That tricky son of a bitch.
I take the elevator down, but it stops on the first floor before I hit the basement.
At the front desk, Temperance is arguing with a tall, built man in a suit, explaining our no-return-of-keys policy.
“You got this?” I call to her, holding the elevator doors open.
She turns to look at me as the man glares down at her. “Of course, boss. He plays games for a living. Definitely nothing I can’t handle.”
The man’s nostrils flare, and I consider stepping out of the elevator to defuse the situation, but the toy inside me buzzes to life again. I grip the metal bar on the elevator wall to stay upright.
I remind myself that Z is outside as well. She’ll be fine, I tell myself. What’s the worst that could happen?
I hit the Door Close button and tap my foot in anticipation as they slide shut and the elevator descends to the basement.
As I approach my office, I hear footsteps coming from inside, and I’m brought back to the second night Lachlan Mount changed my life. I yank my door open and peer inside at the dim light pooling on my desk.
“What do you want?” I whisper. “Why are you here?”
He rises to his feet, those wide fingers refastening the button on his suit, his face hidden in the shadows.
“You owe me a debt, Mrs. Mount, and I’m here to collect.”
The End
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Sneak Peak of Savage Prince
Chapter One
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Temperance
Why is he wearing a mask?
Instinctively, I take a step back as the heavy door swings wide, revealing the rest of the doorman’s tall body and the other half of the ornate red-and-black leather mask obscuring his face.
It’s not Mardi Gras season any more, and this antebellum mansion is dozens of miles away from Bourbon Street, where spirits are high and revelry is in full swing, no matter the time of year.
Louisiana, you’re beautiful, but you’re also creepy as hell at night sometimes.
The doorman gestures for me to enter, and I hesitate on the threshold for one final beat, clutching my bag to my side before stepping through the archway. He closes the massive wooden door behind me with a decisive thud and throws a long bolt.
I’m locked in. What did I get myself into?
Chills skate over my skin, and my blazer does little to stop the shiver working through me.
This is not a haunted house. Or a dungeon. It’s a potential customer. I tell my overactive imagination to calm down but blood pounds in my ears, competing with the visceral beat of the bass coming from somewhere inside.
The sprawling plantation house reminds me of something out of a movie, especially with its massive trees dangling their moss over the banks of the bayou. Mansions and their expensive everything make me more nervous than the gators lurking in that murky water.
My senses shift into high gear as I scan the polished wooden planks of the floor, covered by thick rugs that probably cost more than I make in a year. The muted glow of gaslight sconces adds to the otherworldly feel—at complete odds with the throbbing beat of the dance music.
For the dozenth time, I wish I’d done more research before I showed up for this meeting, but I’ve been so busy, I can barely manage to shovel three bites of food into my mouth for lunch.
It’s worth it, I remind myself. I have a respectable job now. There’s no mud on the bottoms of my shoes to track inside these days.
Even though I know I’m in the right place, my polished designer knock-off pumps itch to beat a path to the door and out to my car . . . except it’s not there, because the overly efficient valet drove it away before the front door even opened.
I swallow back a lump of unease but straighten my shoulders and turn my attention to the doorman, who seems to be waiting for me to compose myself. Apparently, I’m not the only person who’s been overwhelmed at the first sight of this place.
When I meet his hooded stare, he doesn’t speak. I hold out the note that showed up on my desk at Seven Sinners. He takes it from me and glances at the printed text, but still says nothing.
“I’m supposed to meet someone?” I hate that my voice sounds like I’m asking a question rather than making a statement. I shake off the unease and find my assertive tone. “I’m here to meet someone for a business discussion. Can you please direct me to the office?”
The doorman gestures to the opulent staircase before me with the card before offering it back.
My sweaty palms leave smudges on the edges as I snatch it from his grip. I should have known from that fancy cream linen paper that this wouldn’t be like the normal bars and clubs I’ve visited to hawk Seven Sinners Whiskey.
“Thank you.” I give him a nod, and once again, get zero verbal response. This place is bizarre. Time to get in and get out.
Attempting to look unaffected, I stride toward the red-and-gold runner climbing up the stairs.
I’m just here to sell whiskey. All the whiskey.
The treads beneath the soles of my shoes vibrate more with each step I take. As I round the curve of the staircase, I find another masked man waiting for me at the top.
I offer him my invitation and stare over his shoulder at the light spilling out from beneath a set of closed double doors.
There. That has to be the club. See, nothing different about this place after all.
Except there is, and I don’t know if it’s my overactive imagination, but I swear I can smell sex in the air. Images of all the things that could possibly be happening behind those doors assail my brain. I force my attention back to the man for direction.
He jerks his head to the side and starts down a wide gold-and-white striped corridor, away from the doors. He pauses at the corner as though waiting for me to follow him, and I uproot my feet from the floor and stumble forward to catch up with my bag smacking my hip. Instead of leading me farther down the corridor, he steps out of the way to reveal another set of curving stairs and points upward.
Seriously? I thought this was a business meeting, not punishment for missing my date with the gym for the last six months.
My arches cramp in protest as I smooth down my skirt, reset my bag, and climb to the top, but at least it takes my mind off the peculiar feel of this place.
I’m going to have to sell a ton of whiskey to make this trip worth it.
When I hit the next landing, there’s a third man, this one the size of a linebacker, in a matching mask.
Where the hell is everyone else? What kind of club has silent doormen and no tipsy patrons stumbling back and forth to the restroom?
I don’t have time to ask either of those questions before masked man number three reads the words on the card I hold out and leads me down a hallway to what I assume must be the manager’s office. At least, I hope like hell it is.
An ornate door with an antique brass knob awaits at the end, and he pushes it open and gestures for me to enter with a meaty hand.
I pin my most professional smile on my face and take a deep breath, ready to charm whoever awaits me inside into buying more whiskey than they plan.
With a confident stride, I make my way inside.
“Hi! I’m Temperance—” I trail off when I realize the chair behind the desk, dimly lit by a simple banker’s lamp, is empty.
A quick scan of the rest of the dark room reveals no signs of life.