“I knew Cain was getting him,” he replies calmly.

  “Well, I had no fucking idea you’d be here playing babysitter.” A new yet familiar voice cuts in from the doorway.

  I turn and immediately have to do a double take.

  Identical.

  Not similar.

  Not brother-ish.

  They’re identical, down to the tattoos and piercings.

  “Hey, Shannen, it’s nice to finally meet you away from a surveillance camera.”

  “Seriously, Cain?” Phoenix bites back, his arms tightening possessively around my waist.

  “It’s nice to meet you too. But you’d better not have watched me in my home, or I swear to god, I’ll kick your creepy little ass.”

  He holds both hands up in surrender and winks at Phoenix.

  “Never done that, I promise. Besides, I’m pretty sure I’d be dead and buried six feet under, with my dick shoved down my throat, courtesy of your boyfriend, if I had.”

  “I’m still thinking about it.”

  “See? He’s very particular about who gets to stalk you.”

  “Cain,” Phoenix warns, but it’s clear there’s no real heat behind it, and this is just how they are with each other.

  “What? We’re bonding, right, Shannen?”

  Before I can even think about answering, his eyes slide past me, like I stopped existing entirely, and land on Lianna.

  “There she is,” he says. “The feisty one.”

  “Jesus Christ, there really are two of them,” Lianna mutters, looking between Cain and Lucien.

  Phoenix starts laughing, full-on, his shoulders shaking as he watches her. She flips him off, pins him with a death stare, then walks straight over and clips him on the head.

  “Fucking—ow.” Phoenix’s laugh cuts off, his hand flying up to rub the back of his skull, even as he’s still grinning. “What the hell was that for?”

  “Don’t ever do that again.” She’s glaring at him like she’s considering a second hit before marching straight up to Cain, who’s clearly enjoying Phoenix getting whacked way too much. “Are you as annoying as your brother?”

  Cain bends forward, lowering his face to hers. “I’m actually a fucking delight.”

  Phoenix’s hands haven’t left my body, not once, and now I really want everyone gone. I need him alone. I need it to be just us because the last twenty-four hours have shredded me into something unrecognizable, and the only thing anchoring me to earth is his touch.

  I’m drawn back to him while the three of them mumble around us, their voices fading into meaningless noise. His face is inches from mine, his silver eyes drifting from my mouth to my eyes and back again, like he’s already halfway to devouring me. If they don’t leave soon, I’m going to kiss the life out of this man so recklessly, so inappropriately, and with so little care for our audience, that they’ll wish to hell they’d left the second Phoenix walked through that door.

  A hand drops to Phoenix’s shoulder.

  Lucien.

  I only know it’s him because the twins aren’t wearing the same outfit. Otherwise, I’d have no fucking clue which identical psychopath just interrupted us.

  “We’re going to give you two some space.”

  “Are you leaving the city?” Phoenix asks.

  “No, not yet.”

  “Where are you staying?”

  “Not far from here.”

  “Thank you for bringing him back to me,” I say, looking between both brothers.

  “Okay, this is getting way too fucking cute for me. I love you both, but I’m getting out of here before someone starts crying or dry humping.” Lianna gives me a wink and a smile that says I’m so happy he’s back and you’re together again. “Come on, you two giants. You can walk me down to my car.”

  She steps out first, and the twins follow one by one, the door closing behind them. Only then do I allow myself to relax, my entire body sagging with relief as the tension bleeds out of me.

  He's here. He's safe. He's standing right in front of me and he's okay.

  Phoenix’s lips are on mine instantly, like he’s been holding this in since the second they pulled him away from me. His tongue pushes past my lips, and I let him take whatever he wants. His grip is bruising—one hand fisted in my hair, pulling my head back at the angle he wants, the other wrapped around my waist so tight I can barely breathe.

  It’s animal.

  A kiss born of rage and fear, and every second we thought we’d never get back.

  He lifts me into his arms and carries me to the kitchen island, setting me down on the cold surface as he continues to kiss me.

  “You left me.” I gasp against his lips. “You promised me you wouldn’t.”

  “I didn’t have a choice, baby,” he says, already tugging my sweats down, along with my underwear. “You know that.”

  My bare ass rests against the marble, and my whole body shudders.

  “Leave my shirt on,” he mutters, pushing the material up. He exposes my body and latches onto my nipple, sucking it into his mouth before switching to the other and giving it the same torturous attention.

  His gaze lifts to mine as he licks the valley between my breasts. “I’m so sorry you had to see me like that, baby.”

  I grab him by the jaw and drag his mouth back to mine, shaking my head and kissing him to say that wasn’t it. That none of it mattered.

  “I don’t care about that. I know you, Phoenix.”

  He’s already at his belt, his fingers rough and impatient, while I rip his shirt open like I can’t get to him fast enough. Buttons fly across the kitchen, pinging off counters and scattering across the floor, but I don’t care. I need his skin beneath my fingers.

  “I was so scared. I thought you were hurt. I wanted to kill every single one of them—especially the prick with the gun.”

  “My crazy girl,” he growls against my throat. “God, I love you. You’re everything. You hear me? Every fucking thing.”

  His fingers move between my thighs, stroking my clit while he lavishes me in kisses—soft ones along my jaw, desperate ones crushing against my mouth, gentle ones on my forehead.

  My need for him takes over everything as he starts whispering in my ear—telling me how much he loves me, how beautiful I am, how he’ll always protect me and how my cunt is his and will always be his, because it wouldn’t be Phoenix if he didn’t claim every single inch of me with words, touch, and his absolute possession.

  “I’m gonna marry you one day, baby.”

  “Then do it… Marry me.” His fingers stop moving instantly, and he lifts his face to mine, storm-gray eyes going wide with shock as they lock onto mine—the same eyes that have owned me since I was fourteen. “I want to be Shannen Cassidy, so do it. Marry me. Be my husband.”

  “When?”

  “Today. Tomorrow. I don’t fucking care.” My hand lifts to his jaw, my thumb brushing the slight stubble there. “I just know I want you.”

  He kisses me hard, claiming my mouth the same way he’s about to claim everything else.

  “I need to fuck you now, baby. Because the next time I have you like this… it’ll be with my ring on your finger, with you looking at me while I call you my wife.”

  Chapter 28

  Phoenix

  Shannen Cassidy.

  My wife.

  Thirty-six hours after she demanded I marry her, I did, because when the love of your life tells you to put a ring on it, you do it.

  We found the nearest courthouse, signed whatever papers they threw at us, and I walked out with her legally bound to me for life.

  Now we’re in the most expensive, obnoxiously fancy hotel suite I could find on short notice, because if she wasn’t getting the big wedding, the white dress, the flowers, or any of that sentimental bullshit she claims to hate, she was at least getting the fucking honeymoon suite.

  And holy shit did we break it in.

  Every surface. Every wall. Every inch of this place has a memory of us soaked into it now. The bed, obviously. The shower—we started there. The couch, where she rode the fuck out of me. The floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the city? Yeah, I dropped to my knees right there and ate her pussy with one of her legs thrown over my shoulder. Even the kitchen counter, because apparently that’s our thing now.

  I laughed all night with my wife.

  I watched my wife drink champagne straight off my body.

  I danced with my wife while she was barefoot and wearing nothing but my shirt, with the New York skyline lit up behind us.

  And I fucked my wife until she could barely remember her own name—let alone her new last name.

  The whole time I was inside her, I whispered every vow I made earlier that day, again and again, against her mouth, her throat, down her chest, and lower when I had her legs spread and my face buried between them.

  I will love you in this life and the next.

  I will find you in every universe.

  Forever and hereafter.

  My wife.

  My fucking wife.

  I fell asleep still inside her, then woke up separated—which was unacceptable—and immediately corrected that mistake. I slid right back in, needing the first thing she feels when she wakes up to be me.

  Her leg is hitched over my hip, her body warm and soft against mine, and I’m just… staring.

  She’s so beautiful.

  When we got married yesterday, I don’t really remember Lucien, Cain, or Lianna being there. I know they were—they’re in the pictures Cain took on his phone—but when I looked at Shannen, when she said my name and promised herself to me, the world narrowed to just her.

  I have no idea how much time passes before those gold eyes flutter open and land on me.

  “Morning,” I whisper.

  “Good morning.”

  She stretches, tightening around me, her warm little cunt clenching me just right, and I groan, laughing under my breath like a man who’s completely and shamelessly ruined for life.

  “We’re married, Phoenix,” she says, her voice still heavy with sleep, wearing the most adorable smile I’ve ever seen in my life.

  “Mmm… wife.”

  She’s going to get so sick of hearing me say that.

  “Say it back,” I murmur against her lips.

  “Husband.”

  Perfect.

  We lie there, staring at each other, and in her eyes, I see the next fifty years laid out before us. I see everything I’m going to do for her—the life I’m going to build with my bare hands, the kids I’m going to give her, made from us. The home I’m going to make so safe that she’ll never flinch when a door slams, never tense when footsteps approach, and never doubt for a second that she’s protected. I’ll put my last name on a mailbox and her first name on everything else.

  We’ll erase every moment of absence, every year we lost, with a life so full of love and obsession, she’ll never question whether she made the right choice when she let a man like me put a ring on her finger.

  And when I’m old, when my hands shake, and my back’s too fucked to carry her, when time tries to strip me of being everything she needs, I’ll still find a way to take her to the stars.

  Forever and hereafter.

  Just like I promised.

  Epilogue 1 - Phoenix

  I’d do anything for my wife.

  Fucking anything.

  But this… fuck, I’ll be spending a lot of time inside her to get over what I’m currently having to endure.

  It’s almost our first anniversary, and I asked her what she wanted, hoping she was gonna ask me to put a baby in her.

  I wanted nine months of watching her body soften and swell. I wanted to rub lotion into her belly at night, feeling our child kick against my palm. I wanted her in nothing but my shirts, waddling around the apartment, all hormonal and mean, with tits so heavy she’d let me hold them just to give her back a break after a long day at the office.

  But no.

  She wants this.

  “Here,” Greg says, fucking Greg, pushing a bottle across the glossy table. “Got you a beer.”

  Even his voice makes me wanna break his nose and feed him his own molars.

  “Thanks, but I don’t drink.”

  “You don’t?” I shake my head, leaning back in my chair, manspreading for dominance.

  Manspreading for Greg.

  “So you’re just always sober?”

  “Yeah, you should try it, man. Really clears the head.”

  Tonight I’m wearing the mask of Phoenix Cassidy, the quarterback, the version of me Greg thinks he knew back in school, and it’s killing me. But I’d rip the sun out of the sky for my wife. So here I am, smiling, nodding, and entertaining this asshole while planning exactly how many orgasms it’s gonna take to fix this shit when I get her home.

  My current count is seven, minimum.

  Possibly eight if this asshat keeps looking down at my dick.

  Greg chugs half his beer in three gulps, his eyes darting around the bar like he’s afraid we’re gonna be seen together.

  “You seem nervous, Greg.”

  “I’m not. It’s just been a long time since I’ve seen anyone from school.”

  “But we were friends, right? Friends catch up with friends?”

  He’s staring at me like he’s imagining all the ways he could fuck me, which is hilarious because if I liked dick, I’d absolutely be doing the fucking.

  “Really? You’re gonna throw the old friend card at me right now?”

  “Why wouldn’t I?” I ask, already regretting my entire existence.

  “Because you’re looking at me like I’m gonna know what your dick tastes like by the end of the night.”

  Jesus, I need to fix my fucking face if that’s what he’s reading off it because no, I am absolutely the fuck not.

  “I’ve got a room here… You wanna see it?”

  Fuck me. I can’t flirt for shit.

  My idea of flirting right now would be telling him I’ve imagined shoving his balls down his throat so he’d choke on them.

  However, Greg nods and stands up with way too much enthusiasm. I stand too, leading the way toward the stairs.

  I swear to god, he better not touch me.

  It’s not even that he has a dick between his legs—I don’t give a shit who people want to sleep with. That’s their business. But nobody touches me except my girl. It’s how it’s always been, and it’s how it’ll always be.

  We take the stairs because I’m pretty sure if I get into an elevator with him, his hand will be on my cock within three seconds, and I can’t risk that yet. I need to get him into the room first.

  When we finally make it to the door, relief fills me as I slide the key card.

  Almost done.

  I inhale deeply, my eyes briefly closing as I step inside, and I hear the door slam behind me.

  Greg steps toward me, already undoing the buttons on his shirt.

  “Finally,” he breathes out, reaching for me.

  Oh, fuck no.

  My hand shoots out, catching his wrist in a grip tight enough to make him wince. “Are you in a rush or something?”

  “You’re hot, and my hole needs fucking, so shut up and do it already.”

  I have never been so offended or aggressively objectified in my life. At least buy a man dinner first. Maybe attempt some light conversation. Ask about my hobbies, or at least pretend you care about my feelings.

  But no, Greg went straight to the hole.

  He digs into his back pocket, pulls out a picture of him and his wife, and places it face-up on the nightstand. When he reaches for me again, I move first, shoving him back onto the bed and pinning him there, my body close enough to sell the illusion.

  He smiles up at me, satisfied and hungry for something he’s never going to get.

  In his mind, this is foreplay.

  In mine, it’s foreplay with my wife, and he’s just the unfortunate clown who doesn’t realize how badly he’s misunderstood the situation.

  The black ties are already strapped to the bedposts, something Greg clearly thinks I did for him.

  Cute.

  I secure his wrists one at a time, tight enough that he’s not getting out without help. You’d think I’d just handed him the keys to a sports car and a second chance at life, the way his hips jerk up like he’s trying to hump the air.

  He lies there naked after I strip him out of the rest of his clothes, hard, flushed, and straining for my attention.

  “I always knew you’d be a top,” he says, grinning up at me.

  My body instantly settles when I hear the soft creak of the bathroom door behind me.

  I climb off the bed slowly, trailing my fingers along the footboard as I move away from Greg, his lust-filled eyes following my every step.

  “You gonna call me Daddy?” I ask, barely holding back my laughter.

  I can’t pull off that shit with a straight face, but fuck it—might as well give Greg some really vivid memories to reflect on when he thinks back to this moment.

  “Yes, Daddy,” he whispers. “Please, Daddy, get over here and fuck me like a slut.”

  Jesus Christ.

  I click my tongue and fold my arms over my chest. “How am I supposed to fuck you while your wife watches?”

  His head snaps toward the picture on the nightstand, then back to me. “Would you…”

  “Would I what?”

  “When you finish…” He hesitates, then commits to what I already know he’s about to ask. “Don’t finish in me. Finish on her.”

  “Come again?”

  “She degrades me every day, and this is the only way I feel better about it. Please, Daddy. Please come on my wife’s face.”

  “Oh, Daddy’s gonna fi⁠—”

  I don’t even make it to the end of the sentence.

  I’m gone.

  I double over, and a loud laugh cracks out of me before I can stop it.

  “I can’t—fuck, I’m done. Baby?”

  The bathroom door swings open, and Shannen strolls out, trying and failing not to collapse from how much she’s laughing. She’s clutching her stomach by the time she gets to me, barely breathing, with tears streaming down her face.