"Still don't want to talk and just sit?"

"You know I can't do that." I sigh, tilting the glass of Chardonnay so a calculated portion slips into my mouth. "Hug me."

"Oh, honey. Come here." Selene strokes my loose hair in a motherly fashion and hugs me sideways before resting her head on my shoulder as we sit by the edge of the lap pool with our feet dangling in it.

My husband brought me straight home and tucked us in bed with me wrapped in his embrace like a koala bear, refusing to leave him. I fell asleep like that for an hour or two and woke up when he carried me for a bath. He hates those and prefers showers, but he doesn't mind as long as his wife is naked and wrapped around him in it. We talked or more like he made me smile with his dirty mouth and fucked me raw in the bath—made me ride him and then pushed me on my fours and took me from behind, making me forget all about my emotional outburst from earlier.

I was FaceTiming my best friends and told them about what happened. Selene and Arion showed up within almost thirty minutes with Kryslian. Claire is in London so she couldn't, however, she used her bestie privileges to threaten my husband to not interrupt us after Selene hung up, possibly texting her her intention to visit me and asking her to keep me company until then. Areston hates when he has to share my time with anyone, but even with his extreme territorial nature, he has started to understand that we're both wired differently. While he's okay having no one but me around, I need my best friends and family time and again.

"You're my brave pumpkin. What can I do to make you feel better?" She asks, tightening her arms around me in a protective manner.

"Just existing would do," I smile, kissing the top of her head. "Thanks for being here."

"Shut up. We're sisters." She swats my arm playfully. "Want to do something crazy to take your mind off that whore?"

I laugh. "I am always up for something crazy."

Her gray eyes light up with mischief. "Let's take our men to a Karaoke bar. The only thing my husband sucks at. It's fun watching him cry a river every time he loses in the lyrics challenge game. He can't guess the song lyrics even if his life depends on it. Disadvantages of having a husband who is a 100-year-old soul trapped in the sexy body of a 36-year-old hunk. And let's just say if he guesses the lyrics right, we always have Krys to convince her best daddy in the whole world to lose."

"Selene De L'Aquila! Are you saying you've been using our child to win petty games against your husband?" I fake gasp with my hand on my heart, grateful for her presence just like I felt when my husband appeared in that cathedral.

"Quit the dramatics. They're better suited to Elizabeth," she rolls her eyes, laughing and tearing off a bite of Twix. "Let's go."

"Give me a bite of that."

She raises a brow and lifts the chocolate. "You mean this thing you describe as poor people's chocolate? Are you sure you're my best friend?"

"One bite or no karaoke."

"Suck dick," she grunts, handing me her chocolate bar but not before taking another huge bite while there's already some in her mouth.

"I will. Tonight," I wink, shoving the remaining bar in my mouth, much against her narrowed eyes that silently threaten me to save some for her. "Maybe if he's lucky and I'm too drunk and horny then I'd suck him in the karaoke bar's restroom."

"I was hoping to do that... and some more with my husband. You know, bless him with my A-grade whore-level sucking game. It's been a while since we did it in a public restroom."

"Ew. I didn't need to know that."

"Totally did," she brings out her phone from the tiny side pocket hidden somewhere in her dress and scrolls through her contact with a mischievous grin on her face.

"Who are you inviting?"

"August. But first, we need Kryslian to be safe with her grandma."

I frown. "Isn't Adrianna in London?"

"Not her, silly. Your mother."

"Mama babysitting her? That's a hazard."

She rolls her eyes. "Not really. She has been doing a great job since I became pregnant. Said it's important for husband and wife to bond more during pregnancy. She surprises us by making date night arrangements and having Krys driven to the Rothschild mansion so Ari and I can spend time with each other. It's sweet. Why are you looking at me like that? I thought you knew?"

"I thought you meant Areston's mom. Not mine. Wow." I wonder if it has something to do with her regret over her relationship with papá. "And she stays up past her beauty sleep time?"

"She makes Krys take one with her in her bed. Our kid has her dedicated baby masseuse to massage her before getting her ready for bed like Jen has her team do it for herself. Baby night kit and shit like that to replicate her regime. I wouldn't be surprised if she'd mold the kid into a mini-you. Not that she needs to. She already is," Selene grins as she types the text while I'm still reeling from the information she has just supplied.

Selene: Can you do the grandma duty tonight?

Jennifer: Of course! I miss that peanut.

Selene: You're a lifesaver! I'll have Ari drop her.

Jennifer: Good. Send her school stuff along. You have a great night of sex marathon and enjoy a late morning.

"Jeez. What's with her and the sex marathon?" I cringe and then laugh.

"Bet that's what she and Ramon are up to every weekend. No wonder she never picks up the calls."

"Ew. Didn't need that image."

Selene: We're at pumpkin and Res's. Four of us are headed to that Korean karaoke bar on 28 W 32nd St. Come.

August: Boring choice just like your boring husbands. Bring them to Dorrian's. Chase and I are here.

"Did I invite him or did he invite us?" Selene glares at the screen as she types okay. "His superior arrogance is going to get his handsome face punched someday. Ari's always worrying. Wanna spice it up?"

"How?"

"Inviting Lysandra and Inessa. Genius plan, huh?" She wiggles her brows.

"The last thing I need to end this day is mayhem."

"C'mon, bitch. Nothing like a mayhem on a Karaoke night."

Back in the living room, Arion, Areston, and Kryslian are all missing. A staff member informs us that they're in my husband's observatory. Upstairs. Selene and I find Arion lounging on a couch far away from his brother and daughter. He's doing something on his phone—most likely responding to pending mails considering the workaholic creatures these brothers are. Areston is seated at the chaise lounge by his high-end, super expensive, custom-built deep space telescope. Kryslian is on his lap and her eye is on the lens as she watches space. They seem to be involved in some important discussion.

"Yes, humans will build a house on Mars someday, princess," my husband replies to her in his usual detached tone, but I know how much he enjoys talking to her.

"Big house?"

"Big house."

"I'll build a house for me and my boyfriend and our dogs on Mars."

"You don't have a boyfriend." Both the brothers almost grumble in unison, making Selene and I roll our eyes.

Selene settles next to her husband and I slip next to mine. Areston doesn't waiver his attention from Kryslian, but he slides an arm around me and hauls me close.

"Mommy, you said I can have a boyfriend," Kryslian slides into my lap. "Kenzo is my boyfriend."

I brush her hair with my fingers. "Of course, baby. Ignore your daddy and Uncle Res. They're dum dum."

"Am I now?" Areston whispers darkly before lowering his head and biting on the hickey he's already left on my shoulder. I wince from pain as it feels like he has every intention to tear my skin off.

"Why are you biting my mommy, Uncle Res!" Kryslian's innocent question makes me laugh.

"Stop subjecting my innocent child to your caveman side, Res." Arion scoffs while doing the same to his wife. Hypocrite.

"Stop," Selene laughs, elbowing him.

Areston lifts his head, his mouth curled into a wicked smirk. "Can't help it, princess. Mommy is delicious."

"Delicious?" The child tilts her head to the side with furrowed brows as she weighs.

"Delicious. Like a cupcake."

"Jeez. Stop it, Ares," I elbow him, making him chuckle.

Kryslian grins, her smile resembling exactly like her mother's before she sinks her teeth in my arm, making me laugh.

"Chocolate cupcake," she smiles.

"That's my moisturizer, you devil kid. Come here," I grab her on my lap while my husband's possessive arm remains tight on my waist out of his compulsive need to keep his territory claimed.

"Mommy is my mommy. You don't bite her anymore, Uncle Res. I'll bite her," she demands in a non-negotiating voice and then cups my face. "Yes, mommy?"

"We can share, princess."

"Sharing is caring, munchkin," I nuzzle her cheek, before tickling her, making her burst into fits of giggles.

"Uncle Res, help!"

"Only if you promise me we can share mommy," he lets out a deliciously low chuckle that travels straight between my thighs, his gaze dark and amused as he proceeds to brush her hair.

The tenderness with which he touches her catches me off guard. It's a simple gesture. Not a big deal for the onlooker. It's a gesture that can go unnoticed by anyone else, but to me, it's a huge deal. It's everything. He's a man who never shows affection because to do so he needs to be able to process emotions like the rest do. He's not wired to. I have been the sole recipient of his emotions since the beginning, and that too after I had to work hard to draw those out. He had them locked again when I left him and remained like that even after we met eleven years later. Only the disastrous end to our holiday fling forced him to unlock those caged emotions, confront them, and lay them bare for me. So, to see him let his guard down, even if it's just a little means a lot.

It warms my heart to see him like this. Relaxed and playful in his own way with someone other than me—a rare, precious glimpse, reminding me that beneath all the darkness and evil that lurks within him, there's a softness even if it's buried deep within and would never come out fully. This side of him, he reserves for her, just like he reserves for me. He's different whenever she's around. Almost... soft... and human. But then, it's no surprise honestly. He once told me that Kryslian is special to him and an exception to all his rules just like I am. She was his only connection to me when I was absent in his life. He felt connected to her because in her, he saw my essence. So, even with all the walls of the giant fortress he has built around himself, he carved a room for her.

"You're so bad for manipulating a child like that, your highness," I whisper, grinning like an idiot.

"I am bad," he tosses haughtily. "You should be grateful I'm even considering a blasphemous suggestion like sharing you," he leans close to brush his mouth against my ear. "Nonetheless, be rest assured your ass will be dealing with the punishment for having suggested it."

"We're going to Dorrian's," Selene's announcement drags my attention away while I continue to remain the focus of my husband's attention. "Chase and August are waiting for us."

💗💗💗

"Eat."

"No." I have propped my elbows on the table, steepled my fingers between my chin, and grinning like a total dork with my eyes on stage.

My best friend is belting out Inessa's cult-favorite love story song with pure joy. Arion is beside her. She dragged him there much to his grimace, but he's in no rush to abandon her. He's watching her with so much reverence as she makes a fool of herself with a karaoke mic in her hand. Selene has several exceptional skills, but singing isn't one of them. Her husband doesn't seem to mind it. He's holding her as she sings, looking at her like she's his sun and he's the earth basking in the warmth she emits.

Every time I see them like this—madly in love, cocooned in the sheer ridiculousness of it, my heart swells. He's someone who sees her, accepts her and her crazy along with everything else, and isn't afraid of joining her in all of it. She deserves this and so much more. I could be feeling more emotional today because I might be a little tipsy already. I remember how afraid and a little pissed off I was when Arion told me he was going to ask her to move to New York so they could move in. Selene was an integral part of the new life I'd constructed in Paris. The idea of her moving away from me and in life had shaken me a little.

"You don't want her to move in with me?"

"I didn't say that."

"You don't want her to leave Paris?"

"I didn't say that."

"You're worried she won't be around?"

"I didn't say that."

"Then what is it, pumpkin?"

"I have always had her around me, Ari. Since we were kids. Now, you'll be taking her away from me. She'll become busy with you and I will lose my friend. I love her and I'm extremely happy for her, but I have an animosity towards you for stealing her away from me."

"She's not the only one I'm stealing."

"I know. Krys too. Which is way worse."

"You. I am unofficially adopting you."

"You... you're adopting me?"

"Long before Selene agreed to date me, she told me she came with a package—you and Krys. She'd made it clear that I'd be dating the three of you and we'll be only moving forward if the package approves. So, naturally, you're my family and I am proposing to adopt you, which means I'll steal you from Paris and take you home to New York City. My wife-to-be, my kid, and I need you around. There's no new beginning for us without your toffee-nosed presence, pumpkin."

"You have barely eaten the whole day and argued to order this godforsaken burger. I allowed it, but now you have to finish it off. Eat," my husband's notes sternly, holding the burger in front of my mouth while tightening his arm that's already wrapped around my waist in an unyielding, possessive grip.

"Ew. Stop annoying me. I am not hungry."

"Eat, pumpkin." Comes from my brother seated at the table next to ours. "It was already bad enough that you cried over that slut, you can't starve yourself now."

"I am not starving. I ate," I say, gently squeezing my hand entwined with my husband's.

"A slice of pizza and two lattes is not a proper meal," Areston argues, excellently restraining his anger from being reflected in his voice.

"You're supposed to be taking care of your wife," Chase accuses him in a bored tone, scrolling through his phone, seemingly unaffected by Inessa's presence who has climbed up to fraternize with the jazz band players at the corner of the stage.

He appears outwardly indifferent and has been to her presence just like he always is, but I am certain his mind has already at work since the second she climbed up there.

"You take care of your business that has your ass on fire and I'll take care of mine," my husband asserts in an equally bored tone, establishing his territory on me and at the same time taking a dig at his equation with Inessa.

I grin, turning to face him. His face is stoic and eyes cold and enigmatic... soulless even—no trace of amusement at having thrown a well-calculated jab at my brother. Just because he doesn't indulge in gossip doesn't mean he doesn't observe. Observing is his modus operandi.

"Chase—" I am about to intervene when a barely perceptible smirk appears on my brother's face and it stops me.

"I am," he responds to my husband, leaning back in his seat, his fingers gently tapping the surface of the table in a rhythmic pattern.

"What does he mean?" I ask my husband.

"Nothing that should concern us," he responds coolly, he lifts the burger for me, barely restraining his temper from force-feeding me.

My eyes narrow slightly when I follow a sudden commotion on the stage. I find a well-dressed man whom I recognize as his chief of security personnel, along with the club manager, discreetly chatting with the band member Inessa was particularly flirting with—or more like deliberately provoking Chase by caressing the guy's arm, whispering something in his ear, or so—all the tactics that I know are likely to get me into deep, deep trouble with my husband if it were me up there. That also seems to be the case for her. The guy in question appears baffled as he questions them something dramatically but sighs in defeat at no response from them and stands up. The karaoke goes on and Selene starts singing again as they escort the guy out without a scene. It's my brother's doing of course who's looking at Inessa with a cool expression, almost bored, as if daring her to call him out over his quiet display of assertion of his control over her.

"Jeez, you're pathetic. How are we even related?" I murmur as I watch Inessa fuming as she stomps her way back to the table ahead of us to sit beside Selene and Arion who're eating each other's face off, knowing that she may try to provoke my brother but never succeed.

"We are both bound by the same gene pool," he throws me a nonchalant shrug without letting a single expression betray his face or directing a single glance at Inessa who's leaving. The arrogant prick.

"Are you going to stop being a busybody and eat? Or do I need to haul you over my shoulder and carry you home?" There's barely any edge in my husband's calm and collected tone, but I know I am on the verge of pissing him off gloriously.

I take the burger off my husband's hand and return to the plate. Wiping his fingers and then mine, I climb into his lap and throw my arms around his neck. "Would you have done the same to me?"

He knows the context. His eyes darken. "What do you think?"

"Ew. Worse. Gosh, what am I doing surrounded by such obnoxiously possessive jerks."

He lowers his head to kiss the center of my throat. "I do not approve that you're not eating, Belle." He's not the one to be deterred from his goal. He takes my health and food intake very seriously.

"I am in the mood for something sweet. Not the desserts available on the menu. Something else. I don't know what," I pout.

He brushes his mouth against the tip of my nose without any trace of annoyance as I was expecting as he extracts his phone using his free hand. I watch him type 0 and send it to Horace.

I trace his sharp cheekbones and jawline before pausing my fingers at his mouth. "What does that mean? A secret code that says SOS my wife is being a brat?"

He wraps his one hand on the side of my throat, his thumb tenderly stroking my pulse point. "She's getting on my nerves but I don't need anyone to handle my little brat."

The dark intensity of his stare makes my skin grow red-hot warm. It doesn't help that his huge erection nudges my ass as I straddle it. A deep-seated desire spirals between my thighs. Ever since Selene announced that we're heading out, he has been quietly seething. I've been feeling his fury and displeasure simmering just beneath his polished veneer. He masks it exceptionally well, but I know him like no one else does to know that he isn't a fan of being here. He never is. He'd rather have the two of us alone in the solitude of our home. However, he understands that we're both wired differently and while he doesn't need company, I occasionally do, he's tolerating this for me, which makes me love him even more.

"You'd rather be at home, yes?"

Without warning, he yanks me forward, his one hand gripping my nape with a possessive force and lowering his head to my ear. "Damn right. I'd rather be at home with my siren and worship her cunt until she couldn't take it anymore and beg me to stop," his cock grows harder, affirming his statement.

I chuckle. "It means a lot to me that you're tolerating."

There's a sinister gleam in that gaze, like a whirling storm that can pull me in and destroy my existence. What's more, I'd be happy to meet that fate as long as he's the one giving it to me.

"I am compromising. You'll return me the favor when we're home and I'll fuck you raw until every inch of your delectable body is marked and you're a whimpering mess. You'll be too sore to even sob my name or beg me to stop, but will compromise without complaints by taking every inch of my cock in your cunt like a good girl you are because there would be no mercy coming," he whispers before slamming his lips on mine.

The kiss is rough and intense—a blend of fury, frustration, and longing. He's rather demonstrating to me that I'm right instead of just giving me his verbal agreement as he pours all the tension he's been tightly restraining into the maddening kiss. His tongue demands access past my lips, devouring, punishing in its quest to dominate my existence. My heart races as I revel in his brutish claiming of me, weaving my fingers through his dark, silky strands, tugging just enough to make him utter a low, barely audible growl low into his throat. The sexy sound vibrates between us as the fervor grows. I feel his vexation slowly dissolve and take the shape of something primal.

"Go home and save me the embarrassment of watching my baby sister's face being eaten," Chase's drawl with restrained impatience, makes us draw back a little.

I giggle resting my forehead against my husband who remains as stoic as ever, however, there's mirth dancing in those hauntingly beautiful, intoxicating gaze of my husband that I go to sleep to and wake up to every morning.

Horace appears by our table and hands him a bar of my favorite MarieBelle sea salt and milk chocolate, and disappears before I can even say something.

"There's no way he went to the store to fetch this and returned so fast!" I gasp.

My husband opens the lid of the chocolate bar with vigilant precision and pulls up a small portion for me. "I always have it stocked before we leave home. For emergencies like this. Eat."

My heart shouldn't burst with overwhelming love and joy because this kind of maddeningly perfect attention to detail about my needs is nothing new. But it still does. As it does every time, knowing that always unfailingly being a step ahead in anticipating my every tiniest need and fulfilling it is as important as breathing to him. It's not just care. It's something deeper. There's a twisted sense of comfort that makes me feel so alive every time he affirms with gestures like this that I am always on his mind. I am addicted to his way of wrapping me up in his overwhelming love. He has woven himself into every fiber of my existence and with gestures like this, he wordlessly demonstrates to me that I am his. To own and to cherish and to take care of. Just like he vowed to me.

"I love you." I take a small bite of the chocolate and close my eyes as the taste explodes in my mouth. "Mmm."

"Good?" He asks. No smile, but amusement playing in his eyes.

"So good," I smile, cupping his face and dropping a kiss on his clean-shaven jaw and then on his throat. "Did I tell you I love you so fucking much?"

He kisses me, slower this time, more deliberate. Savoring me, needing me, tasting me with a fierce kind of worship that makes my pulse spike. "Eat."

I feel a shadow move to show up beside us. August. His unwavering gaze fixed on one person—more like the human form of a pink cotton candy explosion on the stage in the corner where Inessa was. 

Lysandra is trying her harmless attempts at flirting with a handsome guitar player, enjoying her rare freedom from her boss who disappeared before we arrived here because of a work emergency. He had absolutely zero clue of his favorite assistant being here—or that's what I thought.

"Your loathsome presence is unnecessary. I'd have safely carried Lys back home and tucked her in her pink bed." My brother who has been brooding all this time says in a flat tone with his life's goal right now being to rile up my brother-in-law for a sport and Inessa. 

Inessa has zero fucks to spare as she is seemingly busy flirting with some typical Wall Street finance bro she has invited to her table out of pure spite. I admire that woman for giving my brother no second of peace for the way he keeps antagonizing her for his entertainment.

"Go ahead. It'll be the last time your hands touch anything," August drawls with a cool indifference, his eyes remaining on Lysandra.

"Would be worth it if it's her they touch last," Chase goads him again with a vacant expression on his face and lowers his attention on his phone.

August ignores him royally and watches Lysandra whose attention has diverted from the guitar player and is now focused on her boss advancing towards him. She boldly looks him in the eye and sings "Sway" by Michael Bublé directly to him, the result of all the alcohol in her system, her gestures flirtatious and animated with her usually tight filters in front of him having slipped away.

"That girl probably has a death wish," I whisper to myself, gobsmacked by Lysandra's lowered inhibitions like never before, making her cast August a flirtatious glance, daring him to react with her playfulness.

My husband's mouth grazes my neck, his breath hot on my skin, before he guides the chocolate bar in my hand past my lips with a subtle force. "It'd be in your interest to give your husband your undivided attention, wife. Any lapse and I'll make your delicate little ass bear the severe repercussions."

I bite my lower lip, failing to suppress the surge of dark thrill his words stir in me. The dark and impossibly tempting threat in his voice, a low and rough husk that feels like gravel softened by velvet, warms my skin. It lingers in the air, intoxicating and heavy. My pulse quicks and a rush of heat pools deep inside me, my treacherous body betraying me by craving exactly what he's promising. I can't even pretend to be unaffected even if my life depends on it. It doesn't help that the fingers of his hand on my waist are moving in slow, deliberate circles, around my belly ring, teasing me with every stroke.

I smile, kissing the corner of his mouth. "I wouldn't mind."

"Does that mean you're ready to go home?" He smirks.

I know he's testing me. "No, jerk. We're staying until I am nicely drunk and you have to carry me home. Baby, tell me something. That night after you found me on the street and dropped me home, did I behave like a drunken Lys?"

His face softens as if it's his favorite memory to recall and the corner of his mouth twitches. "You were Lysandra on steroids."

I arch a playful brow at him. "Did I make some drunken confession that I do not know of?"

"Yeah," he lifts his hand to brush his fingers through my strands and parts it to the side to kiss my neck. The damned hickey to be precise. His tongue slides over the bruised spot, before biting the flesh down again, harder this time, turning the wet caress into a brutal suck with an intensity that feels like he wants to feed himself on the heat from my blood. "I don't want to never see you again, Ares."

"Huh?"

"That's what you said," he whispers, withdrawing before one last kiss to the assaulted spot.

I draw myself close to his face and kiss him. "And you listened."

"Well, contrary to your popular opinion, I can be a considerate man for you. I decided to grant my future wife her drunken wish so yes I listened."

"Fucking lord, this woman," We're distracted by August's words. He rarely loses his cool so even my husband's attention snaps to him. August marches in extremely controlled, measured steps toward Lysandra.

"Is he going to do what you did to me at Obsidian Syndicate?"

"Not our problem, Belle. Eat and keep your eyes on me," my husband gently shoves a small bite of chocolate into my mouth.

I roll my eyes. "There's a drama going on. How do you not expect me to watch? You knew your wife was nosey when you married me so stop being so jealous of anyone else getting my attention, husband."

Judging from the way August has made his way to the stage, I am expecting some high-voltage drama. Instead, he simply reaches her, takes the mic from her hand, and tosses it at one of the band members to catch. Careful not to cause a scene, he simply places a firm hand on the small of her back and guides her down the stage. A tipsy Lysandra is beaming with a drunken smile as he settles her in a seat next to us and makes her drink plain black coffee that has appeared out of nowhere. I am guessing he ordered it before even showing up. Someone must've told him of her whereabouts.

Smiling, I turn to my royally pissed husband. "Stop scowling. You would've never exercised such patience with me. You'd have simply hauled me over your shoulder like the caveman you are and dragged me out."

"Let's just say I have zero patience when it comes to you. Just like I have zero tolerance for my wife giving her attention to others. I should be the sole receiver of your attention," he says with a darkened gaze. His face is an impenetrable fortress with his features carved in stone, taut, and devoid of any emotion for me to know if he's teasing me or means it. Judging from what I know, he definitely means every word of it.

"So, you want my attention, husband?" I slip out of his lap and he lets me, thinking I'm likely to ask him to take me home. "I'll give you all my attention by singing a song for you."

The muscle in his jaw ticks. "Belle, don't."

"It'll be fun."

"Not in that outfit. That was my condition before coming here. Get back here"

"It's pretty decent compared to what others are wearing." Okay, that might be a bit of an exaggeration. I am wearing a very short monochrome ensemble. It's a white tub top with a white microskirt underneath. I have paired it with a matching clutch bag and Prada knee-length boots.

To say my husband was highly displeased the moment he saw me in it would be an understatement. He was pissed and wanted me to change. It took me a lot of convincing, including bribes like leaving my hair down and not leaving his side throughout the evening.

"Belle," he says in a warning tone.

"Let her be. Stop patronizing my sister," my brother takes a seat on his table from wherever he had disappeared. I notice Inessa scowling at him because the guy she was flirting with is also gone.

"You stay out of it," Areston tosses it at him without even sparing him a glance.

"I'll see you guys on stage. Wish me luck!" I say, almost running off. Everyone applauds me as I take the mic and Selene cheers the loudest. It's my usual crowd. Selene, Claire, and I have been coming here since we were kids. This is like our second home.

The familiar hum of anticipation buzzes through the familiar crowd as I step onto the stage, completely prepared to own the moment, but all I can feel is being consumed by the sheer intensity of his eyes drilling a hole into my back. They might as well be sucking the source of my sudden outburst of energy that's making me rebel and be a brat just to earn that punishment he warned me about. I like working for it and truly deserving of it. My husband has turned me into this deranged, manic hoe when it comes to needing his rough handlings.

Accepting the mic and telling the band what song I'm performing on, I turn and catch a glimpse of my Mr. Testosterone-On-Legs cutting through the crowd in his effortlessly suave and extremely controlled manner, eating the whole space and commanding everyone's attention as he moves. His gaze is like a storm unleashed, chaotic, and frenzied, drowning me in the complete mayhem of his obsession—into an abyss where sanity and reason and rationality drown. There's a vow in them that there's no escape for me. The thrill of this dangerous game I'm playing makes my skin prickle.

Before I can even snatch a breath, he's on stage, but instead of coming to me directly, my husband strides over to quietly instruct something to the band. His gaze remains fixed on me, though, as if nothing else and no else exists. Excitement fills my veins and my breath catches in my throat as he eats the distance between us, towering over me with his tall, intimidating height, and confiscating my space, my oxygen, and my senses. He approaches me calmly, his gaze darkened with intent and desire, and wordlessly, with his one possessive arm sliding around my waist, he pulls me flush against his mighty frame. The crowd gasps loudly and cheers and hoots, and I'm rendered breathless by this very open display of public affection by a highly private person like him.

"What are you—"

My words are brought to a sharp halt as his hand shoots out to my arm, his fingers circling around it in firm but not rough hold, guiding me toward him. The space between us shrinks until all I can feel is the heat emanating off his body and his heady scent filling all my senses. The way his fingers swallow the entire circumference of my arm reminds just how petite and crushable I am. He can just squeeze a little and my bones will crush under the pressure. His touch is deceptively soft, however the tension in his hold tells me everything I need to know. He's not furious—no. What he's feeling is something else. Something much darker and deeper. The crowd falls silent. The hoots, the cheers, and the whistles evaporate in thin air as the room's energy shifts as if everyone's anticipating with their bated breath what's about to happen, just like I am.

The first notes of the very, very sinister song Every Breath You Take by the Police fills the air. 

I know this song. 

Growing up, I have always heard papá serenading mama with it. 

A couple of years ago I asked her what it meant and she blushed for the first and only time and said it was his way of saying that she'll never be out of his sight, not even for a single breath. It's a song that perfectly conveyed his obsession for her—she said they call it a twisted anthem of control and obsession. So, I know what it means that my husband has chosen it.

Does he want me to sing? I don't know the lyrics. What's he planning? His unfathomable gaze remains locked onto mine. 

Like a shadow that gets swallowed by the abyss, gets lost in the endless loop of its void, my breath traps itself in my throat, refusing to release itself from the shackles that form itself around my neck as he closes his fingers around mine that hold the mic, engulfing my hand. He might as well be holding my throat. The measured slowness of his skin's brush against mine as he raises it a little further from his mouth makes me shudder. His touch is like a razor's edge, slicing and penetrating into my skin, stamping with a silent yet brutal and assertive reminder of the unyielding control he exercises over me.

I stand frozen, stunned, and rendered incapable of movement, as his voice—my favorite in the whole world, low and rich with searing intensity, starts pouring through the speakers. Only this time, it's to sing. Not to bark a command or seduce or flirt or coax me. I've never heard him sing publically like this before. Never.

Every breath you take

Every move you make

Every bond you break

Every step you take

I'll be watching you.

My husband has a voice tailored to seduce—to make people fall on their knees and capitulate to his often irrational whims. However, his singing voice... it's something else. His voice, resonant and deep, can coax even the planets to stop orbiting around the sun, throwing the universe into chaos if he wants. It could make a storm go still, the wind pausing to catch every velvety note that comes out of him. If the mountains could listen, they'd happily crumble. Even the ocean would calm down, silencing its own melody, in its deep desperate longing to be held by his voice. It's not an exaggeration because I am his wife and I've fallen in love with the way he sings. Every bit of it is true.

Every single day

Every word you say

Every game you play

Every night you stay

I'll be watching you.

When he speaks, my husband's voice is a command that's wrapped in silk, aimed to coax me to lose myself in the dark, intoxicating allure that he weaves with his tone. However, when he sings—oh, it's a seduction of a different kind, a league in its own. One that lingers on my skin, igniting my senses, and making the world fade until I can feel nothing else but the raw, irrefutable tug of his voice. It's a weapon created for seduction. Each word he sings drips with a sensual weight. The low, controlled rumble transforms into something primal with every passing second, something that crawls under my skin and makes my soul his prisoner. There's a knot in my stomach. Not a knot. More like butterflies fluttering in my belly.

Oh can't you see

You belong to me?

How my poor heart aches with every step you take.

The words hang heavy in the air. His eyes, predatory and glacial, sear with an untamed, unhinged intensity, never leaving mine, not even for a second, as he sings. The blue depths of them swirl with a frenzied storm challenging me to look away and defy him once again, knowing fully well he won't allow it and I'm rendered incapable to. Even if I want to try, which I don't. I'd rather be lost in that storm. These are the eyes of the man who owns me, the voice of the man who means every word when he says there's no escape or refuge from his intensity devouring me. Every breath of mine is his—claimed and devoured by him and his darkness that binds me to him.

His hand from my waist comes up, tenderly brushing my hair behind my ear in a gesture so intimate, it makes me swallow the thickness lodged in my throat. He's not merely touching me, he's stamping his very public claim on me, not that he needs to. Everyone by now knows I'm his unless they're living in a burrow. He meant it when he said before we left home that I'm to stay tied to his hip throughout the night if I am to wear the extremely short dress he labeled a blasphemy that can tempt even an animal to want to fuck me. So now, regardless of my attempt to defy him, he has cornered me on the stage in a way that his back is to the public, his mighty framing shielding my petite form from them, and while he's singing for the first time, he's singing it for me, facing me—just me. Doesn't matter if the crowd is listening. For them, they just don't exist.

Every move you make

Every vow you break

Every smile you fake

Every claim you stake

I'll be watching you.

His hand trails down, grazing the column of my neck with a feather-light touch, pausing to linger on my pulse point—his favorite part that's right now pounding too hard and fast. His fingers curl around my neck, not really choking me but exerting enough pressure to show me that he has the power to snap it and end me and I willingly would face that consequence. But he won't. He needs me to exist. He presses his thumb on my pulse point—it just stays there. Tracing and circling, as if to say, 'This belongs to me. My property.' His lips curve into a predatory smile, the possessive darkness in his gaze heightening as he feels me and every bit of emotion that swirls in me.

The room erupts into loudest applause as the song ends and he hauls me to him, his hand on my neck tightening as he tilts my head up and lowers his head to crush his lips against mine. The kiss is brutal, hard, punishing, demanding, and almost bruising. A metallic taste explodes in my mouth as he bites my tongue. So he is angry. Not angry. Like I predicted first—it's much darker. He has just masked it well and continues to, considering the master of impulse and emotion control that he is. However, the kiss betrays his tight control, telling me what I need to know.

When he parts, I am panting while his breath remains super steady. His eyes are glazed with a need so deep, an obsession so primal.

He leans in to close his lips around my ear, biting my earlobe hard, making me wince from pain, and then soothing it with the flick of his tongue. "I am going to savor the process of correcting your bratty defiance tonight, baby. We're leaving."

True to his caveman spirits and completely unlike his brother, he throws the mic to the band and hauls me up in his arms. But unlike throwing me over his shoulder as he did at Obsidian Syndicate, he cuts through the crowd, carrying me bridal style. Drunk Lysandra and Inessa and cheering and whistling the loudest. 

How was the chapter? 

What's your most favorite part?

What's your second favorite part?