There’s a saying: what you fear is what you create.
I know I created this moment. Because why would something so good, like hearing Lavinia finally tell me that she loves me, be tainted by being forced into this position?
It’s like the pit all over again, except this time I’ve brought her, my Little Bird, with me.
But no matter what I do, the fights I win, the men I kill, I will always be this man. Except now I’m also the man Lavinia Lucia loves. And that, that, is what drives me when the sole of her strappy high-heel meets the center of my chest, sending me stumbling from behind the curtain.
It’s been a while since Lavinia kicked the shit out of me.
I think I might have missed it.
She comes barreling at me and I grab her easily, hauling her up onto the stage with a showy sneer. The alumni jolt into action, ready to take her down, but only for the amount of time it takes me to dump her in front of the pole. I know it wasn’t intentional, but she looks the part, eyes still wet from her apology, two perfect mascara streaks running down her pink cheeks as she spits a sharp, “Fuck you!”
Looking out over the tables, I see all the guys perking up in excitement, scooting their chairs closer. One of them barks, “Make her pay!”
“She’ll get what she deserves,” I promise them. I flick Sy and Remy a look as I shuck off my jacket, hoping they see this for what it is. Since they don’t exactly have the best track record, I’m relieved when the tight, furious scowl on Sy’s face smoothes into a stoic expression.
Remy’s eyebrow twitches.
They know what’s going down.
Thank fuck.
When she goes to cower away from me, she trips on her heels, and it’s only then I notice the slight limp. That didn’t happen from the kick. One of those fuckers hurt her, and now I’m going to have to reinforce that.
“Strip her down, Bruin!”
“Show us her tits!”
“Bend her over, Bruin! Fuck her like a Duke!”
“Shut the fuck up,” Remy roars, his voice cutting through the mayhem. I realize that he and Sy have positioned themselves at the edge of the stage, Neon and Ewing between them. They know better than to try to stop this—none of us can at this point—but they’ll let me and Lavinia do this our way.
I raise my hand to her, flicking my finger. “Off.”
She scowls out at the men as she grips her robe, parting it only a scant few inches. I can practically hear every man in the room breathing more quickly as she reveals a glimpse of the bustier beneath, taking her sweet time actually taking the robe off.
Pretending to be fed up, I lurch forward and grab it, yanking it forcefully off her shoulders. The robe flutters to the floor, revealing her pale, perfect skin, and the most dangerous black lace and satin I’ve ever seen.
“Finally!” Someone whistles, and it doesn’t matter that they’re being lied to here. The thought of them all getting off to the way she’s holding herself, reluctant and tense, still makes me want to give that seventeen-bullet strategy a try.
My eyes flick to Sy. “Give me a chair.” There’s a moment where I’m sure he’s going to chuck it at me, knock me out cold, but he grabs one of the folding chairs from a nearby table and tosses it up to me, not saying a word. I yank it apart, placing it a few feet away from the stripper pole. I sit, nodding to the DJ behind the stage. “Play something for the Duchess to dance to.”
A slow beat comes out of the speakers. It’s sexy, pulsing. After rolling up my sleeves, I make a motion for him to turn it up louder, engulfing us in the throbbing sound.
Sending her a hard, cold stare, I command, “Dance for your Dukes.”
She doesn’t make it hard for me, turning instantly to the pole, which is a kindness I doubt I deserve. Back in the pit, Daniel always made me be as physical and hands-on as possible. Much like Lavinia, those girls all knew what they were getting into, but unlike her, they weren’t always acting scared of me. Most of them just were scared of me.
I don’t need to tell her what to do. It’s like the music does something transformative, drawing us into a separate world. She tugs at the garter belt around her waist, as if she could cover up the enticing peek of her tiny black thong, but then wears it like a second skin, turning to show the room her two round ass cheeks.
Any concerns of me not getting hard during this vanish. My cock leaps in my pants, pressing against my zipper as she trails her fingers down the shiny pole in the center of the stage.
She takes a slow, sensuous spin, and the men in the room erupt into rowdy, dirty cheers.
“That’s right, Lucia,” one of them belts out. “You’re our bitch now!”
I crack my neck, holding myself back, but Lavinia doesn’t look fazed at all, turning to nestle the pole between her ass cheeks as she drops, thighs spreading obscenely. She pops back up just as quickly, spinning to pop her hips in time to the beat. There’s a controlled grace to her movements, like a fighter in the ring. My eyes are drawn to how long her legs look with the garters holding up her stockings, then up her body to the sliver of flesh between her panties and corset. My flesh. My gaze continues to the taunting swell of her tits, pushing out of her top. I thought this would drive me fucking insane, knowing all these men are seeing my girl like this.
But part of me just wants to smirk.
Yes.
That’s mine.
I sprawl a leg out, giving my cock a little room to breathe, but it doesn’t help. Her eyes drop down between my legs, to the bulge created by her, and her tongue darts out to lick her bottom lip.
Fuck me.
I can’t tell if it’s the thudding bass coming from the speakers or my pulse pounding in my ears, but my cock twitches in time to her sways and bucks. Lavinia continues her performance, wrapping her palms around the pole and grinding against it.
Shooting Remy and Sy a look, I realize we’re all sharing the same hungry sense of bafflement.
Where the fuck did this vixen come from? Survival? Instinct?
When she gets close, I grab her by the wrist and yank her over, tired of watching. She falls toward me, crashing sideways in my lap, and I place my hand on her tit and squeeze.
“Just pretend it’s you and me,” I whisper, keeping my gaze fixed to hers. If I lose her, we’re fucked. My inked knuckles disappear under her hair as my hand tightens on her shoulder.
The nod she gives me is so small, no one would notice.
I shove her roughly to her knees, hearing her startled cry, but knowing it’s not real. The real Lavinia wouldn’t sound so cowed. She’d spit in my fucking face.
Raising my chin, I call over the jeers of the crowd, “Ready to see a Lucia take a Bruin cock?”
The old guy from table three–the one who’d smacked her ass thirty minutes ago–belts out an excited, “Make her choke on it!”
Lavinia looks up at me from between my thighs with shiny eyes.
“You and me,” she mouths, and something passes through us. It’s an understanding we built during all those late nights in a shitty motel room. It solidified that night at the Hideaway, when she agreed to let me fuck her to lessen her value to the Kings. And it imprinted on our souls when she locked me inside a cage of her own, wanting me to feel the same pain I’d inflicted on her.
Lavinia and I understand one another, and right now we both understand we need to get out of here alive.
That time in the pit taught me what people like these want. They want their sex dirty and raw, their women stripped down and degraded. But I don’t plan on treating Lavinia any different than I would if we were alone. She’s mine. Her mouth, her tongue, her body.
She’s mine, and these Royal assholes need to understand that.
I run my hand across her shoulder, skating up her pale neck, all the way to her mouth. When I thumb her bottom lip, her tongue darts out, licking the pad and sending a sharp zing to my balls.
It’s never been difficult getting hard for this girl. Not when she’s looking at me like this. Not when her hands are pulling at my belt and lowering the tines of my zipper. Not when her fingers graze my shaft. I give into the moment, groaning. “That’s right, baby. I’ve wanted this for so long.” She leans into my hand and I run my thumb up and down the column of her throat. “Put your hands on me.”
Pausing only enough to make it seem like reluctance, she reaches into my pants and touches me, her slender fingers cool against my overheated flesh. I hiss as she pulls me out of my pants, my cock swelling against her soft, trembling palm.
I’ve fucked Lavinia a lot these past few weeks. Hard and soft. Fast and slow. Quiet in the dark of her loft, and loud in the echo of the Forsyth University Library’s emergency stairwell. She’s even tasted me, those red lips of hers slick against the head of my cock. But she’s never–not once–gotten on her knees to suck my dick like this.
When she releases me, my cock bobs painfully against her chest, brushing the sticky tip across her soft skin. The contact elicits a shiver, from the top of my spine all the way to my balls. Her jaw loosens, pink tongue peeking out to take a tentative swipe over my tip. The surge that runs through me is more intense than the electrical current in that cage.
“Shit, she likes it,” comes a voice from the crowd that filters through the music. Another remarks, “Of course she does, Eugene. She’s a Lucia. She’s a slut.” My jaw tenses, but I remain still as her hand fists around my base, jerking fast. Too fast.
I take in her tense shoulders, her perfunctory moves. This won’t do.
“Slower,” I demand, raising my voice so they’ll hear it. I wind my fingers in her hair, yanking her hair back. She cries out, then takes a breath, before her hand moves again, finding a good rhythm. “That’s better.”
I lean back, relishing the feel of her hand on me. My balls tighten, clear precum weeping desperately from the head. Fuck, if she doesn’t stop, I’m going to come like this. We’re here, and we’re going all the way. Clamping my hand over hers, I say, “Enough. Open your mouth.”
She doesn’t skip a beat, and that’s when I notice how flushed her skin is, all the way down to the swell of her heaving tits. Lavinia is turned on, probably almost as much as I am. Her tongue unfurls, wet and pink, giving me space to slot my cock against the warm surface. She closes her mouth around my head, giving it a little suck.
“That’s right.” I yank her forward, pulling at her hair, and thrust my hips at her face, fucking in deep. She gags around my shaft, startled by the invasion, but I told her I wouldn’t hold back, and I don’t intend to. I drag her off my dick by a fistful of hair, barking, “You’re not wet enough! Open.”
Unblinking, she drops her jaw, looking so open and trusting that my stomach flips. Bending over, I hook a hand beneath her chin, aiming for that pink tongue of hers, and spit. The crowd erupts and I bring her back to my cock, feeding it to her with a grunt.
Lavinia’s mouth is warm, perfect, and when I thrust again, fucking into her throat, the men around us go wild. It’s an ugly thing, the looks on their faces, all gnarled and hateful and probably hornier than they’ve ever been in their pathetic little lives.
Her hair falls in her face, sticking to her stretched, shiny lips. I brush it back, wanting so badly to feel her tits, to push my fingers into her tight pussy. But Lavinia isn’t coming on this stage. Not in front of these assholes. They can have this ugliness–this lie–but I won’t allow them to bear witness to something so sacred.
I give her head a few more forceful tugs before leaning back and letting her draw her own rhythm. She curls a hand around my base and bobs, tongue gliding up my shaft until it reaches the head. She gives it a ball aching, suction-fueled tug.
“Keep that up,” I rumble, voice low, “and I’m gonna blow.”
She looks up at me, eyes watering, cheeks pink, but I see something in them. Lavinia Lucia is a fighter, and she’s fucking fighting for me and my boys right now, down on her knees.
She’s not a Duchess.
She’s a goddamn Queen.
Suddenly, I just can’t take it anymore, shooting to my feet as I grip my cock. “You want to know what a Bruin’s Duchess looks like?” I shout, fisting the top of her hair. My eyes pass over Remy and Sy, who are standing between us and the crowd with squared shoulders, ready to fight if they have to, and then the men in the crowd. They’re on their feet in anticipation, phones pointed at us as they record a Bruin jacking off over the heir to North Side.
And then, with a hard grunt, I come.
The first thick ribbon lands on her cheek. She flinches but doesn’t move away, eyes fluttering closed as the second surge lands on her nose, down her mouth, dripping toward her chin. I exhale as I shoot on her forehead, the glob of cum dribbling into her eyebrow. I paint her with it, long slashes of jizz trickling toward her neck, and the crowd erupts in a victorious roar.
It takes me a second to catch my breath, dragging the back of my wrist over my sweaty lip as I watch her rest back on her haunches, cracking one eye. There’s a glob of cum racing toward her mouth and she meets my gaze, lips twitching up into a lightning-fast smirk.
Her tongue darts out to catch it.
It strikes me then, why I’ve known from the first second I saw her that Lavinia is it for me. She’s not just a fighter.
Lavinia is a victor.
Like after every battle, we celebrate our wins.
And that was a major fucking win. Saul thought he could break us down, force our hand. And sure, things escalated in a way I didn’t anticipate but, in the end, the Dukes flipped off Saul Cartwright. With both fingers.
Tonight, we celebrate with pancakes, because fuck, I’m starving.
“You hungry?” I ask Lavinia once we reach the car. There’s an exhaustion running between us, but when she looks at me, there’s a warmth to her smile that takes my breath away.
Lavinia loves me.
Me.
“I could eat,” she says, leaning into Remy’s side. She’s got his two-thousand dollar jacket wrapped around her shoulders and that sexy outfit underneath. Her hair is a mess, and her makeup is smeared, but none of that takes away from how fucking beautiful she is. All of us are wrinkled as hell, and beside the tender bruise forming in the middle of my chest, Sy has a welt forming on his jaw and Remy’s wrists are raw and scraped from being held back by Saul’s goons.
The only one I care about is the girl in front of me. I touch her chin. “You sure you’re okay?”
It’s a loaded question. Is she okay with what just happened? With me coming on her face in front of a group of DKS? With the way things are between us? Despite being hungry, part of me wishes we were already back at the tower, piled into Sy’s bed. These last two nights without her have been complete shit.
“I’m…” she bites down on her bottom lip, squirming beneath my gaze. The antsy energy about her makes sense. She probably just wants to get the fuck away from here, too. Finally, she answers, “I’m fine. I promise.”
“I have a question,” Remy asks, giving her a long, considering look. “How did you learn to dance like that?”
“Seriously,” I say, thinking about how easy she made it look. Our girl has secret talents. “What’s up with that?”
She shrugs, cheeks going pink. “I learned it when I was at the Hideaway.”
Sy goes eerily still, fists clenching. “I thought they never put you to work.”
“They didn’t,” she assures, eyes rolling. “But I needed to stay active, and Auggie’s not going to let an investment go to waste. She had a few of the girls come down and show me some of their routines. It kept me limber, and… also, you know. Just in case they decided to send me upstairs…” She makes a vague gesture that doesn’t make Sy any less inclined to unclench his jaw.
Remy, however, brings his hand together in a clap. “Remind me to send Augustine flowers.” He opens the door and slides across the back seat, but when Lavinia goes to follow, I grab her hand, stopping her.
“You were so fucking good,” I remind her, kissing her the way I wanted to during the show. It’s long and slow, hard and deep, and when I pull away, she sends me the kind of smile I spent two years desperate to see.
“So were you,” she says.
Remy’s hand latches around her waist, pulling her inside the vehicle.
“I’m going to get, like… three sides of bacon,” I tell Sy, after I slam the back door, securing both Remy and Lavinia in the back. “And I don’t want any of your shit about nitrates.”
He shrugs and opens the driver’s side door. “Hey, it’s your colon.” He looks over at me when I get in, the interior shrouded in darkness. “The Diner?”
“Yes,” Remy calls from the back seat. Sy starts the car, shifting it in gear. We pull out of the parking lot and I flip open the glove compartment, rummaging around in the dark.
“Hey, Little Bird,” I pull out a pack of wipes, “you need to wipe my cum off your—?” I turn in my seat, the sentence stalling at the sight of Remy’s tongue lathing over her chin, already doing the job. I arch an eyebrow. “Guess not.”
Lavinia’s head drops back, giving him room to suck a mark into her throat. But then, in a quick motion, she slings her leg over his lap, straddling him.
His eyes widen. “Fuck yes–magenta.” Pushing her hair out of her face, he springs up to lick into her mouth. She shrugs her way out of her coat, moaning as he slips his fingers between her legs, voice rough. “Goddamn, you’re soaked.”
She turns her head, catching my eye. “Apparently, that’s what sucking on Nick Bruin’s cock does to me.”
Even though I just came–possibly harder than I have in my life–my dick twitches back to life. “Fuck, why didn’t you say something?” I say, palming myself as I watch her rock into Remy’s hardness. “I would have eaten your pussy, or–”
Remy yanks down the cups of her top, and while he buries his face in her tits, his fingers push and pull at the garters. The left one snaps, followed by the right. “I can do it. You need to get off?” he asks, licking a path up to her chin.
Her answer is clear, edged with urgency. “I need your cock in me.” She rises, fumbling clumsily with his belt. “Now.”
“Jesus,” Sy mutters next to me, eyes darting between the street and the rearview mirror. “I can head home if you need—”
“No,” she mewls against Remy. “No, I can’t wait. Can’t we just…?”
“Give her what she needs, Rem,” I say, bending between the seats and shoving my hand between her legs. I groan at what I feel, her pussy hot and so slick that it’s seeped a wet spot into Remy’s designer pants.
Was she like this the whole time she was sucking me off?
Straining over the distance, I yank the crotch aside for him. Remy’s struggling frantically out of his pants, eyes dark and intent as he shoves them down his hips, slumping lower on the seat. “You good?” I ask, watching him grab the base of his dick.
“Yeah,” he says, cradling the back of her neck as he lines himself up, rubbing the head of his cock through her slick folds.
Lavinia sinks instantly down, gasping against Remy’s mouth. “God, yes,” she cries, letting him fill her up. I squeeze my dick as I watch her adjust, Remy’s fingertips digging divots into the pale globes of her ass when she gives a gentle, testing rock.
I slide my hand to the crevice of her ass, pushing the lacy thong aside. I don’t ask, I just find her puckered hole. Using her own wetness to ease the way, I push a slow finger in, reveling in the way she clenches. “How’s that?” I ask, dragging in and out.
“More,” she nods, leaning into Remy as I work a second finger inside. Her shoulders shudder with a moan. “I’m not going to last much longer.”
“Don’t hold back,” I tell her, pumping my fingers in and out. I hear the rustle of fabric next to me as Sy drags his hand over his cock. “You held out long enough, baby. Look at him,” I say of Remy, whose thighs are flexing in time with her, jaw clenched taut. “He’s about to bust, too. Come on Remy’s dick.”
She’s panting like she wants to make it last, but the breaths are short and quick, punctuated with these sharp grinds of her hips. Remy stares up at her, muttering, “Super-fucking-nova, Vinny. Give it to me. Gonna make you so full…”
She claws at the back of the seat when she comes, her ass clamping tight around my fingers. Falling against him, she lets the orgasm roll through her as Remy punches upward, fucking into her hard and fast. He comes with a growl, and through the barrier between him and my fingers, I can feel his cock surging, pumping her full of his cum.
I’m so fascinated by it that when the car lurches to an abrupt stop, I slam into the dash, my fingers slipping free.
“What the fuck!”
But Sy is spitting a low curse, hopping out and slamming the door behind him. I look out the window and see that we’re off the main road, headlights shining into a grove of trees. My brother stumbles behind a bush, and it might be dark, but I can see enough to realize he’s dropped his pants, hand stripping his cock.
The car is hot, filled with erratic breathing.
I shoot Remy a look. “Guess he couldn’t last either.”
The bacon is so good that even Sy orders a plate.
“So,” Remy says, gesturing between us with his milkshake. “You two have made up, I take it.”
Lavinia is tucked into my side, head tipped back onto my shoulder as I lick the taste of milkshake from her lips. Sy and Remy are on the opposite side of the booth, watching us with calculating eyes.
“Because for a second there, up on that stage,” Remy goes on, “I thought Nick had really lost his shit.”
Lavinia grins, plucking a fry from her plate. “We make a pretty convincing captor-prisoner team, huh?”
“We did have a lot of practice,” I point out. In a surlier tone, I add, “Although, at least I didn’t electrocute you while eating tacos.”
Sy and Remy share a look, but my brother is the one to clear his throat, asking, “Electrocute?”
“Tacos?” Remy repeats.
“Eh,” Lavinia flicks her hand, “you kind of had to be there.”
“You’re both psychos,” Sy mutters, wadding up his napkin and tossing it on his plate. “And that’s my official diagnosis.”
Fuck we really have been though a lot. It’ll make a good story to tell our kids one day.
Shit.
Kids.
I place my hand over her belly, imagining such an absurdity. A little Nick. A little Sy? A little Remy. Jesus, maybe even a little Lavinia.
“I’ve been thinking,” Remy says, his somber tone interrupting my thoughts of blond kids and their dark-skinned siblings. “Maybe you should ask them.” When I look up, he’s staring at Lavinia, mouth pressed into a grim line. “The thing about Tate?”
Her eyes shutter. “You said it wasn’t true.”
“What?” Sy asks, looking between them.
Lowering his eyes, Remy rakes the tines of his fork over what’s left of his pancakes. “Something Mama B told Vinny about Tate. That she was working for Saul.”
Sy and I scoff in unison, the sound punctuated by the sound of my plate as I push it away. “No chance,” I insist. “You know how much Tate hated the gun trade.”
“Well… yeah,” Remy agrees, flicking his eyes up. I sense the reluctance more than I see it–the way Remy fidgets, like he’s coming to a decision. Finally, he says, “But maybe it was something else. Saul’s got more than one hustle.”
My brows pull inward. “What, like gambling? Fighting?”
“Or athletics?” Lavinia offers, glancing between us. “Something to do with Forsyth?”
Sy leans forward, fixing me with a significant look. “She did get that apartment.”
Remy snaps his fingers, eyes flashing. “In East End. That can’t be cheap, right?” He’s never been the best at gauging stuff like that, growing up like a spoiled little rich kid. But he has a point. It’d made me curious at the time, but everything went to hell before the curiosity could evolve into something actionable.
Bothered by the timing, I wonder, “Why would Mama B bring this up now?”
Lavinia shrugs, looking up at me. “I don’t know, but she was definitely acting weird. Tense. She told me to ask you about it.” Teeth worrying at her lip, she looks at Sy and Remy, adding, “I feel like maybe she was hoping it’d be useful?”
Sy runs a palm down his face, looking as frayed and tired as the rest of us. “Mama B has always had a soft spot for me. I’ll talk to her tomorrow.” He pauses, peering out the window. “Which is in about three hours.” He lifts his hips to take out his wallet, pulling out three bills. “You guys ready to head home?”
My brain is moving restlessly around the possibilities of Tate working for Saul, but just the mention of home makes me aware of the weariness in my bones. Lavinia, too, seems to be fading. We pay the bill and pile in the car. Lavinia curls into Remy and falls asleep on the ride home.
All in all, it’s a good night.
Until we reach the tower.
