I look at myself again.
Better.
I slip the dress on but not before donning the lacy undergarments I picked out for this exact purpose. Reba cursed up a storm—in her own way, like son of a biscuit—when she saw what was in the package I unwrapped.
White.
What an ironic color.
For the wedding itself, I chose the red thong. For the wedding night … I caved in and went semi-traditional. Mostly so I could see Beast defile these pretty white slips of sensuality and satin.
I sit down on the edge of the bed to wait, eventually turning onto my side and staring at the far wall. My stomach twists with nausea, but it’s just because I’m nervous for Beast to come back and nothing to do with … that.
“You chased and you pushed until you got exactly what you wanted,” I whisper, and for a split-second there, I almost manage to convince myself that I picked the wrong thing.
I should’ve left Grey and taken off by myself, gotten on a plane and left for Paris. Or Tokyo. Or Seoul. Anywhere but here.
But then what? What the fuck would I do? This shit is in my blood; the club has its ugly claws so deep inside of me that I’d probably bleed to death if those sharp objects were torn abruptly out. Who am I kidding? I can’t live a normal, boring, easy life. I would suffocate.
This is where I want to be, in the heart of everything.
In the hearts of those four men.
The door cracks open, but I don’t look up.
I can’t.
I feel frozen in place.
Footsteps enter, and the door closes with a soft, strange finality, cutting off this moment from the rest of the world.
I finally convince my nervous heart to look and see that Beast is standing there in the doorway, watching me.
“You look good like that,” he says, voice rougher than I’ve ever heard it. “Stretched out on my bed.”
“What were you doing?” I ask him, because he wasn’t just giving me time to change.
It was something else.
“Talkin’ to Crown,” Beast drawls, but he doesn’t look particularly happy about it.
“Did you see the fire alert?” I ask, and he steps forward, shrugging out of his cut and tossing it onto the dresser.
“I saw it,” he says, and his voice makes me shiver all over. I could bathe in that sound.
I think back to the night of the clubhouse party two years ago, when I saw him fight, how much I wanted him even then.
Now he’s mine.
He’s actually mine, and it’s fucking official.
And I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that this man would not only kill for me, but that he’d also die for me. He proved that—more than once.
His eyes rake over me and he curses, rubbing at his stubble in a way that says he very much misses his beard.
That makes me smile.
“You can grow it back if you want,” I tell him, and he pauses, seeming to realize what it is that he’s doing. The expression on his face grows darker, as if he knows what I’m about to say. “Or you can rub it against my inner thighs while you fuck me with your tongue.”
“You’re lucky we had a quick rut out back or you’d be in some serious trouble,” Beast tells me, slipping off his shirt and revealing a drool-worthy midsection that was clearly carved up by the hand of a horny goddess. If I closed my eyes and imagined what I wanted a man to look like, and then opened them, I’d be seeing the same damn thing.
Beast is just as bruised as I am. Worse, actually. There are some splotchy areas with deep redness around them that would concern me if the compound doc hadn’t already taken a look. Also, he’s got bandages up and down both arms, covering a myriad of minor cuts and burns.
He might get hurt if we end up naked and tangled together, but I think, like with me, that he doesn’t give a shit.
We were supposed to have a wedding night, and even if the whole world has gone to shit since then, we’ll put it on pause for this.
Beast puts one knee on the end of the bed, and I sit up, leaning back into his pillows. Everything in here he likely brought over from Gram’s place, and it all smells like him. I take in a deep breath to drink it all in, filling my lungs with his scent.
I take it we’re not going to talk about the Crown thing right now which is just fine by me.
This isn’t about him or Sin or Grainger, not at all.
This is just about me and Beast.
“Spread those pretty thighs for me, and I’ll give you exactly what you want,” he promises, his voice a sultry kiss for my senses. Only one thing about that statement bothers me.
