–Deanne–
I swear, I want to kill this man for making us all anxious. He just slid the glass door open like it was no big deal and waved at . Waved. Like so cute neighbor, not the bastard who had us scouring the seas for his body.
I sneered, my eyes dropping to the other part of him that was... well, let’s just say it was already standing at attention. I sighed, rolled my eyes, and forced myself to calm down. Then, like the responsible woman I occasionally pretend to be, I left the bathroom with my gun still in hand.
Closing the door behind , I reached for my phone and dialed Livana. Of course, that woman’s line was busy. Figures. So I called Damon. He answered after the first ring, no greetings, no manners. Typical.
"Deanne. Did sothing happen?"
"Is Livana still on her phone?"
"Yes."
"I need to speak to her. Now."
"Sure."
A mont later, her voice ca through, light and curious.
"Deanne?"
"Pull out the Pieces from the search party. That bastard is already here, showering in my damn room."
There was silence. Then—laughter.
"An actual fuck?"
"Yeah."
"Make sure it’s him. You know how he performs in bed, right?"
I frowned so hard I thought my forehead might crack.
"Do you really think I’d identify him by fucking him?"
"Oh? Am I mistaken?"
I scoffed, loud and sharp. "Whatever." And hung up before I lost more brain cells.
The door creaked open again. He peeked out with that infuriating grin, water dripping down his annoyingly perfect body.
"Join ."
I cringed, gave him a head-to-toe once-over, then shook my head. He actually pouted like a baby before disappearing back inside. Monts later, he reerged, towel around his waist, opening my drawer like he owned it. A small box of condoms appeared in his hand. Great.
He grabbed my hand and kissed it.
"I missed you."
"Really? We were just out there looking for your dead body floating in the sea."
He laughed. Actually laughed.
"I’ll tell you what happened... after we make love."
"Oh, please. Spare the moir. Not interested."
"You’re still as sassy as ever." He leaned down, lips brushing my forehead, and for one fleeting second my heart tripped—because I noticed the bruises on his chest and the stitched-up arm wrapped in silicon bandage.
I raised a brow. "And how exactly do you plan to perform in your... current state?"
"It’s only a minor wound." He grinned, cocky. Then his lips captured mine.
I should’ve shoved him away. Instead, I wrapped my arms around his neck, kissing him back until it turned into sothing far less innocent. Clothes started falling. Hands got busy.
And then—
The door swung open.
"Oh, shit! I’m sorry!"
We froze. Sophia stood there, eyes wide, practically vibrating with shock.
"Caine?!"
Caine groaned and pulled against him, towel barely clinging to decency.
"Geez, you’re not dead!" she squealed.
"Yeah." He chuckled. I rolled my eyes so hard they nearly popped out.
"Well, sorry for interrupting." She grinned like a cat who’d just stolen the cream and shut the door.
Caine wasted no ti pulling back in, but I was already plotting. Oh, he thought he was going to lead? No, sir. Tonight, I was riding him until he begged for rcy.
I shoved him onto the bed. He grinned, watching strip down slowly, deliberately, leaving my lace and silk on for torture’s sake. My breasts practically spilled out, and I knew exactly how much that drove him crazy.
My eyes dropped to the towel hiding his not-so-subtle bulge. Damn. That thing had a way of announcing itself. I rubbed the thick outline with a wicked smirk.
"Wow," he gaped, breathless. "Do you miss that much?"
"Yeah. I plan to ride you until you die."
His eyes widened, torn between excitent and terror.
"Uh... okay," he stamred.
His hands slid up my sides, slow, worshipful.
"Yeah, I think I’m ready to be murdered by your sexiness." He purred like a cat in heat.
I narrowed my eyes at him, holding the suspense just a beat longer. He squird.
"Oh, co on, D. Don’t torture ."
"I’m keeping the suspense alive."
"Please..." He pouted, actually pouting, like so spoiled kid.
"Nah. I think I changed my mind."
The smirk on my lips barely lasted a second before he flipped beneath him, moving with a predator’s hunger.
"Deanne, stop teasing . I’ll make you scream and squirt like a fountain."
I bit my lip, grinning, even as he winced from putting pressure on his injured arm.
"Oh, bumr. And here I thought you were indestructible. Why’d you get yourself wrecked like that?"
He just grinned, cocky as hell. "Relax. I still protected your favorite part of ."
"Wow." My eyes rolled straight to the ceiling, then down to the very hard evidence pressing against . "Fine. Do your routine. I’ll deal with that wound later."
"I missed you, Deanne." He kissed over and over, his mouth greedy, claiming.
And then those damn fingers slipped into my lace, stroking, teasing, until he had gasping and writhing. He knew exactly where to press, the bastard. Pride painted his face when he made cry out, and I wanted to slap that grin off his annoyingly handso mouth.
"By the way..." His voice dropped to a husky whisper, licking his fingers with obscene satisfaction. "I have a surprise for you. Later. After I taste you properly."
–Laura–
I passed by Deanne’s room, and good lord—she was noisy. Like, suspiciously noisy. My first thought? Who the hell is she fucking? Logan? Or maybe one of the guys from the group? Did she seriously move on from Caine that fast? I stopped, scooped my chin in my hand, squinted at the door like so nosy detective, totally invested.
And then—boom. A laugh. A very familiar laugh.
Caine?!
Wait, excuse —did that bastard just teleport from missing-in-action to moaning-in-Deanne’s-bed?!
"What are you doing?" Damien’s voice suddenly cut through, and I nearly jumped out of my skin. He was looking at weirdly, as usual.
"Is it Caine?" I asked, pointing at the door like I just discovered a cri scene.
"Yes," he sighed. "And stop lurking. That’s just weird."
"I’m not lurking. I’m... curious!" I scoffed, offended at the accusation.
"Whatever, babe. Go get your beauty spa. I think Deanne is already having her beauty spa." He smirked.
I cracked up. He cracked up. We both cracked up. Because honestly, seeing Deanne with an actual man was like spotting a unicorn. Most of us assud she’d either end up a lifelong nun or suddenly declare she was into won.
Damien scooped up like I was a sack of potatoes and carried into the spa room. And oh, wow. It wasn’t just a spa—it was a palace of pampering. Livana had gone all out. Manicure, pedicure, hair spa, foot massage... even waxing. Yes, waxing.
I squealed. I literally squird in excitent. This place looked like a five-star salon dropped into our ho.
"I’m getting my pussy waxed," I announced proudly, winking at Damien.
He nearly choked on air. "But... there’s no hair. Really." His ears went red.
"Oh." I tilted my head, all innocent. "Right. I had it lasered. But I’ll have it again—"
"Nope." He cut off, glaring like a jealous caveman. "Do not show that beauty to anyone."
I grinned, smug. Possessive n are so cute when they’re flustered.
"We will get all the sessions," Sophia declared, strutting in wearing her robe like a queen.
"Jane! We get to have this too!" I shouted, waving her over. She nodded, looking way too calm compared to my excitent.
"Now... I’m missing my sister." My smile faltered as I glanced around.
"Don’t stress about your sister, Laura," Aunt Amiliee said gently, already getting her toenails done like she owned the place. "Just relax, dear. Livana is with Damon. Sit down. Get your nails done. Alright?"
I nodded and let Damien guide to the most special seat like I was royalty. He kissed my temple.
"I’ll check on a few things. Just enjoy, okay?"
I humd, watching him leave, my chest warm. God, I was lucky. He really was such a caring man. But the itch in my chest to check on my sister didn’t disappear.
The music playing was soft, a low cello lody that wrapped around the room like smoke.
"Livana used to play cello, right?" Aunt Amiliee asked, glancing my way.
"Yes." I smiled, though my chest tightened. "I play piano. We used to play every morning before school. Mom loved it when she heard us. Liva was never as focused on music as I was, but she loved playing. She stopped after Mom died."
My voice ca out casual, but the pang was sharp. It always was.
"After Mom died, she played with one last ti," I added softly. "It was the saddest, darkest piece we ever created together. Beautiful... but heavy. It was the last ti we ever played. I want to hear her again. The cello—fun, sad, stimulating, all at once."
My throat tightened, but I smiled anyway. "Maybe... that would be the best wedding gift."
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