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“Come on, Nettie,” I rasp, thrusting harder. “Come for me.”
Ari shatters with a sharp cry, her walls clamping down around my cock. The sensation drags me over the edge right behind her. I bury myself deep and come with a broken groan, pulsing inside her as pleasure crashes through me in heavy waves.
I collapse over her, careful not to crush her, burying my face in her neck as we both tremble through the aftershocks. Damon and Timothy are right there, hands stroking her skin, murmuring soft words of praise to both of us.
The platform creaks when Timothy and DK climb on, bodies slick with sweat, muscles tired. I stroke Ari’s hair, while Timothy and DK press soft kisses to her shoulders and neck. She’s completely spent, a dreamy, satisfied smile on her swollen lips.
Propped on my elbow, I watch them, the tensions and complications of the past few weeks behind us. It doesn’t matter who’s King, or what is coming for us outside this tight little circle. We’re strong–bonded–and she’s the reason we’re going to be okay.
Arianette Hexley: Wicked Wife, Sinister Sister, Daughter of Darkness. Baroness.
Ours.
The suite has a massive, luxurious shower that easily fits all four of us. Steam fills the air as we take our time cleaning up–hands sliding over soapy skin, gentle kisses, and soft laughter cutting through the lingering intensity. There’s no rush or really any urgency, and that urge to take and claim has calmed for the moment.
It’s just the four of us, coming down together, touching, grounding each other after pushing our bodies to the limit. This is all new to me, this emotional connection. Timothy washes Arianette’s hair with surprising tenderness while Damon and I trade lazy kisses with her between us. By the time we’re dried off and dressed, I feel loose and warm in a way I haven’t in a long time.
Timothy had quietly requested that dinner be brought down from the hotel. When it arrives–plates of perfectly cooked steak, roasted vegetables, fresh bread, and a bottle of red wine–we eat on the velvet furniture. The conversation is light. Easy. We talk about Ari’s upcoming recital, Jace at the Fury–nothing heavy. For once, it feels normal, well as normal as it can be considering what we just did five feet away. Setting my empty plate aside, I feel satiated and content until we slip out the same back entrance we came in and head home.
Then I get antsy.
The SUV is quiet as I pull out of the hotel parking lot, the radio low in the background. My hands grip the wheel a little tighter than necessary. I’m not sure what brings it to the surface, but this secret I’ve been holding for weeks–the project I’ve been working so diligently on–is all I can think about. I feel strangely exposed. Which is fucking ridiculous after what we just did together.
“I’ve been working on something,” I say finally, breaking the comfortable silence.
Arianette turns in the passenger seat to look at me. Damon and Timothy are in the back, both watching me with quiet interest.
“Can I show you?” I glance in the rearview mirror at Timothy. “It’s at the House of Night. It won’t take long.”
There’s the slightest hesitation; he hasn’t been back since the attack, but Timothy eventually nods. “Alright.”
I direct the truck back toward the House of Night. I’d always imagined this moment would be just Ari and me, but things have changed. And maybe that’s better.
When we pull up, I take Arianette’s hand and lead them across the grounds toward the outbuilding I’ve been pouring every spare hour into. My pulse is loud in my ears. The antique door handle feels smooth against my palm, and sweat rises on my back when I open it.
“Yeah, okay,” I mumble, “so this is it.”
I flip on the lights as we step inside.
The room smells of fresh-cut wood and new polyurethane. One entire wall is lined with a long, sturdy barre I installed myself. The opposite wall is covered floor-to-ceiling with mirrors, making the space feel twice as large. The floors are smooth, sprung hardwood, perfect for dancing. Soft lighting hangs from the ceiling, and I even added a small sound system in the corner.
Arianette stops in the center of the room and turns, taking it all in. Her eyes are wide.
“It’s a dance studio,” she says, almost breathless. She walks to the barre and runs her fingers along the smooth wood, testing it by rising onto one toe and using it for balance. “You built a dance studio.” She turns to face me, eyes shining. “For me.”
I shift on my feet, suddenly self-conscious, hyper aware of the fact we’re not alone. “I know it’s hard for you to get enough time on campus, especially with the big performance coming up. I thought maybe this could be somewhere you could practice whenever you wanted. Without anyone watching or interrupting.” I drop my hand. “Where you’d be safe.”
She walks over to me, then lunges forward so suddenly I barely have time to catch her. Her arms wrap tight around my neck as she presses herself against me.
“Thank you,” she whispers, voice thick with emotion. She kisses me hard, full of gratitude and something deeper. “This is incredible, Hunter. I can’t believe you did this.”
“You’re incredible,” I murmur against her lips. “You deserve something that’s just for you.”
I catch Damon’s eye in the mirror. He gives me a small, approving nod. Even Timothy looks impressed, a rare softness in his expression as he watches us.
Arianette kisses me again, slower this time, before pulling back. With my fingers still threaded through hers, I lead her over to the built-in cabinet on the far wall. Behind one door, there’s a stereo system, linked for wireless. “You can pull up your music here.”
Moving to another door, I open it to reveal a set of her slippers I snagged out of her dance bag, several practice outfits, and a few other necessities.
