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Steam pours off her skin. Her nipples pull tight in the cold. She shivers hard and glares down at me. “Ugh. What are you doing? The heat is in there.” Jubilee points at the water.

“Don’t worry, Princess.” I step between her knees. “I’m going to get you all hot and bothered and ready for my cock. And I can’t resist getting those pretty nipples nice and stiff and sensitive from the cold.”

First, I play with them, fingers rolling them, tweaking them, and twisting. When she’s shuddering, too close, I sink my teeth into one.

“Ahh, Cannon, you goddamn assho—fuck!”

I close my mouth over one, tongue circling—slow, then suction, firm, the way she likes. I switch, licking the other into a tight peak, rolling it against my tongue until her back arches and a broken sound leaves her. Her thighs clamp my ribs. She comes like that, shaking, cursing, one fist in my hair. A breast orgasm, exactly as advertised. I am never going to be normal about that.

I don’t let her recover. I spread her wide on the ledge and take her, licking through the slick heat, beard rasping her inner thighs, tongue flat and then precise on her clit. Her head tips back. Both hands brace on the stone. Fairy lights shiver overhead. She screams my name into the dark property, and I drink it.

Finally, I lower her into the water and bring her down on my length.

Heat. Tight. Her gasp against my mouth as she sinks, inch by inch, until she’s seated and shaking for a completely different reason.

“Gage—”

“Screaming is the only sound I’ll allow from your smart mouth,” I cut her off, an echo from the bunker. “So, scream. Scream for your serial killer, Princess.”

She does.

We don’t stay out there. By the time I carry her upstairs, she’s boneless and still arguing that a bed is a boring location for people like us.

Finally, my bed made the itinerary.

I put her on her knees at the edge of the mattress and take her from behind, one hand spread over her lower belly, the other rubbing her pussy while I rut into her. Deep. Hard. The wet sound of it sounds obscene in the quiet room. She’s soaked, filthy for me. My slut in stockings. She pushes back to meet every thrust.

We break together, her clenching around me, my forehead dropped between her shoulder blades as I spill inside her.

I flip her before either of us can think. Kissing her again, licking her through the mess of us until she comes a second time, thighs trembling around my ears. Then I bury myself in her and stay. Slower now. Her legs around my waist. Our bodies rocking. Hearts crashing so hard, I feel it in my teeth. Souls colliding, like we were always going to end up here. A grave in the woods, antique shops, my bathroom, the cafe, murder bunker, and finally this.

She kisses me through the last shudder and whispers, “Hi, loose Cannon.”

“Hi, Princess.”

CHAPTER 37

Jubilee

Somewhere between the couch, the hot tub, and finally making it to the actual bed, I steal Gage’s shirt. Again.

In my defense, it was within reach, and he wasn’t using it. I’m curled into his side now, swallowed by black cotton with one leg thrown over both of his, listening to his breathing level out beneath my ear. Apparently, after everything we have done in this relationship, the bed was the novelty.

The cats arrive one at a time because nobody in this house respects privacy. Not that either of us mind. Tartlet scales the comforter like a mountaineer. Muffin collapses across my ankle with a sigh of his own. Marzipan wedges herself into the two inches of space between us, which is her way of reminding Gage that custody was settled months ago.

I tip my head against his shoulder and exhale, long and content. “Well.”

“Well,” he agrees, and presses a kiss into my hair.

“That happened.”

“Happy it happened?” His voice rumbles through my cheek.

I smile into his chest. “Incandescently.”

His arm tightens around me, and I’m halfway to falling asleep like that when my stomach growls loudly enough to startle the maine coon. I clap a hand over it. “That was Muffin.” Muffin regards me, but he’s much too lazy to move.

“Remarkable ventriloquism,” Gage observes.