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My husband’s eyes flare with desire, and I know he’s thinking of the last time we were on a hotel balcony together. He thumbs his bottom lip and cocks his head to the side. “Is that right? We better check that out right away.”
I bite the inside of my cheek, gearing up to tease him. “Mm-hmm. Do you know what I’ve always wanted to do?”
Leo reminds me of a jaguar when he prowls toward me. All slow, sensual movement, his pupils blown and his anticipation tangible. “What’s that, baby? Name it, and it’s yours.”
I wait until he’s standing in front of me. “Remember the stage, Leo? And the private dance? I want to do that again.” I tiptoe my fingers up his chest slowly, stopping to slip underneath the open collar at his throat. “With all of you.”
He trembles with restraint, and I imagine the need to touch me, to lay claim is pounding at his temples. I wonder how much further I have to push to get him to bend. I erase the space between us, my generous cleavage pressing against his shirt. Hand around his neck, I bring him down and murmur in his ear, “A place that offers amazing music and dancing with enough discretion for a private lap dance.”
Dante’s fingers flex against my hips, a soft exhale the only indication he heard every word.
Leo surges forward, his hand holding my jaw and his fingertips threaded in my hair. He tilts my face up as he leans down and captures my lips in a kiss so possessive, my panties get damp.
A needy sort of whimper slips between our lips, but Leo takes that opportunity to deepen the kiss. I push onto my toes as our tongues tangle. Warm palms slide over the curve of my hips almost reverently, a slow perusal that sends my body higher with each sweep.
I’m two seconds away from hiking my wedding dress up and begging one or both of them to make me come when my cousin’s voice douses that raging inferno.
“Holy shit, Maddie!” She practically crows, laughing on my name. “As your maid of honor, I cannot let you fuck your new husbands in the lobby of the Elvis chapel where there are probably skeevy dudes jerking off to the security footage.”
Dante growls at the mention of security cameras and steps out from behind me. “Be right back.” He leaves through a small door behind the glass case just as the rest of our little wedding party come out.
“What’s going on?” Matteo asks.
“Dante’s wiping the security footage if they have it, and we’re trying to find somewhere to dance. Our wife’s not quite ready to call it a night,” Leo says with a smirk.
“You guys have something with a little more privacy for us?” Matteo asks my brothers.
“Yeah, we got a few,” Romeo says.
Tommy tosses back the rest of his drink. “Violet Oak?”
Nico nods. “That’ll do. I’ll call ahead and have them clear the VIP lounge section.”
Dante comes back then and nods at the ceiling where an old-school-looking camera is mounted on the wall. “It’s done. These assholes don’t even have real security footage running. The cameras are a joke.”
Tommy rubs his hands together. “Let’s get going. The night is young, my friends.”
12
ARIES
I watch my little brother drape himself all over my wife, his front plastered to her back as they dip and sway to the music. The air shimmers with the combined lust of hundreds of intoxicated people who swear by the what happens in Vegas mantra. Collective lust swirls around the dimly-lit club, intertwining with strobe lights and smoke pouring from the four smoke machines.
Sully slides a rocks glass with three fingers of liquor, probably Irish whiskey, across the small black circular bar table. He nods toward the dance floor. “Congratulations, man.”
I grab the drink, waiting until the last moment to stop it from slipping off the end of the table. “I know Madison appreciated Alaina’s support today.”
Sully looks at me with a blank expression before he leans his elbows on the circle bar table in front of us. We have a private booth behind us, but it felt too far from my new wife, so we arranged to have some bar tables in this section.
“That’s the oddest thank you I’ve ever heard, and considering I’ve been told I’m damn-near allergic to them, that’s saying something.”
I cut him a glare in time to catch his smirk before he tosses back nearly half of his drink. I like Sully well-enough, but that’s not saying much. I haven’t lived in New York City for a long time, so I don’t have the same repertoire as Dante and Matteo. Plus, I generally think most people are full of shit.
I trust Raven. And my brother, mostly. But if she trusts her cousin, and her cousin’s shacked up with them, then I guess by some fucked-up game of telephone, that makes Sully and I friends.
My lip curls up at the thought of friends like this is fucking high school.
I scoff at myself inside my head. I didn’t have a traditional high school experience, unless you count hanging out on yachts worth more than some people make in a lifetime and having more stamps in my passport than I had high school credits traditional.
