Page 28 of Savage Surrender

Her gaze drops to my palm. Then she lays the straps across it.

I lower myself to one knee.

“Weller—”

“Hold my good shoulder.”

Her hand settles there, tentative for half a second, then firm. I take her foot. Her ankle fits my palm as if the dimensions were chosen for me, skin warm. The first shoe slides into place. I fasten the narrow buckle.

I bend and press my mouth to the inside of her ankle.

Her breath catches, and I can’t resist.

I kiss the curve of her calf. The dress whispers over my knuckles when I gather it, slowly, only far enough. My mouth follows her leg upward. Calf. Knee. The pale scars crossing it.

I linger there.

Then higher, along the inside of her thigh, where four small punctures interrupt the smooth tan. I press a kiss over them before continuing upward, and her fingers bite into my good shoulder hard enough to bruise through the jacket.

“You said—” Her voice catches and frays. “You said we couldn’t.”

“I said I wouldn’t ruin you.”

I press one open-mouthed, unhurried kiss over the lace between her thighs.

The sound she makes will haunt me for the rest of my life.

The lace is damp against my lips. Every lesson I have learned about discipline, every wall I built inside myself, is reduced to the single act of stopping there.

I look up the length of her. Her chest rises too fast beneath the blue silk. Her eyes are dark, her lips parted, her lipstick miraculously and tragically perfect.

“You walk into that room knowing you are ours.”

“You,” she breathes, “are the worst man I’ve ever met.”

I lower the silk and smooth it flat with both palms. The second shoe follows. Buckle. Ankle. One final kiss to the fine bone beneath her skin.

I stand and offer her my arm. She takes it with a ferocious grip. Her legs are not entirely steady, and the look she gives me promises retribution in meticulous detail.

When we return to the others, Owen scents the air and his head snaps toward us.

“Let’s get this over with, shall we?”

8

WELLER

Ituck her hand into my elbow, and together we step outside to the luxury golf cart waiting to transport us down the path to Montgomery’s estate. The house rises beyond the trees, a gaudy marriage of glass and metal against dense forest, illuminated tonight like a specimen jar.

The ride takes only minutes. Cars crowd the circular drive, their lights sliding across the glass facade. Our driver deposits us at a side entrance, where we are escorted toward the front table.

When Bianca told us he admitted paternity over breakfast - barely troubling himself to defend what he had done to Kate - the final pieces of him locked into place. He has no fear of scandal because no scandal can reach him. Dr. Emmett Montgomery is revered as the best omega doctor in the world. He wins awards. Delivers speeches. He raised omega birthrates and solved health crises the field had abandoned.

The world will forgive a god his methods.

There are guards everywhere, and a young woman in a sleek dress and an earpiece walks us to a table.

Two entrances at our backs. One service door left of the stage. Every surface is glass or stone.