DREW.

“Don’t move,” I growled against Selene’s wet cunt the second the lock clicked. “Not one fucking inch.”

Claire’s hands froze on Selene’s nipples. Selene’s thighs trembled hard against my shoulders. The door swung open.

Victor Draven stepped into our living room.

Selene’s husband.

The man who sat beside her at every charity gala. The man whose last name was on the company letterhead right next to hers. He stopped dead, keys still hanging from his fingers, and stared at the exact picture we made. His wife on all fours, wrists still bound, blindfold still in place, my face buried between her spread thighs while Claire held her open for...