She pushed two fingers inside me, and I cried out—the sound muffled by her mouth on mine. She worked me with devastating precision, her thumb pressing against my clit while her fingers curled inside me, finding that perfect spot that made stars burst behind my eyelids.
"Quiet," she warned, her voice a low purr. "Anyone could walk by. Anyone could hear." Her rhythm increased, and I bit my lip to stifle a moan. "That's it. Take what I give you. Let me feel you come."
The orgasm built quickly—too quickly, fueled by hours of anticipation and the thrill of being taken in a broom closet while supernatural society mingled just feet away. I clung to her, my nails digging into her shoulders, my face buried in her neck as the pleasure crested and crashed through me.
I came with a muffled cry, my inner walls clenching around her fingers, my whole body trembling with the force of it. She worked me through it, gentling her touch but never stopping, drawing out every last pulse until I was boneless and sated in her arms.
"There," she breathed, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead. "That's better. Isn't it?"
I nodded, unable to form words. She withdrew her fingers slowly and brought them to her lips, licking them clean with a satisfied smile.
"Now." She helped me straighten my gown, smoothing the starlit silk back into place. "Back to the party. We have a coven to undermine and a detective to discredit."
I laughed, the sound bright and genuine. "You're incredible. You know that?"
"I know." She pressed one last kiss to my lips—soft, tender, a promise. "And so are you. Now come. Let's go remind everyone exactly who they're dealing with."
She took my hand and led me back into the corridor, back toward the glittering ballroom, back to our family and our allies and the delicate dance of supernatural politics. But I carried the warmth of her touch with me, the memory of her hunger, the knowledge that even in the midst of chaos, she'd stolen a moment just for us.
And as we rejoined the party—Darius's silver eyes finding mine with knowing intensity, Lucien's amber gaze softening, Azrael's golden stare warm and reverent—I realized that this was what made us strong. Not just the grand gestures or the dramatic claims. But the small moments. The stolen kisses. The quickies in broom closets. The quiet, constant reminder that we belonged to each other, no matter what storms raged around us.
The Blackburn Coven could scheme. The crooked detective could investigate. But they would never understand what made us unbreakable.
We were not just allies or lovers or family.
We wereeverything.
