Page 58 of Theirs to Tempt: The Marriage Claim

Another camera shows a couple near a spanking post.

On a third screen, a woman is kneeling in front of⁠—

I abruptly look away.

“You okay?” Caleb comes to stand beside me, but he doesn’t touch me.

Neither does Lucian. And I appreciate it.

I can’t wrap my mind around what I’m seeing. Even seeing a blockbuster movie and watching a few videos are not like this.

The thing that shocks me the most is how the people wielding the power are completely focused on the people who surrender it. As if that person is the center of their universe.

“This is what you wanted me to see.” Lucian places his fingers against the small of my back but makes no attempt to move me along.

I turn toward him, and he’s looking at me with the same interest that I just saw on the monitor.

“It’s up to you whether you want to go in the dungeon for an actual look around, see it in person for yourself.”

My mouth parts slightly. For a man who is so obnoxious and overbearing, hearing these words from him shocks me. Is he actually serious about this idea of consent?

Before I can respond, the quiet click of a cane against the floor reaches us.

I turn.

There’s an impeccably dressed man, tall, broad, with unsettling golden eyes.

I shudder. This has to be Altair Montgomery.

His golden eyes lock onto me immediately, fathomless and calculating, gleaming with an intensity that feels electric, otherworldly, nothing like the polished dominance Lucian and Caleb wear so naturally.

“Moneypenny.” Altair takes my hand and raises it to his lips.

His touch makes me grateful that Lucian and Caleb are there.

For the first time ever, I feel protected by them rather than threatened.

“A pleasure to meet the woman who has occupied so much of my friends’ attention these past years.”

Suddenly I understand the compulsion to call him Your Grace. When Piper told me, it seemed ridiculous. But now…being in his overwhelming, compelling presence? It seems natural. And so does the urge to curtsey or something. “Your Grace.”

He angles his head, acknowledging the honorific that came so easily.

“When we’re outside the dungeon, we don’t stand on ceremony. Feel free to call me Altair.”

I’m not sure I’m capable of that.

As the men talk, my gaze drifts back to the screens.

On the center feed, a woman arches in intricate ropes, her body gleaming with sweat, mouth open on a silent cry as her Dom’s fingers drive deep between her spread thighs.

The camera lingers on the helpless flutter of her inner muscles, the way her hips roll, desperately chasing more, even as tears track down her flushed cheeks.

Altair watches me observe the feeds, his golden eyes sharpening. “The dungeon awaits below whenever you are ready. But first, tell me—how does it feel to stand here, Moneypenny, between two men who have waited eight years to claim you?”

Other guests arrive on the second floor: elegantly dressed couples, a few in leather accents that leave little to the imagination.

And all of it seems…normal, which is something I can’t wrap my head around.