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Her eyes rake up and down my form, making my cock twitch as she slows her pace to a near crawl right over the bulge in my pants. Fuck, I’ll never have enough of her. Not ever. I hope she’s serious about the ghost smut.

“Come here,” I say, rolling my eyes as I grab her hand and tug her toward me.

“Sunshine,” she whines, pressing up on her toes as I lean down to kiss her. “We have that thing, you know, the meeting with that guy and—”

“We can cancel,” I interrupt, knowing damn well we can’t cancel. One can dream, though. If only for a blissful second.

“You know we can’t,” she says. “Your brothers need you. And aren’t you and Riven supposed to announce the Grand Opening for The Reverence Room?”

Ah, that. How could I forget? The Reverence Room is a place where broken souls can come to find solace, a place where music heals instead of hurts. Riven asked me to be his business partner, an offer I’d have turned down a year ago. Now I can’t help but smile at the reminder of it. I’m more than happy for Riven. Raithe and Kai, though, that’s a story for another time.

“Yep,” I say. “Riv plans to offer them all a seat at the table. Brothers stick together, or whatever,” I murmur, mimicking Riven’s tone when he spoke those same words to me weeks ago. I know that Riven means well, but his actual brother has a long road ahead of him.

“Have you heard any updates on Raithe?” Lydia asks, her eyes full of that same hopeful wonder that drew me in from the damn start.

It’s the one quality I tried to ignore, the one that I tried to brush off because I’d lost any resemblance to hope the moment Kaila’s heart stopped beating. Somehow, this remarkable woman before me has managed to restore what was once lost within me—to piece together what was once so fucking broken.

I may have saved Lydia in the literal sense, but the truth is, she’s the one who saved me. She’s the one who saw beneath the ironclad walls I spent years building—the ones reinforced with silence, guilt, and all the parts of myself I never wanted anyone to touch. I thought that my walls made me untouchable, but all they really did was bury me alive inside my own mind.

Lydia saw through all of it. Piece by piece, she forged her way in and reminded me what it means to be human. Piece by piece, she made space for herself in a place I thought no one would ever reach. And for that, I owe her my entire soul. Though if I’m being honest, she’s had it all along.

“Yeah,” I answer. “Riv says he’s doing better. The doctors think they’ve finally figured out the right concoction of medication and therapy for him.”

I’ve developed a soft spot for Raithe, one that grows by the day. When Riven’s brother finally decided to show back up in Hollowcrest, he was in ruins. Samuel was the one who found Raithe after he stumbled into my gym with one foot already in the afterlife. It turns out that Raithe was holed up in some back-alley town on the outskirts of Hollowcrest, strung out on drugs, alcohol, and anything else he could get his hands on. It was his escape, a way to erase the mistakes of his past. And the worst part of all of it? Raithe was trying to erase himself for good.

Riven’s brother attempted suicide. The egotistical, happy, energetic Raithe Reilly tried to kill himself. I still can’t believe it. It haunts me, knowing that we all could have lost him. It haunts me knowing that I was never there for him, not really. I was so caught up in my own shit, and then so angry at him for what he did to Lydia and me, that I never considered what he was going through. I’m going to make it right, though. If not for Raithe, then for his brother. My fucking brother, for all intents and purposes. They’re all family to me, and I promise to do better from here on out. I refuse to bury anyone else.

“That’s good. I know he’ll be okay,” she says. “And Kai and Emery?” She wiggles her eyebrows suggestively, earning a frown. Nope, I am so not going there. That’s most definitely a story for another time.

“I think I’ll let them tell their story,” I say, pulling her against me. “Now, how about we spend the remaining time we have left doing something more fun than talking?”

“What do you have in mind, Mr. Thorne?” she asks, running her fingers up and down my back.

Leaning down, I scoop her into my arms bridal style and head toward my staircase. She laughs, kicking her feet in excitement when I pivot to go down to the basement.

“Wouldn’t you like to know, Mrs. Thorne?” I tease, nudging the door open with my shoulder and walking into my “Dungeon of Dirty Deeds.”

I roll my eyes as I think about what she named this room. It’s another one of those Lydia-isms that threatens to melt the ice from my black heart every time she says it.

“The Dirty Dungeon? What did I do to deserve this?” she asks, her voice laced with precise sarcasm. It’s the kind of sarcasm that makes me want to tie her up and fuck her until she’s screaming. And well, that’s exactly what I plan to do.

The air pulses with unspoken tension as I carry my wife over to the four-poster, canopy double king, covered in silky black sheets. Her soft gasp fills the space as I toss her in the middle of the mattress beside a sapphire, leather lingerie set. The outfit is bondage style, and more than perfect for what I have planned.

Leaning back on her elbows, she stares up at me through her lashes—curiosity burning behind her gaze. Her head tilts down as she studies the set I’ve laid out for her, her fingers tracing the delicate fabric with her index finger. Her tongue flicks out, wetting her lower lip as my gaze drops to her mouth. My jaw flexes as I resist the urge to skip to the part where I’m buried ten inches deep inside of her.

Okay, fine … more like nine.

“I want you to put that on and then lie here. Do not move. Have I made myself clear?” I ask, assuming the dominant tone of the depraved beast of a man I turn into when I walk into this room.

My blood hums with excitement as her eyes widen and her pupils dilate in response to my words. My little siren loves this side of me even more than I do.

“Yes, Mr. Thorne. You’ve made yourself crystal clear,” she says, spreading her thighs wide as her eyes dance with amusement.

I don’t miss the innuendo in her words. My wife has a kink, and I do aim to please. My eyes trail down her frame, my breath getting caught on an inhale when I spot her bare beneath her long skirt. I nearly choke on the saliva pooling in my mouth, trying my best not to let on as I turn and head for the closet off to the right to grab the things I need. I’ll definitely be punishing her for that little trick.

Disappearing into the closet, I strip down to nothing as I grab the Jason mask from a shelf and pull it over my head. If you asked me before if I’d ever entertain a mask kink, I’d have scoffed and said something under my breath like, “Do I look like the type of guy to fuck someone wearing a goddamn Halloween mask?” Yet, here I am, standing in nothing but a goddamn Halloween mask. She’s been begging for weeks, and tonight’s the night I finally give in. The mask is only half of today’s surprise, though. I’ve been studying a new bondage technique in secret, learning the ins and outs of the captivating cultural concept.

Shibari, meaning “to tie” in Japanese, captures the beauty of bondage—the raw emotional conversation layered between rope. I have to say, I’m fascinated by the way Shibari offers more than bondage alone. I love the way the practice symbolizes the line between pleasure and surrender, between control and coexistence, between rebirth and reverence. It’s fucking perfect, if you ask me.