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“Have I ever?” I asked.

“No.”

I flipped the position and made her sit down on the bench, squatted in front of her, and opened her legs. I wanted to taste my woman, I wanted to please her, and not make it all about me. She moaned as I massaged her clit with my tongue. She was scratching my shoulders and telling me she was about to cum.

“I want to feel you, baby,” she uttered, legs shaking on my shoulders. I lifted her off the bench so I could sit down, then she climbed on top of me. She rode me like she knew I needed her more than anything. She was the peace in my storm, and i was never taking her for granted.

CHAPTER 8

Ares

“I Don’t Sign Without Control”

Marseille looked like a postcard to tourists. From where I stood, it looked like a cage with a view. The place had floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking mountains that cut into the sea, with sunlight hitting everything money could buy. I was supposed to be impressed, but I spent most of my time pacing with cognac in my hand while half a bottle sat sweating on Enzo’s expensive table.

My knee wouldn’t stop bouncing, and my head wouldn’t give me a damn break. My undiagnosed ADHD was on ten, my patience was on zero, and I had too much shit running through my mind at once.

Naomi had been ducking me since the last time I had my face buried between her thighs. No calls and no texts. I knew she was alive because I had people watching, and I knew she had a man now. She cut me off completely, and maybe that was my karma. Part of me respected her for it. The rest of me wanted to put my fist through the glass.

“You’re going to wear a hole in the rug, grandson,” my grandmother, Jezare Delacroix, said.

She sat beside my mother on the leather sofa, both of them dressed like they were headed to church and war at the same time. Pearls, perfect posture, and enough worry between them to irritate me more.

Across from them, Nico was comfortable in his seat.

“Relax,” he said.

“I’m fine.”

“You are not fine,” my mother said, her accent heavier whenever she worried. “You have not slept. Sit down, bébé.”

“I’ll sit when my grandfather gets here.”

“This meeting was supposed to happen last week,” Nico said, checking his watch. “The bride buying you extra time should’ve made you grateful.”

“I don’t thank anybody for putting my life on hold.”

The bride. That was all anybody called her. Nobody said Azaria or talked about her like she was an actual woman with a life. To everybody involved, she was a position that needed to be filled.

The door opened, and my uncle Adrian walked in with the same serious expression everybody had been wearing all morning.

“Where are Marcel and Azaria?”

“Ils arrivent,” he said. They’re arriving.

“Good.”

My grandmother wrapped her hands around her rosary while I finally took a seat. Lawyers had already covered the table with contracts. Two stacks sat waiting for us, one for the Delacroix family and the other for the Laveaus.

The door opened again, and everybody except me stood.

Marcel entered with his cane and the same presence that made people fix their posture without realizing they were doing it. His body had gotten weaker, and his suit hung looser than it used to, but sickness hadn’t taken his power from him yet.

The Laveaus followed behind him.

Money, legacy, and predators dressed in expensive clothes.

Then Azaria walked in.