34. Fiora
"What the hell do you mean engaged?" my sister, Jescie shouts over the phone.
"And you didn't tell us!" my normally calm sister, Sable yells from somewhere behind her.
I sink further into Braken's awkwardly comfortable couch in his office. When I said news travels fast, I didn't want it to be this fast. I wanted to tell my sisters myself after the game, but I haven't had the chance. By the time the Mariners win, and we make it back to The Vault, our kiss has been plastered all over social media. I don't even get to pull up my sisters' numbers before I receive the berating of a lifetime.
"Ugh, you two need to stop hanging out," I whine. "I can't take both of you on at the same time."
"It's not our fault you were busy." Jescie's voice is tinny through the speakerphone.
Sable scoffs. "Too busy to call, apparently!"
"You can ask Papa about that one." I take a sip of the wine Braken prepared for me and glance over at him. He's busy fielding his own calls, most likely from stakeholders in his hotels or reporters. "He's the one who set it up."
"Well, that's so much less exciting." Jescie sighs. There's a slight pause before she continues, "You're going through with it?"
"You think we can go against Papa?" Sable's laugh is angry and tinged with bitterness. Of all the sisters in the family, she's the one who knows how impossible that is. "That means you're stuck with Braken Frost 'til death do you part."
"Don't make it sound so messed up, Sable," Jescie says. "You better not be keeping anything else from us, Fiora. If you went shopping for dresses or venues or whatever, I'm going to kill you."
"Now who's messed up, Jescie?"
"Both of you, shut up," I say with a laugh. "You know I wouldn't go without you because I'd never hear the end of it."
"Okay good, because?—"
My phone lights up with a text message I quickly check as Sable rambles on about needing to make dress appointments immediately. I expect another reporter or acquaintance to ask me all the deets, but my blood runs cold at the sender.
Marco.
Congrats on the engagement. I'm sorry about last time. Can we meet? I want to make it up to you.
The message is innocent enough, but I know better. I can't get the image of Marco raising his hand out of my mind. That isn't the action of a man who is truly sorry. This is either the world's worst clean-up job or he has another idea in mind. A shiver runs through me. I don't want to know what he intends, but I can't keep this a secret.
Braken needs to know.
I interrupt whatever Jescie is saying with, "Let me call you guys in a bit. Something came up."
"Yeah, like Braken's dick?—"
"Jescie!" Sable cackles.
"Someone sounds jealous." I laugh before hanging up without hearing their answer.
Braken is still on the phone, so I finish my wine as I wait. He still hasn't changed out of his new Mariners jersey, but now the flaps hang open and show off his skin-tight wife beater. How can one man look so damn handsome in normal clothes? It isn't his sharp jawline or his toned body. It's the way he carries himself.
A man who knows his power.
A man who knows what he wants.
And a man who stares at me, ready to put his money where his mouth is.
He ends his call and pads over from the bar, pocketing his phone in the back of his jeans. "Your sisters?"
"Worse." I slide my phone across the coffee table with Marco's text message open so he can read it.
Braken sits perpendicular to me, reading the message a few times before exhaling. "No."
"No?"
"You're not meeting him."
"Do you trust me, Braken?"
He eyes me over a few loose strands of chestnut-colored hair. "That's a loaded question, sweetheart. What answer do you want to hear?"
I ponder his words for a second. What do I want to hear? Yes? No? At this point, I don't want to meet Marco either, but don't know if I owe it to him after years of… whatever we were? We were so close for so long, and it feels wrong to let it fizzle out like this. On the other hand, Marco Pollozo can kiss my ass. Power-tripping men don't deserve my time or effort. Blocking him now would solve all my problems.
And yet…
"That you trust my decisions," I admit, "but I also think your overprotectiveness is sexy."
Braken raises a thick eyebrow. "Well, then you are going to think I'm sexy as fuck, because my life is now about keeping you safe and protected."
I draw a deep breath and sit up on the couch. "I just don't want to feel controlled. That is all I've been my entire life."
The corner of Braken's lips quirks up. "I can agree to that, and I can also relate to it."
Really? I feel like that was much too easy. My face must convey my skepticism because Braken chuckles.
"One condition."
"Of course," I respond with a grin. "Always a condition with you."
"The Vault is part of my life. Can you handle that?"
My cheeks heat at the confession I'm about to give. "The idea excites me. If The Vault is part of your life, then because I'll be your wife, it's part of my life. The couple times I visited before I loved it. And you know how much I liked The Hunt."
"But we follow my rules at The Vault." His eyes darken as he speaks.
"I can agree to that," I say. "I have a feeling I'll like your rules."
"Well, you know what happens if you break them," he takes a predatory step toward me.
Warmth floods my body at the reminder. Honestly, the thing I remember the most from my times with Braken are the white-hot orgasms he effortlessly rips from me.
I rise and saunter over to stand right in front of him. I pluck the phone from his hands, shoot a quick acceptance text to Marco, and throw it away. "I'll meet him for closure, and that's it. I feel I owe him the last goodbye."
Braken watches my every move as I tug my hair out of its ponytail, letting my locks fan around my face, before I straddle his lap.
He immediately grabs my hips and pulls me even closer with his large hands.
"No one fucks with what's mine, Fiora," Braken says so close to my ear it makes me shiver. "No one. So, you better hope he doesn't touch you because if he does, he's a dead man."
"Well, I hope you fuck what's yours," I counter, tracing the bottom of his chin with my pointer finger. "Since she's sitting here looking so pretty."
I expect Braken to kiss me or pull me in, but instead, he merely shifts me so I'm straddling his right thigh instead. He doesn't even grab me; he only flexes his leg so his meaty thigh presses directly against my cunt through my jeans.
"Go on," he urges.
Is he kidding? I don't move, but neither does he. Braken puts his arms across the back of the couch and watches me with a raised eyebrow. So, he's not kidding. My cheeks heat at his piercing gaze. He's challenging me to do something, but I'm not sure what. I just said I'm his. What else could he want?
I look toward the door with uncertainty.
"They're all downstairs," he reassures. "They won't come up here unless you want them to." He raises an eyebrow. "Do you want them to?"
I slowly start moving, grinding my pussy against his thigh. He doesn't even help me move my hips. I must hold onto his shoulders for leverage to move faster. The friction feels so good against my pulsing cunt, especially when Braken moves his leg up and down slightly to match my motions. That's the only sign of being affected he gives me. Oh, and the twitching outline of his half-hard cock when I groan.
My walls clench around nothing, pulsing with the need to be filled. I shift, angling myself closer to him so I can ride him faster. Fuck, if he only let me sit on his cock instead. I miss the feeling of his dick in me, splitting me open and making me scream. Here he sits, with a damned smirk as I desperately try to please myself.
"Braken," I moan, fingers digging into his shoulders. "Not enough."
"All you have to do is say it." The gravelly edge to his voice gives away how much he wants me.
I accidentally lift my knee to brush my thigh against his cock when I shift. Braken inhales but still doesn't touch me. The bastard. I do it again, trying to tease him into touching me, but he's steadfast. The only thing I'm left with is annoyance and a sad, pulsing, empty pussy.
"I already did," I argue, sitting back down on his thigh. I move again, needing any bit of friction to ease the heat building in me.
"You need to be more clear, Fiora. I won't touch you until then."
How is ‘fuck what's yours' not clear? I'm sitting on his lap, grinding against his flexing thigh for any scrap of pleasure he'll give me. To anyone else, that would be pretty damn clear.
But to Braken, it's not enough because he needs to be certain I'm his girl.
"You aren't answering the question I asked. Do you want them to join us? They haven't had a taste of you yet."
I look into his eyes. I can see he wants me to say yes.
I want to say yes.
So, ignoring the heat rushing to my face and the way my heart skips a beat, I nod with a smile.