Page 59 of Kissed By Shadows

I huff, but can’t really say much considering he’s absolutely right. I was teasing Rowan on purpose, and if I’m being honest, I don’t totally hate the idea of being spanked by either of the twins. Or Hunt. Even the thought of the driver watching isn’t terrible. I really have fallen off the virginity wagon straight into a sexual deviant.

“Don’t worry, Lamb, I’ll put you over my knee and spank you properly later until your peachy arse is glowing and you won’t be able to sit down without feeling my handprint,” Rowan murmurs in my other ear, and his hand lands on my thigh, gripping tightly as my body flushes with heat, especially as we’re not alone. I cast my eyes to the driver, who is looking straight ahead at the road, completely ignoring us. He’s a huge guy with a scar across his face, ink covering his hands that grip the wheel tightly. Not your typical chauffeur.

We drive the rest of the way with Hunt issuing orders to the twins, both of whom listen intently while I melt between them from the visual that Roo created. It doesn’t take long and soon we’re pulling up outside the club, the queue already a mile long while bouncers wait at the entrance, a red carpet leading inside with a rope in front of the doors.

The club itself looks to be housed in an old Georgian building, the windows all above the ground floor level are lit up, the outline of drapes pulled open, giving it an upper class feel. The ones on the lower floor are blacked out, and I wonder if that is where the club is. There’s a lit-up sign across the front, swirling script announcing the name of the club, written for all to see.

Hunt is the first to get out, then Roman opens his door, stepping out before reaching inside to help me from the car. I glance at the driver and say thank you, but he just grunts in return, keeping his eyes focused ahead. Shrugging, I let Roman pull me from the car, careful not to flash Roothis time.

Once we’re all out, Hunt steps up next to me, Rowan taking our back as Roman goes slightly in front as if they’re using their bodies as a protective cage around me. We move as a group, Hunter’s hand on my lower back underneath my coat, sending all kinds of delicious shivers across my body. The bouncers nod, opening the rope before we even reach it so we don’t have to pause in our stride.

As soon as the large doors close behind us, warmth envelops me as we enter a plush reception area. The walls are decorated with grey flocked wallpaper, chandeliers hanging from the high ceiling, and a beautiful woman behind a tall reception desk. I can’t hear any music, but can feel the slight pulsing of deep bass as we make our way over to her.

She beams at the guys, her eyes faltering slightly when she catches sight of me, but she quickly recovers as a man in a shirt and waistcoat takes our coats from us.

“Welcome back, Mr Anderson, Mr Kent, and Mr Kent. And you brought a guest, how lovely,” she enthuses, and I want to call her out on her fake bitch bullshit but don’t bother, instead, stepping back into Hunter’s side, his arm coming round my waist as I snuggle into him.

“Mine,” I whisper as I practically rub myself over him, and he gives a deep, manly chuckle that does unspeakable things to Evangeline.

“Evening, Jessica,” he greets, squeezing my side. “No trouble tonight?”

“None at all, Hu–Mr Anderson,” she gushes, and I glare at her, pausing in my snuggles to make it extra menacing.

“I’d like some champagne brought up to the VIP area, Jessica. Dom Perigon if you have it,” I order before Hunt can reply, and I catch the twitch of his lips as she blinks rapidly.

“O–of course, Miss…” she trails off, and a wicked idea pops into my head.

“MrsAnderson,” I tell her, feeling Hunt stiffen beside me as her eyes widen.

“Um, absolutely. Um, congratulations,” she stammers out, and I give her a feral grin before looking up at Hunter. His eyes are on me, and I expect to see amusement flashing in them, maybe even a little confusion, but what I find stops my breath. It’s white-hot need, his jaw tight and his body vibrating as he stares at me as if he’s claiming my very soul.

Ever so slowly, he leans down, pressing an almost reverent kiss to my cheeks. “Fuck, I like my last name on you, Peaches.” His words are just above a growl, and his hand on my waist tightens as he inhales. “I like the idea of owning you like that.”

Molten lust fills my veins, my lungs dragging in a huge breath and being filled with his rosemary and mint scent until I feel like I might be drowning in it.

“Let’s get this nuptial celebration started then, shall we?” Roman teases, and I look at him to see amusement in his eyes, and maybe a touch of jealousy. Fuck, I can’t help feeling my joke backfired just a little.

He leads the way, Hunter’s grip on my waist still tight as we walk down the corridor to another set of doors. They open as we approach, music pulsing out of them, and we enter a world full of strobing lights and writhing bodies.

The space is so much bigger than I feel like it should be, the ceilings high, and just like they promised, dancers in gilded cages dangle like exotic birds. The DJ booth is high up on its own platform, and there’s a mezzanine level with a glass balcony, more bouncers, and a rope at the base of some stairs.

“We knocked the whole of the ground floor together, which included a ballroom,” Hunt tells me, practically having to shout in my ear as we walk towards the bouncers.

Again, they have to rope open before we’ve even reached it, and the guys give them a nod as we walk up the stairs. The music isn’t as loud as we get to the top, and we find a man in a suit waiting for us.

“We have your usual table ready, sirs, Mrs Anderson. And may I offer my congratulations and those of all the staff here at Depravity,” he greets, a smile on his face as he looks at Hunter. “About bloody time too.”

Hunter chuckles, slapping the guy on the back. “Thanks, James.” He keeps hold of me as James leads us to our table, which is towards the side of the VIP area and has a view of the entire club down below.

“Dom Perigon, as requested,” James says as a server holds a bottle of champagne before filling four glasses.

“Thank you,” I reply, blushing as Hunt laughs. He takes a glass, passing it to me, then grabbing one for himself as the twins do the same.

“To my beautiful bride,” he toasts, and the others echo him as my heart races. Why does this feel less and less like a joke and more real with every passing second?

I bring the flute to my lips, sipping the light, bubbly champagne as I stare into my fake husband’s eyes. I wonder what it would be like to actually be married to Hunter Anderson, but then a small pain flares inside my chest because there are three others who seem to have just as much of a claim on me as Hunt does, and I don’t think I could ever choose.

“Take a seat, Mrs Anderson,” Roman teases as he sits down and pats the booth next to him, and shaking my head at his silliness, I slide in, the leather cool against my overheated skin. It’s a curved booth facing both the VIP area and the club belowand a round, polished black table in front of it. Hunter slides in next but Rowan stays standing, observing the people around us while sipping his champagne.

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