Arina

she smiled, looking out at the endless view of pine trees rushing past the window as he drove a little bit above the speed limit.

“m’ perfect."

"you say that every time i ask."

"and i’m still good." she giggled, squeezing his hand that held hers.

jack chuckled, shaking his head. "you'd tell me if you needed to stop?"

"yep." she mused, leaning over to place a chaste kiss against his jawline.

jack hummed happily as he focused on the road ahead of them.

—

by the time the stained wooden mailbox finally appeared between the trees, the sun was beginning to sink— his eyes lit up in excitement as the truck rolled over the pebbled driveway.

"hey, we’re here," he said quietly.

"oh my gosh..." she squealed, looking up from her phone as the cabin looked like something out of a storybook.

it had a large porch with flower boxes beneath the windows and a fire pit with two wooden chairs that rested in the front yard. the sparkling lake behind the cabin catching their eyes as the sunset started to fade behind the mountains.

jack cut the engine before stretching to the side, his arm resting on her chest making her laugh as he craned his neck to kiss her temple.

jack was happy because the silence felt different here. there weren’t any ambulance sirens, no ringing phones, and no urgency whatsoever. just the silence of the night and the gentle rustle of leaves as the wind blew outside his truck.

"i think we picked the right place," she whispered.

jack smiled. "i think you're right." he hummed before opening his door so they could finally step into their escape.

—

inside was even prettier. the warm wood floors stretched throughout the little cabin, soft plush lamps cast golden pools of light across the walls.

she wandered slowly through each room while jack carried in their bags.

"oh.."

he looked up from the suitcase he was setting beside the couch.

"what?" she called from somewhere in the cabin.

“come in here, baby.” he called so she could follow his voice to the bedroom.

she stood frozen in the bedroom doorway as jack placed the bags down and rested his hands upon his his as she walked over to him.

the bedroom was impossibly cozy— the bed was dressed in layers of fluffy sheets of the prettiest softest pink bedding she'd ever seen. the lump pillows were stacked neatly against the light wooden headboard.

the room smelled faintly of fresh linen and cedar making her turn to him with the biggest smile. "it looks so cozy! wow it’s beautiful." she mused, placing a peck against his bicep as she wrapped her arms around his freckled arm.

"it is." jack said as he twisted her in his arm and pulled her into his chest making her look up at him.

it was so peaceful. safe.. like the world had slowed down just for them.

—

after unpacking, they took quick showers, washing away the long day of traveling and by the time she stepped out of the bathroom, jack had already changed into a faded blue t-shirt and a pair of old plaid pajama pants she'd stolen more times than she could count.

"you stole my shirt." she teased, taking his crutches that rested against the bed and placing them next to the nightstand.

jack trailed his eyes down at the oversized university t-shirt hanging almost to her knees.

"you mean our shirt." he laughed.

"you and your practicalities." she teased as she climbed onto the bed first, the mattress sinking beneath her weight.

"oh god,” she nearly moaned, bouncing lightly in the mattress making jack smirk at her. "this is dangerous."

"why?" jack raised an eyebrow.

"i'm never leaving this bed.”

he set his phone on the bedside table before climbing in beside her making the mattress shift again and she immediately, she scooted closer until she was practically lying on top of him.

"there she is." he smiled knowingly.

"what?"

"if you keep doing that i dont think i’ll let you leave this bed." he joked making her laugh sleepily.

she tucked one leg between his and rested her head against his chest as they sand beneath the comforter. she slipped an arm around his waist and sighed as he wrapped both arms around her without a second thought. his chin rested lightly against the top of her head as the only sounds were the crickets outside and the occasional breeze brushing against the trees.

"you comfortable, babe?" jack murmured against her hair.

"mhm."

"tired?"

"so tired.. you? i feel bad you drove the whole time after you got off.”

“yeah, but i wanted to drive. don’t worry about it.” he said, rubbing slow circles along her back through the cotton of his t-shirt.

“i love being your passenger princess.”

“me too, that’s all you ever have to do.” he said making them both laugh.

she reached for his hand beneath the blankets, weaving their fingers together before resting them over his heart.

"i like hearing it."

"hearing what?" he questioned, looking down at her.

"your heartbeat,” she whispered, “helps me fall asleep."

his expression softened so completely it almost hurt.

"you know.." he said quietly, “i don't think i've ever slept this well until you came along."

"really?" she tipped her head back just enough to look at him as he nodded.

"for years, Iid wake up every few hours."

she frowned.

"and now?"

“eh i usually wake up because you've somehow managed to steal ninety percent of the blankets." he shrugged making her gasp dramatically.

"excuse you! i do no such thing."

"you absolutely do."

"you have no proof."

"baby, i don’t need any. i've lived it.” he said bid matter of factly making hhe giggled.

“i'll do better." she promised giving him a light squeeze.

"i hope not." he blinked.

"what?"

jack brushed a loose strand of damp hair behind her ear. "if you're stealing the blankets,” he kissed her forehead. “it means you're here."

for a long moment, she simply looked at him as her heart tightened in her chest— then she buried her face back into his chest.

"i love you." she whined as his arms tightened around her.

"i love you too."

Priscilla Cavendish is not used to being rejected. 

Her family, though not members of the High Council, has been given a relatively privileged life thanks to the gifts of Mr. Le Bail, and she has spent her whole existence reaping those benefits.  

She got every car, horse, designer dress, and vacation her heart desired. She wanted to go to a prestigious school? Her parents bought a library and she never had to fill out application. She wanted to be head Cheerleader? No other girl would dare challenge her anyway. Boys and Men? She’s tall and gorgeous and thin and rich, why would anyone ever say no to her? 

They didn’t. That’s the thing. She got everything and everyone she ever wanted. 

Titus Danforth was not an exception. For many years, he was not an exception. Sure, there were times where even she got tired and bored of his bratty behavior, times where they’d break up and she’d find some other toy to play with, but she was always able to grab his attention again. 

This last break up was a little more...definitive than others, sure. Annoyed at his lack of commitment, as she usually was, Priscilla decided to try her luck with Ignacio El Caido instead.  

He was a widower who lived the fast life, and was on the High Council as well, so she figured he’d be an easy mark. They hooked up a few times, he bragged to Titus about it, but instead of awakening any sort of jealousy in the man, Titus Danforth simply laughed and wished them both good luck. 

Needless to say Priscilla was livid. He didn’t care at all. She’d spent so much time trying to get her hand on the Danforth name, and he only ever saw her as a hobby. The things she did for him too, sexually. She lived up to almost every weird appetite of his, in ways she knows his other flings would never dare to, and still he threw her out. 

And then came you. 

First, you encroach on Francensca’s territory by stealing Alex Le Domas, and you don’t even have the decency to die during Hide and Seek. Then, you fucking steal Titus Danforth right out of bachelor life because? What? You’re young and pretty and in a desperate spot? 

Priscilla will never understand what he sees in you. Sure, you suffer from some similar mental psychopathy that he does, but you’re...you’re an outsider. Mr. Le Bail tried to kill you twice. 

Maybe you’re some sort of witch and you’ve cast a spell over Titus. Whatever you are, she will never accept that you’ve won. In her mind, you haven’t.  

This is just a pause. Time to recover after hours of plastic surgery to prevent scarring from where you’d smashed her face with glass, like some deranged gremlin. She’s waited patiently, face bandaged until her beauty returned, holed up in her family’s old country estate in England. 

She read that article about Felicity and Fitz’s deaths, anger rippling through her chest. A drunk driving accident? Sure. She knows what happens after a Danforth wedding. Priscilla just knows you’re the reason she’s lost another ally in that family. 

And now you’re with child. A halfway unworthy spawn of a girl with no important name, no important family, will one day rule this world?  

No. Not if she can help it. 

Not when she finds out the two of you will be coming right to her. 

+ 

+ 

+ 

They call it a Babymoon. 

From what you’ve read, most people save it for a month before the baby is due, but of course Titus Danforth has to go above and beyond for you. 

After all, you are carrying the next set of Danforth Twins. 

So, at only just under four months along, he whisks you away on the private jet to the family’s oldest home in the countryside of England. The little castle where everything began.  

You told him he didn’t need to take you on any trips yet, he’d already given you enough gifts to celebrate your pregnancy. From an entire new yet-to-be-released designer maternity wardrobe, to an in-house personal chef to specially make all of your meals, to a revamped 1960 pink Cadillac, Titus has not been stingy on spoiling you. 

Your morning sickness has mostly subsided, so the travel wasn’t so bad. You have a little soreness, but so far everything is going easy. Titus doted on you the whole ride over, giving you orgasms and kisses to your little bump. 

“Sorry to interrupt, sir, but we will be making our descent in just under an hour,” the captain’s voice said over the intercom. 

You sat up from where you’d been laying on Titus’s lap, a pout graces your face as you look at the door, like you’d be able to frown at the pilot through it. At least this jet had a private bedroom for you to enjoy your flight at all. 

“Darn, it was just about to get good,” you sigh, “Well, good again.” 

Titus looks up at you with a smirk. “He said an hour, Baby, that’s plenty of time to go one more round.” 

“Hmmm, I guess we should enjoy our free time while we can,” you purred, laying your body back down over his, grinding your hips down into his lap. Titus’s hands fly to your ass, grabing you hard and moving you at a slow pace. “Once they arrive, we might be too busy for each other for a while.” 

“I’ll never be too busy for you, Little Lamb,” Titus grunts, breath coming out in short huffs, cock already stirring again. “We’ll hire a nanny just to look after them whenever I need to fuck the shit out of you. You know, so we’re not disturbed.” 

You snort. “That’s ridiculous,” you say as you giggle into your next kiss. 

“You’re right, we’ll make Ursula do it,” Titus says, flipping you over onto your back. His hand slides down to your tummy, then past your bump to pull at the bottom of your dress. 

You shiver as his thick fingers press to the skin on your inner thigh, and you grab onto his shoulders to steady yourself, eyes closing and mouth dropping open. Your voice is breathless and higher when you continue teasing him. “You wouldn’t let them be left with some stranger, anyway.” 

“Fuck no,” Titus grunts, teeth grazing your neck. 

He wasn’t raised by nannies, not really. Violet and Chester paid for the best tutors and coaches that money could buy, but the Danforth children were never left to learn their important life lessons from random European women. 

Not until Violet died, but by ten years old they didn’t need to be watched all the time, and were old enough for boarding school. So that’s what Chester did. He sent them off to school, and when they were home he made sure to be the one instilling his believes and life lessons in them, no matter how cold those lessons were. 

“Of course not,” your voice breaks into a whine when you feel his fingers at your folds, and your legs spread for him. “They’re going to be all yours,” your voice is light, “just like me,” and you nudge him into a kiss.  

His breath is swallowed into your moans, as his fingers enter you slowly, thumb rubbing circles on your clit. Titus’s warm body ruts against yours, cock rubbing deliciously against your thigh. “Yeah, Baby, ‘d do anything for you, for all of you.” 

“Hmm, I know,” you sigh, rolling your hips down onto his fingers, the wet squelch sending a rush of pleasure up your spine. “You’ll be such a good Daddy.” 

Suddenly, Titus lets out a low, stuttered groan, and his movements stop as his eyes roll back. “Shit, Baby.” 

You feel a patch of wetness against your thigh and your eyes go wide with a shocked smile. “Did you just...” 

Titus doesn’t even have it in him to be embarrassed. “Okay, you can’t ever call me that in front of other people.” His fingers are still inside you, and he flexes them in that way that drives you crazy. “Gimmie a minute, Baby.” 

You start to giggle, laying kisses to his cheek. “Or what, Daddy?” 

“Fuck,” Titus groans, dick twitching slowly back to life in his pants. “Keep going like that and I’ll be able to fuck you again real soon...” 

When he’s finally able to get it up again, he lasts all of two minutes inside you. After the first “Fuck me so good, Daddy,” he’s a goner. 

+ 

The Danforth Castle, which has been in Titus’s family for centuries, sits along a river, hidden away in a vast wood, in Suffolk England. The area is remote and quiet, but almost never empty, various members of the Danforth family staying in its expansive halls throughout the year. There’s also live-in staff, of course, some grounds keepers, and minor security. 

None of the family are going to be staying there right now, however, and the staff has been briefed already on staying hidden. Titus wants you to have your privacy, with absolutely no stress from nosy family. 

The halls of the castle are made of old dark grey stone, which have been finished and refinished over the decades to accommodate updating technology, electricity, and all that. They’re lined with old paintings, family portraits, weapons, taxidermy animal heads, and statues of armor. You feel like you’re on some movie set about Tudor era England. 

There’s a cold air that passes around you, not eerie but rather an echo of how old the building is. Your feet make a clacking sound that bounces off the stone as you’re led into a great foyer, brightly lit by tall stained-glass windows that arch all the way up to the ceiling. 

You’re not looking at Titus as he watches with a proud smirk the way your eyes go wide and your mouth drops open. A row of butlers whisk passed you with your bags, and three maids wait at the bottom of a winding staircase with warm smiles. 

They’re the ones who’ve been here the longest, the ones who have watched Titus grow up, the ones who have been at the mercy of his brutish ways and attitude many times, and the ones who were relieved when they heard he fell in love with someone who apparently tamed him. Of course, you haven’t really tamed anything, just given him something to channel all obsession into, a reason to be just a little nicer. 

“Master Titus, it’s so lovely to have you back here,” one of the maids, and older woman with short white hair greets. She smiles at you, bowing her head just slightly. “And you must be Mrs. Danforth, it’s wonderful to finally meet the new Mistress, I’m Winnie, the head of the house.” Her eyes fall to your belly, where your bump is a just barely visible swell under your dress. “You are simply glowing.” 

“Thank you, Winnie, it’s so nice to meet you,” you say, shaking her hand. 

She introduces you to the other maids, and then leads you two up the stairs to the Master Suite. It hasn’t been stayed in by any other members of the family since Chester’s last visit, but now it is rightfully yours. 

Again, a movie set comes to mind. Where your old fashioned Estate in Rhode Island looks like a classic americana turn of the century mansion, the Master Suite of this Castle looks like something Queen Elizabeth would live in. 

Winnie and the other maids roll in a cart and pour you some fresh tea, something to settle your stomach and calm the babies after the flight, and then leave the two of you to decompress. 

Titus helps you out of your coat, and you let out a relieved groan as you flop down on your back on the bed. You stare up at the ceiling, arms outstretched on the satin sheets, as you breathe in the scent of old wood. 

“So...” you say, propping yourself up on your elbows to look at your husband. “Just how haunted is this place?” 

Titus snorts, shrugging off his own jacket to leave himself in just a white button up, and he starts to roll up the sleeves as he approaches the bed. “Pretty fucking haunted, but I don’t think I’ve ever actually seen any ghosts.” 

“But you’ve heard them?” you ask, scooting over to make room for him to lay at your side.  

His hand goes to your stomach, fingers softly spreading out. “Oh sure, all kinds of creaks in the floorboards and wind moaning through the walls. Winnie used to bust me sneaking around at night trying to catch a specter.” 

You let out a small giggle. “I can picture it. Little baby Titus with crooked teeth and mischievous eyes, hiding in all the dark corners...you probably just scared the staff half to death.” 

“Hmm, well, I was just practicing,” he says. “You know for later when I’d have to hunt down and kill all these people who try to get into our family.” 

Or, even better, the ones he now hunts down to sacrifice for each season. The Spring Equinox hunt had been especially riveting, since the chosen sacrifice was the Priest who’d told Felicity your business about the mating ritual. Titus had taken immense pleasure from breaking each bone in his body before bringing him to the Black Temple for the sacrifice. He even cut out the man’s tongue and burned it in the fire. 

Titus shifts down the bed, lowering himself so he can kiss your stomach. One of your hands immediately goes to his hair, twisting your fingers into his soft, silver curls. “You know,” he starts, “This is where it all began for my family. It wasn’t always a castle, though, it started as a small cottage. It’s said Mr. Le Bail walked out of the darkness of the woods, while our ancestor was hunting down a bear or a wolf or something, and he asked if he could join in on the fun.” 

You haven’t actually heard this story before, even though you assumed Mr. Le Bail had been a patron of the family for a very long time. 

“They caught the creature together, killed it, slit its throat and all that, and Mr. Le Bail had such a fun time, that he offered The Deal. Our family would sell their souls to him, play his games when needed, and he would give them all the riches and the power in the world. They didn’t have much, so they agreed. Built this up, expanded into High Society and all that, and here we are. 

The part of the woods they met in is still marked off, my great grandfather or whatever had some stone memorial made for it.” 

“I want to see,” you say. 

Titus smirks as he presses his lips to your belly again. “Of course you do, and you should. Mr. Le Bail’s favorite should get to see where it all began.” 

You squirm a little at the comment. There had been a short time where you didn’t think Mr. Le Bail cared anymore about the one person who outsmarted his games twice. But then you remember how his hands had been on you, how his eyes had seared into yours from where they appeared in flames, how soft his lips were when he kissed your face...Titus has no idea just how favored you are. 

“Tomorrow, will you take me on a tour of the grounds then?” 

“I don’t want to tire you out, you shouldn’t be on your feet for too lo—” 

“Titus,” you whine. “I’m not that far along, I’m still perfectly mobile. At least take me to the memorial, or I’ll just run out there and take myself.” 

His body freezes up, hand tensing where it lays on your stomach. “Little Lamb...I’ll take you, but you need to promise me you’ll be good, don’t exert yourself.” 

“Oh, okay,” you say, rolling your eyes. “So it’s okay to exert myself on the jet while you make me come like, ten times in a row, but I can’t just go on a nice walk in the woods anymore? How does that make sense?” 

“Are you saying you didn’t like that?” He asks slyly, shifting his touch down your belly, to the hem of your dress. 

Your breath catches and your eyes widen just slightly, legs subtly spreading on instinct. “N-no...” 

“No? You didn’t like it?” he asks, as his body moves again, settling comfortably between your legs, hands more boldly pushing at your dress. “So, I should stop?” 

“I-I,” you stutter, sucking in a deep breath when you feel him grab your thighs hard, and pull them apart even more. You can barely make a sound as he lowers himself down, nosing along the hem of your panties, humming into the fabric. “No, no don’t stop, please—ahh!” 

A high-pitched whine cracks through your words as he kisses along your already soaked panties, licking his tongue over them to suck up what juices he can. “That’s what I thought.” 

Titus pushes your dress up passed your stomach, pulls your panties down over your legs, and goes to town. He licks and kisses and moans into your dripping pussy like a man starved. You try to hold in your sounds, not wanting to scare this household staff on your first day, but it’s hard when he knows just what you need, knows how to make you feel so good your brain goes fuzzy. 

You’re late for dinner. 

+ 

You can’t sleep. 

All that jetlag and Titus keeping you up for the flight has your mind completely alive in the middle of the night.  

So naturally you beg Titus to take you on that tour of the grounds right now under the stars. You’re both so used to being out in the dark anyway. 

The forests of the English countryside are so much different than back home. Maybe it’s because the spirits that fill them are so much more ancient, the trees have witnessed the violent actions of man for so much longer. You feel like they all have eyes watching you as Titus leads you through the dark path, his hand laced in yours. They loom over you, blocking out most of the stars in the sky, the light of the moon cascading down in clear rays through their deep branches. 

The path he takes you down is written with old cobble stone, lined with a stone wall about three feet tall. It twists and turns deep into the wood, the same path Titus’s ancestor had taken the day he met Mr. Le Bail. Every turn is a surprise, winding deeper and deeper, until the orange light of the Danforth castle is just a small fleck when you turn back to it. For the first time in a long time, you feel unsettled in the wilderness. 

But still... 

A familiar chill runs through your bones. Shadows dance in the corners of your mind that you feel like you’ve seen before. Even the sounds of animals, from owls to distant howls of wolves, sound like you’ve met them at some point already. 

The path ends, and Titus walks behind you, a hand on your lower back to lead you into the trees, and he takes you a few feet into a clearing.  

Your heart nearly stops as you take it in. There’s a circle of trees around a small boulder and a tree stump. You know you’ve been here before, and yet it’s impossible to be true. 

“That is where they met,” your husband’s gravelly voice rumbles close to your ear, lips caressing your skin.  

He points to the boulder, where a small message has been etched onto a gold plate. There’s a small goat carved into the metal, at the center of a pentagram. A Latin phrase lines the top, one that translates to Loyalty Through the Fires, and below that a message in English: 

THE MEETING PLACE OF A TRUE GOD TO MEN, THE BEGINNING OF A BEAUTIFUL FRIENDSHIP. SWORN THROUGH BLOOD. FOR ALL BRANCHES OF THE TREE. 

You don’t remember this being here last time. You don’t know why you should remember it at all. 

“This is where it all began,” Titus continues. His head rests on your shoulder, unaware of the nerves that have overtaken your body. “Two men meet in the woods, and now I stand here with you, someone I wished for, my perfect equal...” his hands slide over your sides until they rest on your belly. “Mother of my children, the next leaders of our family line.” 

You hum softly, eyes closing as you let your body fall into his, the cold of the night can’t reach you here in his arms. You’re about to say something about the weird feeling, but Titus continues speaking. 

“I’m so glad I could take you here while it’s just us,” he mumbles, kissing the low end of your neck. “It’s so isolated out here, nobody to bother us, nobody to stick their nose in our business.” 

A soft laugh escapes your lips. Anyone else, any other circumstance, and it would sound like he’s brought you here to kill you. 

“How far is the closest neighbor, anyway?” you ask, eyes open again and scanning what you can through the dark tree line. 

Titus shrugs. “About five miles up north are the Whitmore’s, they’ve got a nice little hunting ground and cabin. East is the water, when you finally hit that there is a small fishing village. Ten miles west is the Pembroke Mansion, they’ve been here almost as long as we have, but they’re not in the organization. And then south is—" 

Titus stops suddenly, body tensing as he backs up from you, and you hear him swear under his breath. Your arms cross over your torso as you turn around, suspicious frown on your face. “What’s wrong?” 

“Shit,” Titus lets out a long sigh, running a nervous hand through his hair. He looks up at you with uncharacteristically worried eyes, lip bit between his teeth. “Okay, don’t be mad at me.” 

“Why would I be mad?” You ask slowly, keeping your voice even. 

“Well...” Titus groans. “Listen, Baby, it’s no big deal, their property is miles away and the woods are very dense here...” 

“But...?” 

“But...” he exhales, grabbing your hands and squeezing them tightly. “Well, six miles south of here is the old Cavendish estate. That family acquired it in the mid-nineteen hundreds from some down on his luck lord or whatever. I’ve probably only been there a handful of times, years ago.” 

“Okay?” You say, pursing your lips. “Cavendish?” 

“As in...Priscilla Cavendish.” 

You immediately drop his hands with an angry gasp, backing up a foot as you laugh incredulously. Your hands come to your face, ignoring Titus’s repeats of your name as you continue to back away from him. “Oh, you have got to be kidding me.” 

Titus’s voice is tight and desperate as he approaches you, “Baby, it’s not a big deal—" 

“Not a big deal?” You spit. “Your ex, who hates me, who tried to hook up with you and steal you back in our house, who was friends with your piece of garbage cousin, lives right next to your family estate, and you think that’s not a big deal?” 

“She doesn’t live there, her family owns it. She may not even be at the estate,” Titus says.  

“The last we heard, she was in Europe! I doubt her family owns as many houses as yours does!” You groan and look up from your hands, hormones causing a well of tears to bubble behind your eyes. A chill surges through you as you finally realize why this place looks familiar, and you cover your mouth as your gaze darts around the trees. “Oh my god, this is just like my dream, my nightmare. Th-this is where she...where you.” 

Titus quickly gathers you into his arms at the look of fear on your face, “No, no that wasn’t real, Little Lamb, nothing is going to happen to us.” 

One of your hands flies down to your stomach, and you think if it weren’t for the twins you’d already be sprinting the six miles to the Cavendish estate to finish this once and for all. “Y-you don’t know that. If she’s there, and she finds out we’re here...she’s going to do something, I just know it. W-we can’t stay! We have to go home, we—" 

“Stop, stop it!” Titus hushes, placing his hands on your cheeks and forcing you to look up at him. “We are not going anywhere. I am not going to let anything happen to you.” His hand joins yours on your tummy, pressing down comfortingly. “None of you. I’ll call in extra security, and we’ll send someone to the estate in the morning to see if she’s there.” 

“And if she is?” 

Titus lets out a long, frustrated sigh. “Then...then we’ll go to London instead, to the Townhome in Westminster. I’m not letting her ruin our trip.” 

“Titus, I don’t know if I can stand being in the same country as her.” 

He chuckles, kissing your hair. “Well, I can call Ursula and see what we can do about getting her kicked out, but that still might take a day.” 

“Titus, that’s not funny.” 

“Yes, I wasn’t joking.” 

Of course he wasn’t joking, you should have known they’d have influence in all world governments. “Let’s just...let’s just wait until we know if she’s there.” 

“Alright,” Titus says, tightening his grip around you. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, I wasn’t thinking...I was too excited to bring you here.” 

“I know,” you sigh. You stand up on your tip toes to kiss his cheek, and you let him capture your lips instead.  

There’s no way your jetlag is going to be solved now, and as you make it back to your room and lay down in the bed, Titus’s arms are wrapped around you as your eyes stay wide open, staring at the wood ceiling. 

+ 

Outside the Cavendish Estate is a gravel horseshoe-shaped drive, surrounded by a line of prickly pink rose bushes. A black sedan drives up to the house, observed by the doorman, who is smoking a cigarette. 

He’s completely unmoved by the large security agent who exits the passenger side sporting a very large machine gun strapped to his chest.  

The doorman throws his cigarette to the ground, stomping it out under his boot. “Can I help you, sir?” 

The security agent looks past the doorman and up to the windows of the estate instead, surveilling what he can through the dark glass. There’s no movement inside, from what he can see. “Are there any members of the Cavendish family staying at the estate currently?” 

“I don’t think I have to answer that,” the doorman snorts. “Who’s asking?” 

“Titus Danforth.” 

The doorman’s eyes go a little wide, but he keeps his same dry tone. “No. We are not expecting any family until after the summer season is over. I believe most of them are at the Hamptons.” 

“Is Priscilla Cavendish currently staying at the estate?” The security agent asks. 

The doorman sighs. “No. Like I said, no members of the family are expected until after summer. You are welcome to come check the home and the grounds, if you feel the need.” 

“We do, actually.” The agent looks over at his shoulder and nods to the other guys in the sedan. Three more men and big guns join him at the door. “Lead the way.” 

The doorman takes them inside, leading them men all through the house, stopping at every corner for them to point their guns around in case of an ambush. He takes them upstairs, opens the doors to every bedroom, bathroom, closet. Takes them to the lower level where the wine cellar is, into the food storage, the regular storage. Takes them through the kitchen and out the backdoor, where the small garden waits. He waits while they follow the treeline and check in the small shed. Nothing. 

He shoos away any maids, cooks, groundskeepers (of which there are very few) that comes across them. Every single one of them is ID checked, in case Priscilla is trying to get away with a disguise. But they’re all just the servants. 

When every single inch of the estate has been checked over, the security agents join the doorman at the front of the house once again. 

“Like I said, the Cavendish family is in the Hamptons,” the doorman says, pulling out another cigarette. “Can I do anything else for you boys?” 

The head agent gives the doorman a stern look, before shaking his head and leading the group back to the sedan. 

The doorman watches, craning his neck to make sure the car gets all the way up past the gate, before putting out this cigarette and running back into the estate. He heads to the small library, and pulls out one of the sconces from the wall, releasing a secret opening behind a set of bookshelves. 

“Miss Cavendish, they’re gone,” he calls into the dark room. 

Priscilla emerges with a wicked smile on her face. She pets at the man’s cheek, long perfectly manicured nails scratch softly at his skin. “Thank you, my darling. You’ve done a very good job for me.” 

+ 

“So, she’s not here?” you ask.  

You’re sitting at the end of a long dining table, poking at your breakfast and morning tea, as Titus receives the report from your security.  

“Correct, we searched the whole grounds, and then had our guys in the states follow up in the Hamptons. It appears her whole family is at their beach house. There is no photo evidence of her being there, but that is on parr with her behavior since, um, well last year.” 

Titus and you share a smirk. Yes, she’s been in hiding from the public for several months, ever since you busted her face up. 

“We have no reason to believe she is in this country.” 

“Thank you,” you say quietly, sipping from your tea with a little more energy. 

“Get me pictures, however you can, just in case,” Titus instructs, before waving them out so you can have your privacy again. “See, Little Lamb, I told you there is nothing to worry about.” 

“Fine, but you still should have told me about her house before bringing me all the way to a foreign country. You’re gonna have to do something big to make it up to me.” 

Titus licks his lips, hand reaching for your thigh under the table. “Think I can come up with some equitable solutions.” 

Before you can respond, your phone goes off from where it sits on the table. You hold up a finger to silence him when your husband’s mouth drops open to protest, as you pick it up to check the text. 

“Do not answer a text from my sister while I’m trying to fuck you,” Titus says, staring at you with bewildered, annoyed blinks. 

“It’s Ursula updating me on the babies’ suite. She said the painting should be done by the time we get home, so we won’t have to worry about fumes or anything. Isn’t that nice?” 

“I guess,” Titus mumbles. 

You shoot him a stern look before sending a thank you in reply. As a gift to you and Titus, Ursula is having an entire portion of your wing of the house torn out and rebuilt to the ultimate nursery for the twins.  You told her what you wanted theming and coloring wise, but you’re letting the end result be a complete surprise from her. 

“Maybe we should go down to London to do some shopping for the suite ourselves, you know? Ursula is going to have most of it covered but we could find some little stuffed animals or decorations we like,” you say, putting your phone down and running a hand into Titus’s hair, soothing the annoyance out of him. 

His lips twitch and he smiles, gently grabbing your hand to kiss your palm. “How about this weekend? We’ll look for gifts for the babies...go to the designers’ show rooms and get something nice for yourself...but just one night, okay? The point of this trip is to keep you to myself.” 

“You always keep me to yourself,” you joke. It’s not that true, anymore. You’ve made a couple friends in the organization, you’re much more social than you used to be, but also you’d be the last to complain about being tucked away in the giant Danforth Estate with only Titus’s attention. “What plans did you have for us here, anyway?” 

“Well, we have horse stables, you can still ride if we take it slow,” he licks his lips and you roll your eyes at the double entendre. He wraps his foot around the leg of your chair and jerks it towards him, pulling you closer. “We can get in the pool, send the staff away to do some skinny dipping...or I can just take you skeet shooting or something boring like that.” 

You burst into a fit of giggles. “Skeet shooting? Seriously? I thought that was something rich people only did on like TV shows.” 

“Yes well, I think you know real rich people do all that kind of shit. Father used to make us do it as part of training.” 

“Of course he did,” you say with a frown. 

Titus stares at you, lips pressed together in a stressed line. “What?” 

He’s told you about his father. Emotionally distant for most of his life, raised him and Ursula to be ruthless killers, everything you know about Chester Danforth makes him sound like a monster. “Your father...I don’t understand him. I don’t understand how you can...” 

“Love him?” Titus asks, voice quiet. His expression is pulled in, brow furrowed and eyes worried, looking so young like he always does when he’s stressed. “It’s complicated, but he wasn’t so bad. We aren’t like normal families, we couldn’t be. He needed me and Ursula to be ready for this part of our life. The part where he’d be gone and we would take over the High Seat. And I wish he...” Titus’s voice trails off, eyes growing distant. He wishes his father would have seen him more, would have treated him equally to Ursula, prepared him and trusted him in the same way. “He was my father and I loved him. It’s too late to care about everything else.” 

You crinkle your nose, running a hand softly over your husband’s cheek. “I’m sure it must have been terrible, having to kill him.” 

“It had to be done,” Titus says. “He was old and weak. And if we’d let him fight for the High Seat, he would have just died anyway. And you...fuck, Little Lamb, who knows what would have happened to you, to me?” Titus reaches a hand onto your belly. “Everything happened the way it was supposed to.” 

You give him a small smile, placing your hand over his. “Still, I don’t want to raise them like how you were. I don’t mind the training and all that, I want them to be fighters, I want them to know how to survive. But I’m going to love them for whoever they turn out to be.” 

“We will,” Titus insists. “I want to be a better father than mine. I want our children to know for sure that they’re loved, just as much as I love you.” 

Your smile grows brighter as you bring his hand to your lips and kiss his palm, before sliding out of your seat to stand above him. “So, skeet shooting?” 

“You really want to try it?” Titus asks with a smirk. 

You shrug, “Sure, it always looked fun in the movies. Besides, I think I’m a pretty good shot already, you’re going to have very stiff competition.” 

+ 

The day passes slowly, sun bright in the sky, birds singing, creatures running through the trees around the two of you. Titus showed you how to shoot, but his teaching was wasted considering you’d been forced to have plenty of practice in your past hunts. He did his best to hide his frustration at losing to you. 

After the skeet shooting, the two of you relaxed poolside, enjoying tea under the sun and just sitting in each other’s company. Ursula called to video chat before dinner, taking the two of you on a virtual tour of the work in progress on the nursery suite. You sat by and giggled as Titus and Ursula argued over one of the babies being named after her. 

“Should we just name them Titus and Ursula two? Both of them? That’s incredibly stupid.” 

“No, just name the girl Ursula, the boy doesn’t need to be named after you.” 

“They’re my children! Not yours! Your name shouldn’t come in at all!” 

“I’m going to be their favorite aunt—" 

“You will be their only aunt!” 

This went on for some time, and you giggled at them the whole time, until finally you broke it up by reminding them that you actually get the biggest say, and you haven’t even begun narrowing name options down.  

Dinner was held in the dining room, just like at home the two of you sat together at the end of the table, catching each other up on gossip, making plans for the next couple days. Instead of an after dinner cigar, Titus has done what he’s had to do the last couple months and have an after dinner glass of whiskey, while he waits for you to finish your night time routine. 

But also like he has the last couple months, he gets impatient and lures you out of the bathroom with sweet words from his smooth voice, gets you on the bed so he can worship you the way he knows you deserve. 

And after a couple of orgasms, you’d fallen asleep almost instantly, left Titus with the task of carefully cleaning you up, dressing you, and tucking you into bed. He fell asleep not long after with you in his arms, the smell of your freshly cleaned hair seeping into his nose.  

Which is why his heart nearly stopped when he woke up at about 3 AM, cold and arms empty, you nowhere in sight. “Baby? Where did you go?” 

His calls cannot reach you as your feet carry you away. In your mind, you’re wandering into the woods, sun shining above you, morning doves cooing in your ears.  

Your dream has you following Titus’s voice in the opposite direction, down the hill, across a stream, and slowly in and out of a winding path. You think he’s just up ahead, but every time you make a turn, it’s like you’ve just barely missed him. His teasing laughter comes from the trees, and you just sigh as you call back to him. 

“Titus! You’re not being fair!” You say as your feet start to hurt. You’re wearing your flowy white nightgown, which is now stained green at the bottom from the grass. 

Beams of sunlight part through the trees, guiding your way as you continue to chase your husband’s voice. You stumble down a hill, just barely keeping your balance once you reach the end, and you spot another clearing just up ahead. The sound of his laughter is closer now, as the trees seem to part for you to enter. 

You hear Titus call your name, over and over, both in the distance and right in your ears. Your face scrunches in confusion at the different levels, but as you enter the clearing, you see him only feet away. Your hands reach up as though to embrace him... 

When suddenly he’s right in front of you, yelling your name right in your face, and your whole body jolts. In an instant, light changes to dark, the smile on your husband’s face turns to a concerned frown, the beautiful trees morph into dark, painted walls, and the warmth of the sun dulls into the chill of night. 

Your head hurts and your eyes feel strained as you blink them, Titus’s hands gripping hard at your arms as he shakes you awake. 

“Little Lamb? What are you doing?” He asks, voice filled to the brim with worry, eyes darting all around your body. 

Your mouth drops open and you shiver, vision adjusting to the dark as your head shakes. You look down at your bare feet, your completely clean white nightgown. “I-I don’t...where am I?” 

“You’re downstairs, my love, almost out the back door,” Titus says slowly, looking over his shoulder at the grand wood door that leads to the back garden. 

“H-How did I get here?” You ask, voice shaking as you begin to hyperventilate.  

“You were sleepwalking,” Titus concludes. He doesn’t miss the stress and worry on your face, and pulls you into his chest, arms wrapping tight around you as you press your face into his warmth. “You’ve never done that before, have you?” 

“I-I don’t think so...” you whisper, eyes wide as you look at the back door. Something inside tells you that your real destination lies far beyond it. “I was dreaming that I was following you into the woods.” 

“Like your nightmare?” 

“No...no it wasn’t like that at all,” you say, pulling back just enough to look up at him. “It was day time, and you were laughing, and nothing bad happened, but you were leading me somewhere...I think.” 

You watch as his face twists through confusion and worry, studying your face and your words. He’s never encountered anything like this, not from you anyway. Maybe mother experienced something like it when she was pregnant with him and Ursula? Did she ever tell him a story like this? Did Ursula? He can’t think of anything. He can’t remember reading anything about it either, not in any book about any ritual or family member. 

“M-maybe...maybe because we’re far from home. We’re in a sacred place for the family and Mr. Le Bail...” his voice trails off. Why would Mr. Le Bail try to trick you into going anywhere with Titus, especially when you carry the heirs to the High Seat? 

“Yeah...maybe...” you say, though you sound just as unsure. “It wasn’t a bad dream. I-It must be some weird side effect or something.” 

“Right,” Titus sighs. Neither of you are confident in your conclusions. But he kisses your cheek and scoops you up into his arms to carry you back up the stairs, your own wrap around his neck tightly. “Let’s just get back to bed, Little Lamb. I’ll lock the door in case it happens again.” 

“Okay,” you respond, voice small, as you keep your eyes on that back door the whole trip up the stairs. 

Titus tucks you back in bed, arms tighter around you this time. He stays awake to listen to your breaths even out until he knows you’re back asleep, and then he remains awake for the rest of the night. 

+ 

Mere meters into the woods, far enough that she won’t be seen from the home or security, but not so far that she cannot cast her control, Priscilla huffs out her frustration through gritted teeth. 

The white smoke of the totem she lit fades away, as the time limit for the hex runs out. You were so close to the door. She almost had you.  

Her jaw clicks as she throws the totem to the ground and stomps it under her foot, before burying it under a large stone. 

She knows there are no protections over the home, but Titus being able to wake you from the Hex Sleep was an unforeseen obstacle. He must really love you after all. 

No matter, she thinks to herself, I’ll just have to try a stronger spell next time. 

+ 

After another nervous and quiet morning breakfast, Titus and you try to shake out of the looming dark thoughts from your sleep walking by taking the horses out. 

The Danforth’s have a long history of breeding horses in England, and have even worked with the former Queen on creating prize winning racers. There is a branch of cousins who specialize in it, and spend the most time at this family home out of the year to take care of the horses, but of course a few are especially raised for Titus and Ursula to ride. 

The twins’ horses are, naturally, two twin black stallions, with white hair on their ankles and tails, named Azazel and Nyx. The only difference between them is the little white star shaped spot in the middle of Azazel’s forehead, which is why Titus had chosen him. 

Now, Azazel comes with a mate. For some time, the trainers say about a year, he has refused to breed with any other horse but a beautiful grey and red mare named Lilith. 

And Lilith took to you so quickly. 

You’d taken one look into her eyes and you could have sworn there was understanding looking back. She’d let you pet a hand down her hair without any hesitation, and when you climbed onto her saddle, she stood extra still to give you no trouble. 

“Do they have any foals yet?” You ask the trainer on hand. 

“Not yet, but she’s in month eight right now, so you’ll both have to treat each other gently.” 

You give Titus a bright smile as he mounts Azazel, and leans over to give your cheek a kiss. At the same time, you watch as the horses lean their own faces towards each other, nuzzling at each other’s necks. 

“They’re precious,” you coo, patting Lilith’s side. 

“She’s perfect for you,” Titus says. “When the babies are here, we’ll come back so you can really ride her around the land. I hear she’s a real spitfire.” 

“Is that horse trainer code for pain in the ass?” You ask with a smirk. 

Titus winks, then snaps his reins to direct his horse out of the stable. He keeps the pace slow as he leads you and Lilith through the forest path, until you hit a clearing to a long field over some hills. It’s a bright day, warm but not too hot, clouds covering most of the sun, and the grounds look extra green. Titus’s silver hair shines as the sun reflects in it, and you can’t stop thinking about how beautiful he truly is. 

You two ride all the way into the small town, where Titus pays for you to have full privacy in a little pub for lunch. It’s dark and old and the food is amazing, and the owners leave you two in a corner to your own devices until you decide you’re ready to go. 

This happens all the time, Titus and you renting out an entire space for just the two of you, part of the perks of being the richest and most powerful family. The magazines and tabloids have tried to follow you, tried to get some sort of scoop on the most elusive Blue Blooded, Old Money family in America, but Titus buys his way into full privacy. 

Times like now it feels more romantic and overprotective. 

You ride the horses back the same way, as the sun begins to set in the sky, turning everything orange and pink and picturesque. Any worries you have about ex-girlfriends and sleepwalking completely leave your minds. 

Before dinner, you video chat with Penelope, who has been going a little overboard with buying baby presents. She shows you every single designer outfit she’s already collected, from newborn to toddler. 

That night when it’s finally time to sleep, Titus locks the door again, and holds you tight again, but he falls asleep a few hours later when it’s clear you won’t be trying to go anywhere again. 

The sleepwalking doesn’t come back for the next couple days, actually. And Titus accepts that maybe it was just a weird one-time thing. He has the security around the estate reduced so your privacy can return...mostly so he can go back to fucking you by the pool or in the woods without having to worry about the security agents as an unwanted audience. 

+ 

The trip goes by without any other weird incidences for you.  

A doctor comes by to check in before your weekend excursion to London, and everything with the babies is perfectly healthy. Titus makes him do extra tests on you, but everything appears to be normal, so his anxieties finally settle. 

The flat in London is just as beautiful as the country home, if less private, but you imagine none of the neighbors are going to argue with Titus Danforth of all people over his wife being too loud in the throws of wild sex at midnight. 

He takes you to designers’ show rooms during the day, and you buy a whole wardrobe for the babies, as well as maternity clothes for yourself. You even make Titus pick out things for himself, and he’s so adorably annoyed when it’s you who treats him like a doll to dress up for once. 

But secretly you know he loves to be doted on. He loves that he has your attention constantly, loves when you go to fix his hair or his suit jacket, in ways that when Ursula used to do it made him feel like a child, from you it makes him feel loved. From you it’s not about having to put on a show or not embarrass the family, but rather because you want him to look his best for you.  

The same way you love to look your best for him. The same way you love to sneak into a high-end lingerie store while he’s finalizing a new car purchase, just so you can pick out some sets to show off to him later that night. 

And oh boy, he loves the surprise from you after your shower, when you come into the bedroom in nothing but a silk robe, which is promptly dropped to the floor to reveal a gorgeous red lacy set. Titus’s mouth waters at the sight of heart-shaped cut outs around your breasts, and a matching heart over your already dripping pussy. 

His heart feels like it’s beating out of his chest when you climb onto his lap, rounded tummy pressed to his, and you push him down roughly on his back. 

Your voice is low and sultry when you start to whisper about how protective he is, how safe he makes you feel, how he takes such good care of you, and you bite the shell of his ear. Your hand reaches between your bodies to rub at his bulge, and he moans as he kisses your neck, grabs your jaw to keep you still to look right into your eyes. But you slap his hand away before slapping his cheek, and you grab his jaw instead. 

Your fingers carefully free his cock from his boxers, as your wet tongue licks up the side of his face, and you moan in his ear, “Lay back, Daddy.” 

A full body shiver climbs through Titus as he moans and his eyes roll back, cock twitching fully to life in your hand. He does what he’s told, laying back on the bed, eyes still intensely on yours the whole time. Your start to inch of his body, and his eyes widen with sheer excitement as he realizes your destination. 

“Fuck, yeah baby, gonna sit on my face?” Titus says, hands flying up to your thighs. He licks his lips, tilting his chin. “C’mon, Little Lamb, use me.” 

You whimper at the first feeling of his tongue on you, at the hungry groan your husband lets out as you ride his face.  

By the time you’ve come twice on him, and Titus is able to take back control to bring your cunt down on his cock instead, you’re pretty sure the neighbors had to have put noise canceling headphones on. There’s no way they’d be able to sleep through all the cries of pleasure he brings out of you. 

+ 

Getting back from London, in a different car than what you’d left in, feels like coming back home for you. Already your mind and body have adapted to ownership of places you’re barely familiar with that hold the name of your husband’s family.  

It’s nice coming back to the quiet, and for the next week, things continue on peacefully. Titus teaches you how to use every old weapon in the family’s arsenal, you take the horses out a few more times, you spend peaceful afternoons around the pool to escape the hot sun, and you indulge on everything you could possibly want from food to jewels to insatiable sex with your incredibly hot husband. 

It’s just the break from everything you’d needed. Back home, you’re still working with Ursula, still tending to Violet’s garden, still keeping up with responsibilities. But here on this quiet hideaway, Titus treats you like the princess he always refers to you as. 

The fact that the staff of this house are good about actually leaving you two alone, and there is no chance of interruption from Ursula has been incredibly freeing for both of you. 

Back at home, Titus never lets you skinny dip. His whole hang up about people seeing his wife’s naked body gets in the way. 

But here...there really are no prying eyes, so he doesn’t put up a fight when you throw your bikini top at him. He’s trying to read the paper poolside, and it gets completely ruined by your wet suit. Titus isn’t exactly mad though, when he sees your tits, already growing from the babies, wet and welcoming, nipples peaked, as you wade towards him in the water. 

“Come on, Ti, get in here with me,” you call with a pout. “It’s too hot to stay out there all by yourself.” 

He looks like a giddy teenager as he tosses his paper aside and climbs down into the water with a toothy smile. “Aww, my baby, you don’t have to beg.” 

You watch him closely as he climbs in, sun shining on his freckled body. You bite your lip and you feel a warm tightening between your legs, as your eyes follow a line of scars down Titus’s torso. He’s so...thick. Everywhere. All that muscle. You’ve seen his body a million times by now, but something about having him in the sunlight just accentuates every piece of it.  

His body is strong, hard, a wall of warmth when he’s got you under him, or up against a wall, or a tree...wherever he can get you. His body is littered with grey scars from hunts and fights over the years, and fresher ones from you, especially your nails and teeth. His body is...decorated with sprinklings of grey hairs, but that’s the only indication of his age, with the way he takes care of himself he manages to have the body of a much younger man. 

You float up on your back and swim backwards away from him, and Titus follows you through the cooling water, all the way until he has you backed into a corner. The water splashes around you when he grabs you hard by the hips and pulls you into him, and you giggle into the kiss he lays on you. 

Your hands reach between your bodies and under the water, where you make quick work of undoing the tie on his swim trunks, swallowing the vibrations of his moan into your mouth. 

“So fuckin’ needy, Little Lamb,” Titus chuckles, lips tracing down from your mouth to your neck.  

“We gotta enjoy it while we can,” you whine, tossing his trunks out of the pool. You feel his cock under the water, already half hard, and you wrap your hand around him, giving it a few tugs. “You just look so good, want you all the time, Daddy.” 

“You got me whenever you want, Baby,” Titus groans, tongue licking into your mouth as his hips buck into your hand.  

He reaches down and rips your bottoms off, letting them float away as he hoists you onto his lap. Your legs wrap around him as your kiss deepens. Titus’s fingers dip between your folds, and you whimper as he starts to rub circles on your clit. Titus wraps an arm around your back, using it to cushion your body against the side of the pool, as your hips start to roll down against his fingers. 

You pull back from the kiss with a gasp, mouth dropped open as stuttered breaths escape your lips. You look into Titus’s eyes, met with his usual determined hunger, the look at sends excited shivers surging up your spine. Water circles around you from the movement of Titus’s arm, and your eyes fall to the rippling muscle of his bicep, before rolling back in your head. 

“Ti, oh god, Titus I’m—” you gasp, heat pooling in your belly. 

“Yeah, yeah, Baby, come on,” Titus goads you on, leaning down to bite at your neck, heat of his body encasing you. 

Your legs shake and your hips buck as white sears your vision and you cry out his name, splashing water around as you come on his fingers. “Titus! Fuck, oh god, thank you, oh fuck—" pleasure ripples through you, but you’re not done yet, your legs tighten around Titus’s waist. “Fuck me, fuck me, please, Titus!” 

“Fuck, gonna fuck you hard, Baby, don’t know how long I’m gonna last,” Titus grunts, jerking his cock under the water, rubbing the tip up and down your folds. 

“Don’t care, want you inside me now,” you plead, eyes opening wide, wet at the corners with tears. “Just fuck me, Daddy.” 

“Christ,” Titus swears, shoving his cock in you in one go, before grabbing onto the edge of the pool for leverage. “Definitely not gonna last, so fuckin’ tight, baby, so perfect for me, always.” 

Water splashes all around you and out of the pool as Titus fucks you, no thought and all haste. Neither of you are interested in this moment in dragging this out, lost in the spontaneity and heat of the afternoon. No matter how long, every time you and Titus fuck it reassures and reinstates the love and connection between you. It’s spiritual, and beautiful, and fills your heart with pure love. 

You can’t stop the rambling of Titus’s name over and over through your whines and whimpers, which grow louder and louder with each thrust of Titus’s hips. He moves fast but deep, fucking into you hard, cock kissing your cervix. He lifts you more against the side of the pool, just enough to get his mouth on your tits, and he whines from somewhere deep in his throat as his lips wrap around one of your nipples.  

Your head is thrown back and you wrap and hand into his damp hair, breathy moans escaping your lips as he fucks you. The sunlight glistens on your wet skin, birds fly overhead, but the only thing you can feel is your husband all over you. 

And you feel so free. 

You’re distracted enough, isolated enough, that neither you nor Titus notice the pair of dark, rageful eyes staring at you from beyond the trees. 

She’s getting sick of catching you two like this. Her stomach is in envious knots at the sight of his hands on you, his lips and tongue leaving marks on your body, your cries of pleasure from his touch. If there was one thing she could always count on with Titus Danforth, it was to be the best fuck of her life. 

The fact that she’s been out here long enough to watch this little tryst from the start, from the moment your slutty, pathetic, attention seeking, gold digging hands threw your top at him, to now as you scream like some overzealous porn star, only tells Priscilla one thing; 

Titus sent away the security, and you two are finally vulnerable enough.  

Enjoy that sense of security while you can, she thinks with a terrible smirk on her face, as she slips into the darkness of the forest. 

+ 

The moon is full, big and orange in the sky. The stars twinkle around it like little fairy lights. There’s barely a cloud in sight. 

You and Titus are sleeping soundly in bed after a romantic, candlelit dinner and then about an hour of fucking on the dining table and the floor and the stairs on your way back up. 

You only have two more days on this babymoon before it’s time to go home, and Titus doesn’t plan on wasting any second of them. As soon as you’re home it’s back to working and running the world, and Ursula pushing her way into baby prep, and you won’t be only his anymore.  

These couple weeks of just the two of you have been paradise. 

The door to the bedroom has been unlocked for the last couple nights. Titus believed the sleepwalking really wasn’t going to happen again. There was no reason for it to happen in the first place. 

You have been sleeping soundly, especially tonight, tiny breaths on Titus’s neck lulling him into his own peaceful slumber.  

In your dreams, you’re tending to the garden at home, watering the flowers and digging up weeds, rearranging the pots in the greenhouse so your carnivorous babies can get equal sunlight. You’re wearing a red sundress, that rides up to the top of your thighs, and gives a peek of your cheeks when you bend down or reach up high.  

There’s a cool breeze around you as you carry supplies from one end of the garden to the other, and you smile as you spot Titus waiting for you up ahead. 

“Going to actually help me, or just enjoy the view?” You playfully ask. 

Titus answers with a smirk, but there’s something...uncanny in his smile. From far away, it almost looks too wide, too toothy, and you can’t see his eyes behind the shades on his face, but you can tell that the smile isn’t reaching them from the lack of crinkles. 

“How about you take a break a join me over here? Got a surprise for you, Little Lamb.” 

You’re pretty sure you answer verbally but your mouth feels like it’s full of marbles, and the words come out in a gurgle. The smile on Titus’s face doesn’t fade at all, hands reaching out to beckon you to him. 

“Come on, my Baby, this way.”  

Your feet carry you before your mind catches up to the action, and before you know it, you’re placing your hands in his. With a gentle tug, Titus guides you down the path and into the woods. You try to pull him closer, to take his sunglasses off and look in his eyes, to kiss him, but he moves like smoke wisping out of your grasp. 

“Where are we going?” Your voice comes back again, but it sounds distant even from your own lips. 

“Somewhere special,” is his only response, voice warped.  

It causes your smile to fall just slightly, and you hesitate before stepping into the woods. There’s a darkness just beyond the first line of greenery, shadows fading to black nothingness, and all your movement stops. 

Your head starts to hurt, and your neck twitches, as a buzz starts to form in your ears. “W-wait.” 

“Come on, no need to be afraid, Little Lamb. You don’t ever need to be afraid again.” 

His voice is syrupy, low and gravely like usual, but something is just off about it. You try to back up, the tiniest bit of motion away from him, but he yanks you forward.  

With a gasp, you shove Titus away, and you stumble back as he disappears into the darkness of the trees. “N-no, this isn’t right. Y-you're not—” 

“Not what?” Titus’s voice appears right in your ear, breath hot on your skin and it sends a shiver up your spine. You feel hands wrap around your waist, strong, tight, but still wrong in some way. Where Titus normally grabs you tight to connect to you, to make you feel him and his weight, these hands are trapping you, caging you. “It’s alright, Little Lamb, I’m right here.” 

But something in the way his voice warps sets off all alarms in your brain, and you turn with a fist raised, but as you take a swing your hand meets nothing but air. Your feet catch on the ground and you trip in your effort to run away, landing hard on the ground. 

The impact jolts you, and suddenly you’re surrounded by darkness and cold. The light daytime breeze replaced by the wind chill of night, owls hooting and crickets chirping in the sky. 

Your home garden path is replaced by the forest path Titus had led you down the other day, the one that leads to the place his ancestor first met Mr. Le Bail. Your eyes adjust to the lack of light as your chest heaves, breaths coming out hard, sweat forming on your brow in your panic.  

“Wh-what the fuck?” you gasp, head darting around in every direction to try to figure out how you got here. 

It must be the sleepwalking. 

But the doctor said it wouldn’t come up again...Titus said you hadn’t even tried to leave the bed since that night. 

Titus had left the door unlocked. 

You look down at your body, white nightgown glowing under the moonlight, feet bare and already a little cut up from rocks and sticks that you’d stepped on during your journey. Your hand instinctively flies to your stomach at the sound of a twig snapping behind you, and you whip your head around in its direction. 

“Who’s there? What the fuck is going on?” You shout, voice cracking frantically, disoriented. 

Another crack echoes from your side, and you turn to it, breathing deep to stop yourself from hyperventilating. Then another from the right, from behind you, all around, and you turn to each of them, twisting your body around, biting your lip to keep in any panicked sound you might make, heart racing so fast you think it might burst right from your chest. 

“Show yourself!” You scream into the void of trees.  

Everything goes silent for a few moments, until the sudden sound of cold, hollow laughter emerges from behind you. 

You feel the blood drain from your face as a sick knot twists from your stomach and painfully up through your throat. You know that laughter. 

“Good god, little girl, enough of the fuss,” Priscilla’s icy, reedy voice says through her laughter. 

You quickly turn around, backing up as you swallow that knot and replace any hint of fear with anger. “You have got to be kidding me. You’re not supposed to be here!” 

She’s wearing a white gown similar to yours, her long black hair slightly disheveled, black rings under her eyes. There is just the slightest hint of scarring on her cheek from your last encounter. Her smile is crooked and wild, the loss of her sanity shining through it. 

“Hmm, no?” Priscilla mocks. “Why? Because the servants who have loyally worked for my family for decades said I wasn’t? Because they showed your idiotic security an empty house? I mean, they certainly showed them most of the house, but these old mansions have so many hidden passageways, it’s very easy to get confused and miss things.” 

You suck in a breath, eyes widening just slightly. When you get back to Titus, you’ll have to tell him to add that head of security to the list of future sacrifices.  

“Doesn’t matter, I was being nice before when I fucked up just your face last time,” you spit, fist clenching at your side. “Come any closer and I’ll make good on my promise to fucking kill you, I swear—" 

A flicker of light at Priscilla’s side catches your eye, derailing your train of thought. Her smile only widens, sharp teeth glowing pearly white, as she lifts a long knife with a bejeweled handle up.  

In an instant, Priscilla catches up to you, pressing the sharp point of the blade into your chest. “Did you think I’d lure you out here without being prepared for you? You’re a fucking savage monster who caught me off guard last time, but you’re not the only one who can fight.” 

“L-lure me?”  

Priscilla laughs again, loud and maniacal, shooting dread up your spine. 

“Darling, you live in a world of Satan worshipping and rituals, and you never considered other dark magic might be out there? Sleepwalking hexes are so easy to put together.” 

She twists the knife as she steps closer, not pressing hard enough to break your skin, but it doesn’t stop the bile from forming in your throat. You know the Danforth’s have all kinds of ritual books and grimoires in their collections, and you curse yourself for not looking further into them before.  

She’s got you cornered, but you’ll be further damned if you let Priscilla sense your fear.  

“Doesn’t matter, Titus will notice I’m gone any minute, and he’ll—” 

“Come save you?” Priscilla says, cutting you off. She grabs you by the shoulder, dipping the knife down to your stomach as her boney hand digs into your skin. The knife is pressed right to the middle of your bump, and you flash back to that nightmare, to Priscilla plunging it into your womb, and you freeze. “That’s what I’m counting on, little girl.” 

+ 

The sudden sound of his phone ringing lurches Titus out of his slumber and the very first thing he notices is that you are missing. 

His arm reaches out to your side of the bed, frantically feeling around but coming up with nothing, and his body sits upright in an instant. 

He shakes himself out of his confusion, rubbing sleep from his eyes as his phone continues to ring from the bedside table. 

Unknown number. 

“Hello?” Titus grumbles, voice raw from waking up. 

“Ti?” 

“Baby?” All feelings of sleep drain completely from him, and the hot, liquid feeling of dread seeping up his throat replaces it. “Baby, what’s going on? Where are you?” 

“I-I’m at the place... Le Bail’s clearing.” 

He’s already on his feet, throwing on his sweatpants and white undershirt, “What are you doing out there, sweet girl?” 

His voice is far too gentle, far too even, but the hair standing up on the back of his neck, and the bumps overtaking his body tell him something is deeply, terribly wrong, and he has to remain calm. 

Titus rushes to the duffle bag he’s kept on the other end of the room, one hand pressing the phone to his ear, while the other rummages through. He grabs his gun, shoving it in the back of his pants, and a long, serrated hunting knife. 

“S-sleepwalking again—”  

“Fuck’s sake, you’re taking forever! Tell him to get his sorry ass out here!” 

Titus freezes, face going pale. He’d know that frigid voice anywhere, been on the receiving end of that ire many times. “Is that?” 

“Yes,” you cut off quickly, a shake in your voice.  

He swallows. She must be threatening you for you to sound so scared. His girl doesn’t scare easy, not at all actually. “Did she hurt you? The babies?” 

“We’re okay for now. But you need to meet us here—" 

“Fucking hell, give me that,” there’s a rustling on the other end of the phone, and Titus winces when he hears the sound of something thudding against skin, and your soft groan of pain. “Titus, Darling, we need to talk, now, or I’m going to carve your little bastard spawn from your whore’s belly and feed them all to the wolves.” 

“Priscilla if you lay a hand on her—" 

“Already have, idiot. Her pretty face just took a nice hit, not nearly close to what the little monster did to me, of course.” 

“Priscilla, I swear on all the fires of hell, if anything else happens to her, I’m going to make you regret it.” 

“Promise?” She mocks. “Don’t take too long, I’ve got a newly sharpened blade just begging to rip into Mrs. Danforth’s skin. Ta ta!” 

Titus yells through the clicking of the phone. He grips the knife tight in his hand as he darts down the stairs, not bothering with socks or shoes.  

His heart pounds as he runs into the dark of the night, the black void of the trees. He hasn’t felt this helpless since the night of your hunt, when he desperately chased after your path of carnage throughout the resort grounds. Just like then, all his thoughts are consumed by his need to get to you, to protect you. 

+ 

Your hand cradles your cheek, a slight bruise already forming from where Priscilla had punched you when she snatched the phone. You still look at her with a dark scowl. “He’s not coming unarmed, you know.” 

Priscilla clicks her tongue and traces the knife up and down your belly. “I don’t care. I’ve got the advantage no matter what, little girl,” she says as she slinks around your body, keeping the blade pressed against you. Her cold hand wraps around the back of your neck, as she secures her position behind you, and she yanks your neck back. “Just feel lucky I’d rather he watch while I gut you, or you and those things growing inside you would already be food for rats.” 

Your breath hitches, but it’s not panic that runs through your veins. No, the adrenaline of a fight is surging through you, fusing with your blood cells as your mind races for a way out of her grip. You’re not some helpless thing, and you will not let this pathetic hag outsmart you.  

If it weren’t for the babies, you’d already be risking a piece of your body against her blade. It wouldn’t be the first time you endured the highest pain, and you doubt she’d be anywhere worse than the Le Domas’s. But your hand stays firmly on your belly, where you can feel the softest fluttering under your skin. 

You take in a deep breath, anything to keep your heartbeat even, so they don’t feel the danger you’ve walked them into. You can only hope Titus gets here soon to give Priscilla a good distraction. 

+ 

Titus’s heart is racing, hot and big, thumping so hard in his chest it feels like it’s going to burst right out. His feet sting from the cuts he gets running over rocks and sticks, but he stamps down the feeling, not allowing himself to register it. The only pain that matters is the sting in his heart, the sick bile that burns his throat, as he runs to you. 

His vision is in a tunnel, zeroed in on the path he’s walked hundreds of times in his life, the one that goes to where all of this began for his family. The place that used to bring him so much proud and truly connect him to his family’s power, now feels like a distant grave, haunting and heavy as he gets closer. 

A beam of light shines down from where it reflects off the moon, and just ahead Titus can see the clearing, like a twisted version of his recurring childhood dream. Your laughter isn’t waiting for him beyond the trees, just dead silence. 

He slows down his steps and raises his gun, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. He takes smooth, methodical steps as he approaches, readying himself for anything he could find. 

The first thing he sees is you, beautiful in your white gown under the moonlight, fingers tapping your tummy, almost angelic in the way you glow. The light catches through the fabric, and he can see your bare body underneath, wishing more than anything this was just a romantic moment for the two of you. But there is a fire in your eyes, a caged smolder as your lip is bitten between your teeth, face scrunched in anger and frustration.  

You’re holding back, Titus knows, because his girl would never back down from a fight so easily. 

Priscilla is behind you, hand around your neck and knife firmly pressed to your stomach, using your body as a human shield. Titus swallows a lump as the two of you make eye contact, your brows raising just slightly in relief that he’s here. 

“Oh, Titus, so nice of you to join us,” Priscilla says, licking her lips. “I was beginning to think you finally came to your senses and realized the little thing was too much trouble.” 

You scoff. “You haven’t begun to see trouble—" 

“Shut it!” Priscilla hisses, squeezing down on your neck. “You stupid—" 

“Hey!” Titus barks, clicking the safety off his gun. “Enough! Priscilla you’ve gone too fucking far, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” 

Something in her face cracks, every muscle twitching at once, and Titus has never seen her like this. She’s completely deranged, gone completely mad, and when she speaks it's with an uneasy whine. “I’m taking what should be mine! You were supposed to be mine!” 

Titus keeps his gun up, and his eyes quickly dart to you as you both share a look of understanding. There isn’t going to be any reasoning with her. Your body starts to buzz, the need inside to tear apart begins to wake up, that gnawing voice in your mind that wants to kill starts to sing. But the knife is still at your belly, and even though you can’t actually read his mind, you know Titus wants you to wait until he can open an opportunity for you to attack. 

“You’re doing all this for my attention? To get me back?” Titus asks, voice softer than he’d ever thought possible. At least, he’s never spoken this softly for anyone but you. 

“Yes,” she whines again, nails digging into your throat, but she’s not blocking your airway. “I-I’m sorry, Titus, I should have never let you go. Nobody is more perfect for me than you, and I was made for you. I always did everything you wanted, Ti, you remember? The amount of times I let you mutilate and defile my body, and I always wanted more, always gave in to your appetites.” 

You watch as your husband’s jaw clicks, and your lips quiver into a frown. You know those appetites well, you’ve fed into them so many times, and craved them for your own body. You know he’d certainly tried to unleash his most sadistic fantasies completely on her, but he’d told you he could tell she wasn’t as into it. Not the way you are, his perfect, sick match. 

“I can do all of that again, whatever you want. You want to tie me up in the ropes? You want to hit me with a paddle until I bleed? Choke me?” her voice drops in a tone more desperately seductive with each suggestion. “I’ll pet your hair while you suck on my tits and call me mommy. Or I’ll let you fuck me in the ass and call you Daddy, whatever. I just want you back. I want that life back!” 

“And you thought this was the way?” Titus asks, doing his best to put on an air of pity to disguise the disgust he feels at her words. Sure, there was a time where her promising all of those things would have made him putty in her hands, but not anymore. Not when he has you. 

You wish you could laugh at how easily she’s falling for his act.  

“O-of course,” Priscilla sniffs, hands starting to shake. Her grip on you loosens subtly, and you know your chance to break away is coming soon. “I-I know you, Titus. I know your soul. I know what you need. You want someone who could be worthy of Mr. Le Bail? Someone who would do what needs to be done? That was always me.” 

“Cill,” Titus coos, taking a step toward her. He pauses, then continues when she doesn’t try to back away this time. He looks to you for a moment, a pain flashing in his eyes at what he has to do, and your chest burns seeing him be gentle with someone else, especially her. “I know that. I know all of that.” 

Priscilla gasps, lip wobbling as she pouts, “Th-then why...why are you bothering with her?” 

Titus clicks his tongue, stepping into both your spaces. The hand that’s not on his gun subtly brushes your stomach, a movement so small Priscilla doesn’t catch it. She stands up straighter, looking up at Titus with wide eyes as he stands right in front of you. 

“You know how I like to play my games, Cill,” Titus says. “Are you going to tell me you really forgot how I love to torture the mind just as much as the body? Look at you, look at how badly you want me, what lows you’ve stooped to, to get me.” 

His face is so close, but his attention is all on her behind you, as he raises his gun and holds the barrel of it right to your head. A tear runs down her cheek as she sobs, “You’re so cruel to let it go on this long.” 

“I know, Sweetheart, but it’s time to finish this, don‘t you think?” Titus whispers, and for just a split second, you can see a flash of revulsion in his eyes, before he dips his face down and presses a kiss to her lips.  

She finally drops her hold on your neck. 

At the same time, he carefully brings your hand to his pocket, where you feel the hard metal handle of his knife. That’s your signal. 

You scream as you swing at her, and Titus drops his gun to back away with his hands up, smirking as he watches you nail her right in the face. Priscilla cries out in pain and lifts her knife to try to cut you in any way that she can, but you manage to dodge it in time, kicking the knife from her hand.  

The force of it knocks her further to the ground, and you jam the heel of your foot onto her hand for good measure, crushing the bones with a delicious crunch. 

“Ahh! You fucking bitch!” Priscilla screams in agony, broken hand clutched close to her chest.  

She tries to go for the knife again, but you kick it away from her, turning to grab Titus’s from his pocket instead. She tries to get up in the one moment you take your eyes off her, but you’re back in time to hit the hilt of the knife onto her forehead, jamming it onto her skull several times while she falls to the ground, moaning and crying. 

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” You spit down at her, grabbing her by the shoulders to yank her body off the ground.  

“I deserve the life you’re living! I put all that fucking time in! You just walk in some broke, no-name, no-life, pathetic loser orphan, and think you get to be handed it?” Priscilla cries, the tears mixing with blood as they trail down her cheeks, and a huge gash oozes from her forehead. “Titus, baby, please, look at what she’s doing. She’s a fucking animal. You can’t bring children into the world with someone like—" 

“SHUT UP!” You scream at her, punching her in the face, breaking her nose. The metallic smell of the blood has you licking your lips. “Do you know what I’ve done to earn my place? How many people I’ve killed?” 

She tries to look behind you, to plead with Titus again, but he only stares hungrily at you. She knows that look, the ravenous, desperate starvation he would get when he had her tied up and seconds away from defiling her body in ways she’d only let someone of Titus Danforth’s status perform. 

The things she let him do, only to lose out on all the power in the world to you. 

And now he looks at you like that, the hunger coming from anticipation of violent acts you’re going to perform.  

Still, she tries. “Titus!” 

Desperation drips from her cries, but when he finally looks at her again, it’s with an emptiness of feeling. His eyes are indifferent to her, like she’s some object in the way of his goal. Like she’s a rotten fruit he has to waste time throwing in the trash. He wipes the taste of her from his lips with the back of his hand. 

You’re tired of her looking at him like she has any entitlement to his soul. You own that soul, signed in blood. 

You grab her by the jaw and force her to look at you, nails digging into her skin until it breaks, and the blood stains under your nails. “I told you, if you ever tried to destroy my family again, I would fucking kill you.” 

Her eyes go wide, and she opens her mouth like she’s about to say something, as if there were any more arguments she could make that would actually convince you to spare her life. 

All the wind is knocked out of her when you plunge Titus’s knife into her chest. A bright splatter of red flies through the air as you rip it from her, and her mouth drops open in a shocked, silent scream. 

Time freezes, for just a moment. You stare into her terrified eyes, your heart beating so loud it’s the only sound in your ears, and you feel your body fill with a sick sense of strength. That fiery need to act, to attack until your limbs give out takes over. You felt it the first time you’d smashed Mrs. Le Domas’s head in with that stupid game box. 

Senses flood back into real time, and you enter a trance as you raise the knife and lower it into her again. 

You stab her over and over, eyes never leaving hers, blood flying all over your white nightgown, your face. You can feel the muscles of your cheeks twist and contort into a smile, and you hear yourself start to laugh, as the light fades from Priscilla. 

Her body falls to the ground, lifeless and pale from loss of blood, the sound it makes it heavy as it lands. There’s probably about a hundred stab wounds from her chest to her lower belly, and this time you didn’t black out. You felt and saw every single one of them.  

Behind you, Titus is absolutely rocked. His mouth is dropped open from heaving breaths, eyes blacked out, hands sweaty and twitching from the need to touch, to grab.  

His eyes trail down from you to Priscilla’s body. Her eyes are blank, mouth opened in a scream, but completely baren. Her soul has already been ripped to hell, and he wonders if Mr. Le Bail smiled when he took it. 

Titus remembers a moment they had very early in their...entanglement. He wasn’t sure at the time what they were, nor what he truly wanted from her, and he’d asked if she could love someone like him. 

Priscilla had laughed. 

“People like us don’t have any use for love.” 

That was when he’d cut off any chance of trying to feel something for her. Their time became transactional almost, because she was one of the very few who could scratch an itch with him and come back for more. He knew why she would, he knew it was because she thought one day she’d sit next to him at the top of the world. 

How wrong she was. 

He looks back at you, the woman who loves him. The woman who is bringing his children into the world. 

The woman who gives it to him just as good as he gives it to her. 

Yes, Titus has great use for love. 

You’re covered in blood, drenched in it so much that most of your white gown is stained pink. And you’re fuming, chest rising and falling quickly with deep, loud breaths, eyes looking wide and angry and wild. 

Without a second thought, Titus practically floats over to you, caught in your trance as he takes you in his arms and kisses you. 

You drop the knife and wrap yourself around him, whining into the kiss, eyes closed desperately tight. Priscilla’s blood coats Titus’s skin as you run your hands all around him, clawing your way to ripping his shirt off, so you can scratch down his chest.  

He tastes that same blood on your lips in your kiss, and he resists the urge to lick up your face, clean you with his tongue. His lips trace down your neck, biting and moaning, reclaiming your skin, as you push your body flush up against his warmth, as though you could fuse to him. His cock is hard against your tummy and it sends an aroused thrill right to your core. 

“Oh, my terrible little Lamb, my baby,” Titus whimpers pitifully, as he yanks down the straps of your nightgown, freeing your blood covered breasts. Your nipples are peaked from the cold air, and he looks at you with wide eyes, mouth dropped open and drooling from his need to latch onto them. “Such a fucking monster, so strong and so fucking sexy. Need you so bad, wanna fuck you hard.” 

He tears down the dress the rest of the way, and it pools at your feet to reveal the rest of your naked body into the moonlight. Titus licks his lips at the sight of the glistening between your legs, the act of the kill has you dripping.  

Before he can get his mouth where he really wants it, you grab onto his jaw hard, enough that your fingernails leave crescent shaped indents in his freckled skin. You force his face back, make him look at you, and he yields his control as you slap him on the cheek, the crack echoes loud through the night. 

“You want to fuck me, Daddy?” You sneer at him meanly, grabbing his face again.  

He nods his head and whimpers again, dick twitching in his pants. “Yes, baby, want to so bad.” 

“Show me,” you say, voice low, seductive, pulling him closer to you. Your hands snakes around to the back of his neck, and you bring him in for another violent, biting kiss. It’s messy and wet and you don’t know who’s more desperately needy in their moans, but Titus dips his tongue into your mouth and you suck the mixture of blood from it willingly. Your grip moves to his shoulders and you push him back with both hands, eyes blown dark and wild. “Get on your knees.” 

Titus smiles wide, white teeth shining like blood covered fangs as he drops to the ground, arms out and ready for your instruction. You think about the things Priscilla had offered to him, the ways she’d let him use her. All you think about is how you’ve done each of those, not just for his pleasure to appease him, but because they are all things that make you feel worshipped. 

That’s all you want right now, a reminder that he is obsessed with you above all else, even the devil himself. 

“I hated seeing you kiss her,” you say, pouting as your hand grazes down his cheek. “I know you had to, but you need to show me how you love me. Show me how you worship me.” 

Titus already knows the way to show you, as he grabs you by the back of your legs and brings your body to him, kissing along the small swell of your belly. His fingers dip between your legs, and he moans at feeling of your slick seeping around his fingers. He takes a moment to rub the tips of those fingers along seam of your pussy, before dipping them between to slide into your entrance. 

You moan, high and sudden at the way the fill you, so thick, and your mouth drops open. He’s looking up at you, eyes sparkling from the stars in them, lips pressed to your belly, fucking you slowly.  

“I’ll worship you, my love,” Titus whispers, nuzzling his cheek to your skin. He lifts one of your thighs over his shoulder, and you grip into his silver curls for balance. “As long as I get to fuck you, but I already worship you for all time.” 

"Make me come on your tongue the way I like,” you whine, “and you can fuck me as hard as you wish, any way you want. Be good for me, Daddy.” 

And with a hungry grunt he’s on you. His fingers start to fuck into you hard and fast, curling up to that spot that drives you crazy, as his tongue dips between your lips to lick circles around your clit. 

His moans are ravenous and low, vibrating into your pussy as he eats like a man starved. Eyes closed and lost in it, drowning in your juices as he works little whines and mewls from your lips. He uses all his strength to hold you up, as your balance starts to falter, while your head falls back and you roll your hips into his mouth, chasing that growing feeling of pleasure that pools in your belly. 

“Fuck, oh fuck, that’s it Titus,” you moan, mouth dropped open, breath coming out in little catches. “Yeah, Daddy, just like that.” 

Your legs start to wobble and your moans quickly shift into high pitched whines, chest rising and falling. Your fingers press harder into his hair, keeping him against you as he alternates between sucking on your clit, and rubbing with his thumb so his tongue can dip inside your pussy to drink you up like nectar.  

His hand that grips your thigh is already leaving bruises, stained from Priscilla’s blood that covers both your bodies. He holds you tight to keep you up when there’s a turn in your breathing, and you let out a loud cry of his name into the night.  

“Fuck, fuck, just like that, good boy,” you moan, as your pussy clenches around his fingers, and gush down his hand. 

You quickly lose your balance, and collapse down onto his lap, legs on either side of him, where he easily catches you into another kiss. Your heart races, hands grabbing his cheeks, and you lick your slick from his mouth, the mixture with blood sweet on your tongue. 

Below, you can feel Titus’s cock hard, twitching and aching to be buried inside your tight cunt. He’s holding you so hard by the hips, subtly moving you back and forth on his lap as the two of you make out on the cold ground.  

“Baby, little lamb, so fucking good for me, all fucking mine,” he grunts into your mouth, voice cracking on almost every word from how desperate he’s grown. “Lemme fuck you, please.” 

“Yeah, Ti, were so good for me, fuck me like you want.” 

His muscles ripple as he quickly maneuvers you onto your back in the dirt, while he holds your wrists down with one hand. He doesn’t bother taking his pants off all the way, just shoves them down enough to get his cock out. 

You scream out as he guides himself into your warm cunt into one hard thrust, smiling as he starts to fuck you roughly, no frills. He throws one of your legs over his shoulder as the other wraps around his waist, thrusting his hips in and out of you at a brutal pace.  

He’s holding your wrists down above your head with both hands now, looking down at you with a dark, voracious intensity. “Look how deep you take me, Little Lamb. Pretty pussy just made to be ruined by me.” 

“Yeah, Daddy,” you moan, fingers clawing at the ground below where they’re trapped. Your back arches up to him, and you can feel where the nature has scratched you up. 

Titus lets out a long groan, eyes shutting as he tries to hold back from coming too soon, “Fuck, baby, c-can’t call me that, want this to last, shit. Doin’ so good for me.”  

You smirk, but you hold to his request, also not wanting the moment to end too soon. It’s been so long since you’ve really been able to unleash on each other, and even now you can feel him holding back for the sake of the babies.  

Still, the snarling and the growling and the moaning the mixes with the slap of his skin against you, the screams you release, and you know you must sound like animals. 

Titus finally lets go of your wrists and you tug him down into a kiss, tugging hard at his curls as your pussy clenches around him. His hands are everywhere now, painting even more of your body in blood and bruises, covering you in his touch, erasing any sense of someone else on your skin.  

"All mine, all fucking mine,” Titus repeats, whining frantically like he’s trying to remind himself more than you. He can’t shake the feeling of almost losing you again. His need to claim and to feel you, to keep you close and tangible, to make sure you both know that you’re still here, you’re always his. 

His head dips down to your chest and he bites at your tits, sucking on your pert nipples, moaning and whimpering around them, while you beg him to fuck you harder.  

“Say it, Little Lamb, say you’re mine,” Titus begs pathetically, sitting up to look at you. 

You whine at the loss of his heat, and you bite your lip as your eyes go wide, nails scratching hard down his chest. You cover the angry marks from earlier with fresh lines, and roll your hips down into him, pussy pulsing from need. 

Titus grabs you by the neck, stilling your movements in an instant as his own slow down. He fucks into you with slower, harder thrusts, cock hitting deep, and forcing the air from your lungs. “Tell me, Little Lamb. You already know I worship you. You know my soul is owned by you, nobody else, my sweet girl.” 

His hand squeezes down for a second, and your head goes a little hazy as you smile. You hope his handprint is able to stay till the morning.  

When he releases, you gasp for breath and choke, but your eyes are filled with a wild joy as you whimper, “’m all yours, Titus. My soul is yours, my body is yours, it’s all for you. Please, come inside me, fill this pussy, it’s all for you.” 

“Shit,” his eyes roll back and he goes back to his rough pace, body collapsing on yours again. He can feel it building, that ball of pleasure that starts in his heart and climbs down, and he kisses you through it. “That’s it, Little Lamb, that’s right. My girl, come for me, my good girl.” 

He brings a hand between your legs and rubs your clit, cock twitching inside you, body begging for release. 

An entire night’s worth of adrenaline hits you all at once, white hot pleasure sparks through every nerve ending, and you let out a scream of his name again, back arching up into him, so you can feel his entire being consume you all over.  

“Titus! Fuck!” your pussy clenches down hard, gushing around him as you come again.  

You’re alive, truly alive, no matter what anyone has tried to do to you, tonight or all the nights before, and you feel it all the most right now, with your husband’s cock deep inside.  

And Titus feels it too, biting down on your neck and crying, tears falling as his cock releases inside you. “Shit, baby, god you feel so fucking good.” 

Both of you shake through it, coming down slowly as pleasure runs through both of your veins, energy passing between each other. Titus’s hand wanders down from your breast to your stomach, where his fingers spread possessively on the bump. You both take in deep breaths, as your hand joins on top of his, thumb running circles on his skin.  

You kiss his cheek, drinking up the tears that fall. “Oh, my love, I’m still here.” 

“Could have lost you, I’m a fucking idiot,” Titus mumbles, voice shaking like he’s a second away from sobbing. “Don’t know what I’d do with out you in this world. Can hardly remember who I was before.” 

“I know,” you say, because you understand. Too often you have felt exactly the same. “But you haven’t lost me. You came for me, for us.” 

You press down on his hand to make your point, and you feel his gasp on your neck when your tummy flutters under his touch. His babies, all three of you, are right where they are meant to be, here with him. 

You lay together quietly for a few more minutes, your hands petting through his hair to calm him, his fingers tracing shapes on your tummy, until the bodily fluids that have covered both of you finally start to feel foul. Titus pulls out slowly, licking his lips at the sight of him leaking out of your cunt, one of his favorites to watch for as long as he can. 

But quickly you tell him to get you into a bath, and who is he to argue with you after all he’s put you through? 

He doesn’t bother to try to redress you, the dress will have to be burned anywhere, so he just stands up and scoops you up into his arms. He holds you like a new bride as you wrap your arms around his neck and kiss his cheek, before he begins to make the trek back through the woods toward the estate.  

For just a moment, you turn back, looking at the place where his family’s legacy began, and where yours could have ended. Well, if that bitch had been just a little smarter. 

Priscilla’s body lies cold, vacant eyes staring off into space in your direction, and you scrunch your nose in disgust at the sight of her.  

“What do we do with that?” You ask, tapping on Titus’s shoulder. 

You feel him shrug as he carries you up the path. “Leave it. The wolves will consume her, and our people will clean up what’s left in the morning.” 

You plant a satisfied kiss to his cheek, finally relaxing in his arms. “So, do you think there will be any other family members or ex-girlfriends that will try to kill me, or are we finally done with all that shit?” 

Titus snorts. “Baby, you know there’s always going to be family to contend with, but I promise she’s the only psycho ex I have. Not that you couldn’t handle them anyway.” 

“You’re hiding them so you get to watch me kill them again, aren’t you?” you ask with a suspicious frown, eyes squinted.” 

“Ha!” Titus laughs, shaking his head. “Little Lamb, I promise I would not let you get into the this situation again, no matter how fucking hot it is when you kill someone for me.” 

You roll your eyes, but nuzzle closer to his neck anyway. “Seriously Ti, I thought I was done fighting. We’re about to have children, I can’t go through this again.” 

And a sick, guilty coil forms in Titus’s stomach. “I know, and I know I promised you wouldn’t have to fight again, but I mean it this time. You’ve really proven yourself enough. No more games to play.” 

There’s an air on hurt and pain in his voice that makes you believe him. You know he doesn’t actually want to see you in danger, no matter how much you can handle it. You’re the gift brought to Titus Danforth by Mr. Le Bail, the Devil himself. You’re something just as precious as you are dangerous. 

A monster whose heart was designed to match his. 

+ 

+ 

+ 

Four Years Later. 

The sun is shining down on the garden, warm and orange from the afternoon, while butterflies flutter around the new blooms. A soft breeze whisps through the grass, creating a gentle shaking sound from the blades. It’s a perfectly peaceful, quiet day. 

At least, it would be quiet if it weren’t for the pair of screaming, laughing toddlers running through the grounds while their father chases them. 

“Ahhhh! Daddy no!” a little voice screeches happily into the air, as she attempts to escape the strong arms of Titus scooping her up and tossing her into the air.  

“Gotcha!” Titus shouts back, cackling wildly. 

It’s quickly followed by the sound of high-pitched laughter, and you lower the book you’ve been reading to find your husband twirling your daughter around in the air, as she giggles so hard her face turns pink. Her red hair, pulled into pigtail braids that curl at the end, is starting to come undone, and you’re pretty sure you can see little twigs and leaves stuck in the strands. 

“What are you doing?” You ask with an amused shake of your head.  

“Daddy chased us through the bushes!” Your boy piped up as he runs up to Titus with a big smile, tugging on his pants leg. 

“Mhm, even though we have a very important and fancy lunch to go to in an hour?” You ask, but it's more of a very stern reminder statement.  

Titus cringes, looking at the mess he made of his daughter’s hair, and he carefully puts her back on the ground. He kneels down with her to straighten out her little navy dress, gives her a kiss on the cheek, then sends her over to you to get fixed up. 

She walks over with her head hung low, arms behind her back, and apologetic pout as she climbs into your lap. “Sorry, Mommy, but It's all Daddy’s fault.” 

Titus makes a soft, offended sound that you ignore, and you give her a soft smile as you start to pick the nature out of her hair. “Oh, I don’t doubt that, Daddy is very naughty.” 

“Hm,” Titus scoffs again, but when you make eye contact he simply smirks, as though to point out you’ve never complained about his naughtiness before. “Yes, because you’re always on your best behavior. Should I remind you about two weeks ago when you got them to play that prank on me during a work call?” 

You smirk at the memory of dressing the twins up in creepy masks you found in the attack, and having them run at Titus with fake knives. In your defense, he’d been working nonstop, and nothing you were doing could distract him from it, so sadly, yes, you did have to use the kids. Ultimately, he found it to be completely hilarious, even if he spanked your ass raw that night in revenge. 

Dahlia Violet and Prescott Chester Danforth were born just after midnight, the morning of Halloween. It was dark and stormy, lightning striking through the sky when you gave birth in one of the lavish baths of the Danforth Estate. Absolutely the perfectly way to bring your twins into the world.  

They both came out crying, with striking red hair and big eyes, and both instantly calmed as soon as they were passed into their father’s arms. You’ll never forget the look on Titus’s face, the awe and wonder that someone like him could make two tiny things so beautiful. He’d been filled with the instant love he hadn’t felt since the first moment he saw you. 

Even with time passing, his love for them hasn’t changed. Many a critic in your lives, the people who always misunderstand Titus, have said that his interest in all of this would pass. Titus Danforth can never be held down by a family, he’s too wild. 

They simply don’t get it. They may know he has a monstrous side, but they do not know his heart. 

You see his heart as Prescot reaches his hands up with a small, face-scrunching frown, and Titus pulls him up into his arms. Your boy has always been the more quiet one, not sensitive, but smart and inquisitive, always watching and studying any situation. He knows how to express anything he feels, very directly, and Titus has joked that he’s just like you and Ursula. 

“You shouldn’t make Mommy mad,” Prescott says, pressing his little face into Titus’ cheek. 

“Yeah?” Titus asks with a soft laugh. “Why’s that?” 

Prescot shrugs. “Because she’s in charge.” 

You snort at the same time that Titus lets out a raucous laugh and kisses his son’s cheek. “Smart boy, but what about me? You want to make me mad?” 

“Daddy, you’re never mad!” Prescott proclaims. 

Again, you can’t stop the snort that comes out, and you bite your lip to not laugh any louder. 

Titus shakes his head at you as he walks over to the little patio area, and he sets Prescott down carefully in one of the seats. He straightens out the boy’s blazer jacket, and tips his face up to look at him. “I’m never mad at Mommy, or Dolly, and I am never mad at you, sweet boy. No matter what. Unless we get so messy we’re late to Mommy’s lunch.” 

“You’re also going to make us late to stay with Auntie Ursula!” Dahlia whines.  

Where Prescott stops at being calm and collected, Dahlia takes after her father, a little girl of action. She’s always buzzing to do things, to find new adventures, and to get into trouble. Spending a long weekend away in the city with just Ursula is exactly the kind of adventure she’s been needing. 

“That excited to get away from us, Dolly?” Titus asks with a faux pout. “My little princess trying to escape the castle.” 

“Auntie Ursula said her house is on top of the world!” Dahlia exclaims, clapping her little hands together. “But I’ll still miss you, Daddy!” 

As soon as you release her hair, she hops off the seat and runs over to snatch her brother away from Titus, and you both smile as you watch them run, shouting something about racing to the town car. 

Your heart has never been so full. 

Titus comes over to help you up, and you pull him in for a quick kiss, enjoying the brief moment where the twins won’t interrupt you. You pull away to rub the lipstick from him, and his crinkly eyes never leave yours. He’s only gotten more handsome with age, still in that same shape you met him, still covered in freckles, with the same silver hair, only a hint of age from the last few years you’ve known him. 

“Excited for a weekend all to ourselves?” he asks, wrapping your arm around his to walk you to the car. “Not that I won’t miss them.” 

“No of course, I’m going to miss them every second,” you say. Still out of earshot of the twins, you stand up on your tip toes to whisper into Titus’s ear, licking the shell and tugging on the lobe, “You'll have to come up with some pretty big distractions for me.” 

He cocks his brow at you and smirks. “Little Lamb, you have no idea what you’re in for.” 

Before you can tease each other more over the promise of your first child free weekend in so long, the anticipation of being able to dabble in your old ways of running through the woods like animals heat, Titus is off to scoop the twins up again. 

He gives you a sly wink over his shoulder, shouting, “Love you, my baby!” 

“Yeah, yeah, love you too,” you say with an amused shake of your head. And you can’t help but smile as you watch the three of them together, still a little in disbelief that this is your life. 

Off in the distance, in the shadows of the tree line, your eyes catch sight of the shadow of a man. He smiles at you and gives you a nod, before disappearing with a whisp of leaves in the breeze. 

For a moment you pause, then still looking at where you could have sworn he just stood, you smile, and nod back. 

FIN. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Gator thought that some things might change with you moving in with him, but he definitely didn't expect it to affect him in any way.

Even before you fully moved in, his already small apartment had started to rapidly fill up with your things. At first, it was just the basics: shampoo and hair conditioner on the shower shelf, a couple of books you brought so you wouldn't get bored if he got called into the police station, an old lipstick and a powder compact so you could quickly fix your makeup if needed.

But now you live with him, and your presence is everywhere.

It becomes noticeable from the very first week.

Morning. It's almost strange that you're working today while he is on shift at night. Gator stands in the middle of the bathroom, holding a bottle of shampoo that smells like ripe raspberries, and stares at his old shampoo with its half-peeled-off "2-in-1 for hair and body" label, feeling a little betrayed. It has been pushed to the farthest corner of the shelf, like some outcast in a kingdom of beauty, a criminal exiled for being almighty. Well, what's wrong with that? The last thing he needs is to buy a bunch of separate products for every part of his body. He is perfectly fine with slathering that stuff on, rinsing it off, and smelling like menthol and eucalyptus until his next shower. Simple, no fuss.

He steps out of the bathroom and notices your slippers in the hallway. They're woolly and pink, looking like giant paws. He tried to stick his foot into them once, thinking they were big enough, while you squealed that he'd stretch them out. As you can see, they're perfectly fine. You were rushing, you're always afraid you're running late, and yet you always end up arriving early. You left a little chaos behind, but Gator doesn't mind – he's already made peace with it. He steps over the slippers, then turns around, picks them up, and sets them by the wall so no one stumbles.

The changes in the kitchen have been quite the revelation too. Now he doesn't just make himself coffee in the morning: he asks you what you want to drink. Gator remembers that you always ask for tea. You even placed a tea organizer next to the electric kettle! Where you carefully stashed his lone box of black tea, which has more dust and tea crumbs in it than actual leaves and flowers.

Gator opens the fridge in search of a quick breakfast (he doesn't say that he actually likes the yogurts too, but you notice when they disappear and silently buy a few extra each time) and sees a container with a sticky note attached.

"Some for you too. Eat it before evening. If you lied about liking strawberries, you'll have to like them now. Kiss you."

With you, Gator started eating much better. He never bought fruit for himself, never made salads, and his snacks at work were dried meat and soda. He still remembers how dumbly he stared at you when you shoved a container of food at him to take with him.

Besides, no one had ever cut fruit for him before.

Gator opens the container with sliced strawberries and kiwis inside. He smirks at the thought that it's just like you and him. You're sweet, and everyone loves you, like strawberry. And he's unappealing and an acquired taste, but inside, not so bad. Probably.

Gator is grateful that you don't change things radically, just improve them, leaving what he already had.

You fill all the free space that was actually just empty because Gator had nothing to put there. And honestly, he even felt a little joyless looking at the surfaces and shelves that only held a layer of dust. But that problem is solved. On the sofa lies a glossy magazine, and Gator will definitely investigate what you circled with a marker in the cosmetics section. Your cardigan with golden flower-shaped buttons is draped over the back of a chair. And on the coffee table is a box with a set of hairpins, but only two are left because you have lost the rest.

He won't tell you that one of them is in his uniform pocket.

By the second week, you had finally moved all your things in.

Gator comes home late from work. As usual, he takes a quick shower, and then comes the worst part of the day. Untangling his hair from its styling. And for some reason, in the morning he couldn't get it to lay flat on the first try, so it's horribly stuck together from too much gel, because water got on it while he was washing himself. Gator steps out of the bathroom looking for his comb and, of course, he can't sneak past you.

"What are you doing?" You turn down the TV volume and look at him.

"My comb's gone somewhere." He sees several combs on the dresser, but his isn't there.

"You mean half a comb?"

"I said what I said." Gator snorts, a little irritated, water dripping onto his shoulders. "Wait, you didn't throw it out, did you?" It suddenly dawns on him.

"No, it's in the drawer. Come on." You stand up, and he lets you go first because he likes watching you in that satin set: the top with straps and ruffled shorts. You rummage through the drawer where he keeps his spare razor cartridges and the new deodorant he bought on the BOGO deal. You pull out a comb – a wide-toothed one, with a third of the teeth missing.

"Thanks." Gator replies flatly, but you don't leave. "You can go."

"I want to see what happens next." You say with distrust, but Gator just shrugs. He tries to comb his hair, but it's tangled, with knots even forming in places where the comb snags. It looks like torture. But not for him. For you. "What are you doing!"

Gator flinches at your loud exclamation, which hits his ears. You shout like he's nearly broken federal law. "I almost went deaf. It's your own fault for staying to watch. I thought you were a spectator, not a critic."

"Give it to me. Sit." You pull a stool from the corner for him to sit on. You grab a squeeze tube from the shelf, and Gator tenses up. This is better than scissors, sure, but still...

"What's that for?" He tries to read the label.

"Just hair conditioner, for easy detangling." You take a little in your hand and apply it to his head.

"It's gross, like jelly." Gator sniffs it. "And it smells terrible!"

"Would you rather go bald by ripping your hair out with... that?" You're pointing at his pathetic hair care kit.

"Fine, just do what you gotta do." Your fingers gently massage his scalp, spreading that disgustingly sweet conditioner through his hair. He wants to protest, say he's a cop, not a poodle being groomed before a show, but the words get stuck in his throat because... this feels nice.

Damn. This really feels pleasurable.

You run your fingers through his wet hair, untangling the knots he made himself. Gator closes his eyes, feeling the tension leave his shoulders. When you touch the back of his head, he almost purrs. Almost. He'd never admit it.

"Always start combing from the bottom up. And how many times have I told you that shampoo dries out your hair?" You advise and explain reasonably, without pressure. "We can get you something without such a strong scent."

"I'll think about it..." Gator grumbles, but already knows he'll go to the store with you this weekend and smell everything you shove under his nose until he approves.

"Now you can wask it all off." You wait patiently while Gator washes his hair. And when he reaches for a towel, you hand him something completely different.

"This is a t-shirt." He looks at you with a hint of skepticism. Was just touching his hair enough to drive you crazy?

"No. Well, yes, but that's the point. Terry towels tangle hair, but cotton just absorbs water." You make him bend down and wrap his head in your old pink t-shirt. You bite your lip, stifling a laugh, because Gator looks ridiculous.

"I opened a portal to hell when I let you do this." He hangs his head dejectedly, more theatrically, but still a little offended. You don't even pay attention to his antics, patting his hair dry with the t-shirt again. Before turning on the hairdryer, you grab another product from the shelf and spray it over him without warning. "Chemical attack! I'm in a gas chamber! Exit is blocked..." Gator covers his eyes with his hand and coughs. It smells like meadow flowers and honey. Harmless.

"Oh, Gator, you're so dramatic." You turn on the hairdryer and don't hear him cursing. Honestly, you really like touching his head, especially when his hair is so silky. When you finish drying, you lean down, pressing your face into the top of his head, inhaling the scent.

"What are you plotting now?" Gator fidgets, because everything he's let you do so far is way out of bounds. But he looks in the mirror and sees you hugging him around the neck, your hands on his shoulders, slightly bent, pressed against his back.

"Nothing. I'm done." You shrug and walk out, heading back to the bedroom.

Gator examines himself in the mirror, and giving you your due, he's never looked this good.

So... Domestic.

He walks over to you, and you're sitting at the dressing table on a low pouf, brushing your hair. Gator squats down next to you.

"You didn't comb your hair? I showed you where your comb is." You run the brush through his front strands, and his bangs fall into his eyes. You laugh, and he rests his head on your lap. Complete surrender. You comb his hair, and his arms wrap tightly around your waist. "You smell like me."

"Y'know, maybe it's not so bad."

By the third week of living side by side with you, Gator realized how lucky he was.

He doesn't say it out loud, but he understands that he's ready to take back every word he ever said. He likes this. Being in comfort. Not just surviving, as it was at the ranch. When he lived in his father's house, he wasn't allowed to have excess belongings – only the bare essentials – and it felt more like the army than a home where, it turns out, you can keep fond things and warm memories. When he moved into a separate little house on the same ranch, it got better. Though he had to fix it up himself so the roof wouldn't leak and the wiring wouldn't short. But it was his den, where posters could hang on the walls and he could listen to any music he liked, as loud as he wanted.

And in a world of constant prohibitions and reproaches, you showed him that getting attached to things isn't bad at all: it's actually good to have something you love. Something of your own. Because when he left the ranch, he realized he didn't know how to choose something other than the first thing he grabbed or the cheapest option, how to want something, and most importantly, how to ask for it. He grew up convenient, quiet, obedient. But you started proving to him that he could be selective, picky, have his own opinions, and not be punished or humiliated for it.

Gator started to understand that you wouldn't mock him for never having tried matcha or alternative milk – you'd stop by a café after work and buy him something to try. And iced caramel latte is now his favorite drink there. You wouldn't scold him for picking the same cereal that a five-year-old would choose at the store, because his father ate nothing but oatmeal for breakfast, and the family ate only what he liked.

Gator lived by other people's choices, and sometimes he just didn't have the energy left to make his own, because after a 24-hour shift, he didn't care what movie was on TV. He turned it not just to fall asleep in silence.

And now he falls asleep cuddling and talking to you.

You let him try and make mistakes. And that tells him more about your love than any words ever could, and Gator is glad that you see it too. A couple of days ago, you were putting hand cream on at night, and he just reached out his hand to place it in yours. At first, you didn't understand what he wanted, but when you felt how dry his hands were and how cracked his skin was, you didn't ask questions. You applied some cream and traced each knuckle.

That's how you learned that chamomile and sandalwood appeal to him more than geranium and bergamot. And now that cream lies on his side of the nightstand. There's a lot more stuff there now, actually: a velvet cloth where Gator places his watch and badge so they don't scratch the nightstand; a moisturizer he needs, especially in winter; sometimes a mug of jasmine tea, because you broke him of the habit of drinking coffee at night.

With you, Gator feels significant, not like a hollow space. At first, he thought it was silly when you asked him about the color of the blanket to cover the sofa in the living room or the kitchen towels you wanted to buy, or any other trifling question you could have answered yourself but chose to consult him on.

That's how you show him that he matters.

And he tries to pay you back in kind.

Tonight is just for the two of you. Gator booked a table at some fancy restaurant, having researched options in advance to make sure you'd like it. He's trying to get used to styling his hair without gel, so it's soft and pliable with a faint hint of mint and lemongrass, because that way you can run your hands through it and ruffle it. He put on a crisp white shirt, and you helped him roll up the sleeves.

Gator waits for you. He peers into the bedroom, and you're almost ready too, finishing your styling. You're sitting, twisted at an awkward angle to see what you're doing in the mirror. Your hair is already curled into perfect ringlets in the front and on the sides, but the back is still straight.

You notice him. "I'll be done soon, the mirror isn't helping me synchronize my hair and the styler." You joke.

"Give it to me." Gator takes it from your hands.

"Do you know how to use it?" You ask, and Gator can't help but admire how your eyes sparkle, and it's not from the shimmery eyeshadow.

"I know how to follow orders. If you guide me, maybe something will come out of it."

"Okay." You turn your back to him. "Basically, it does everything itself: just separate a strand, turn it on, bring it close. It'll curl it."

"Sounds simple, like even I could do it." Gator smiles and does exactly what you say. He separates a strand, turns on the styler, and brings it to your hair. The hair wraps around the heated cylinder, and Gator waits a few seconds. "Then what?"

"There's a button, cool it with cold air, then turn it off." You explain, feeling his breath on the top of your head. Gator switches the air to cold, then turns off the styler. A perfect curl. He repeats it three more times before proudly declaring that it's done.

"Now spray it with hairspray." You grab it and hand to Gator.

"Just take it and...?" Gator makes a motion with his hand but doesn't press the nozzle.

"Yes, like when I sprayed the heat protection on you in the bathroom."

"Oh, well, I can do that." He sprays a cloud of hairspray over you, then puts everything aside and rests his hands on your shoulders, squeezing gently. Gator kisses the back of your head. "You look pretty. Very-very pretty."

"So do you." You reply with a smile, and he leans back a little to look at you.

"Did the hairspray get into your eyes?" Gator laughs, but you're actually serious.

"Not at all." You stand up and reach your arms out to him. He doesn't want to ruin your makeup, so he just hugs you, but you press your cheek against his. "Thank you, Gator."

"Anytime, baby." Gator looks at you, and one side of his face is shimmering from your highlighter.

"Now you're glowing too." You try to wipe the glitter off his cheek, and he covers your hands with his.

"That's all because of you." Gator leans in and presses his forehead against yours, his nose barely touching yours. "Come on, we don't want to be late, right?"

You nod, and he takes your hand, certain that it couldn't get any better.

He thought moving in was about letting you into his life.

But it turns out that he's been living in yours for a long time.

The Danforth Foundation was established in September of 1975, the same day that Violet Danforth announced that she was six months pregnant with twins. When she passed away ten years later, its stewardship was passed over to her husband Chester’s youngest sister.  When Ursula Danforth graduated from college in 1998, she took over as head of the Foundation, and has been running it, along with other Danforth political ventures, to this day. 

The Foundation raises funds for hospital wings, libraries, arts programs for public schools, and orphanages in New England. The latter part is the one that interests you the most. 

One thing you’ve wanted to figure out since joining the Danforth family, is where do you fit into their world? Not the world of running around and worshipping Satan and making sacrifices, that you fit into you just fine. No, the public world of the Danforths, which they have silently ruled for decades.  

When you learned about the Foundation, you realized that would be the perfect fit. First Ladies usually handle the humanitarian projects, right? And Ursula has been taking on even more responsibility as she is no longer just the second in command to her father, she could use some with this. 

And you need...purpose. 

“Oh, being the doting Trophy wife to my brother isn’t purpose enough for you?” 

You’re out to lunch together, something you started doing whenever Titus is out of town for business. As much as you miss him, it’s been nice to have time with just Ursula. Both of you always wanted a sister. 

“Ha ha,” you say sarcastically. “I’m used to working, okay? And maintaining the garden and the conservatory and waiting around for Titus to get home can only occupy my time so much. I feel...useless. Like, I just need to be doing something to get out of the house.” 

“You come out of the house to visit me.” 

“Yes, and imagine if I could get out of the house to work with you.” 

“Hmm,” Ursula purses her lips, looking you up and down as she takes a sip from her drink. “What did you do before we snatched you up?” 

“I, um,” you clear your throat. “I was a waitress.” 

“Ever do big events?” 

“Like, parties?” 

“Sure, parties, weddings, galas, that kind of thing.” Ursula shrugs, waving her hand casually.  

“Um, yeah, I mean I’ve never done a gala, but I helped with big parties and weddings a few times.” 

“Good enough for me!” Ursula says cheerfully. “I mean, you’re not the most experienced, but you’re smart, I know that, so I think you can be taught anything. How would you like to start with helping me plan out the Foundations annual Summer's End Gala? We do it every year so it’s mostly already complete, but you can help me with the final details and securing benefactors, menu, all that. It can be your big official introduction to society.” 

“Wasn’t the whole wedding weekend thing an introduction?” You ask. Even though it was rushed, you know a lot of the people who’d attended were people in the Danforth’s circle, and your presence in their lives has been speculated for months, with article after article trying to decipher just who Titus Danforth’s new young wife is. 

Ursula chuckles. “Not everyone who attends and is part of High Society is in contract with Mr. Le Bail. There are so many people we deal with who have no idea about you. And besides, you haven’t exactly begun socializing in our world yet. While Titus has kept you locked up in the bedroom, plenty of my friends have been begging to meet you.” 

“Hey,” you whine. “I’m not locked up. I’ve been doing just fine getting to know the house.” 

“My Darling, you need to get out in the world again, not all of these people want to hunt you down for power. In fact, the ones that would are literally not allowed to. Besides, some of them are genuinely nice, I mean, I have a few close friends I think you’ll like.” 

“And I bet you have even more frenemies.” 

“And actual enemies, of course.” She says, winking as she clinks her glass against yours. “Help me plan this, it will be so fun! I’ll get to feel like a real big sister.” 

And that’s what really solidifies it for you. The way Ursula’s smile holds a genuine hopefulness. You were on your own for so long, no real family, no blood relations, and Ursula...standing at the top of the mountain of the world, just under her father, a step above her brother. You can imagine, even with friends and lovers, there’s a sense of loneliness in her life too.  

A real sister. One who teases you for eccentricities, but loves you nonetheless. One who will look out for you and guide you. The Danforths have truly given you everything. 

“Well, I guess since it’s actually my idea...sure, Urse, I’d love to plan this with you.” 

+ 

Upon Titus’s return the next day, you practically tackle him to the ground when he walks up to you in the garden. You didn’t even realize how incomplete you felt with him gone, until his body is back against yours, lips pressed firmly to your temple, hands gripping you tight as though you’d slip away if he let go. 

“How was Washington?” You ask, pressing your nose to his neck, inhaling his scent that you’ve missed so much. 

“Grey, rainy, cold, very romantic,” Titus hums. “The West Coast Lodge construction is going well, I’ll take you next time.” 

His first big project as the new Business head of the family, is to open at a second resort on the other end of the country, one even grander than the one you two were married at. He wants to build it as a monument to you, with even more elaborate grounds hidden inside a remote wood, deep in the mountains. The memory of the night you met, having to hunt you then claim you as his own, finding his true, twisted soulmate, is one of the greatest of his life.  

“Oh? You wanna chase me around and christen the resort?” You ask playfully, licking your lips. When he first showed you the plans, you were moved to tears. The West Coast Lodge will be like your very own dark Barbie Dreamhouse. 

“Absolutely,” Titus groans, tipping your face up to embrace you in a deep kiss. He hums into your mouth, hands sliding down to the small of your back. “Missed you, wanna make up for lost time and head upstairs? Or stay out here, I’ll send the help away.” 

“Hmmm, down boy,” You giggle, planting your finger to his chest to gently push him back, met with a pout. “I want to finish this up out here, and then we can do whatever you want, my love.” 

Titus doesn’t hide his disappointment, but you find the frustrated way he presses his lips together to be absolutely adorable. Your husband is kind of brat, and you find him to be so cute. 

“You know, I have some news of my own,” you say casually, turning back to the rose bush you’d been trimming. “I talked to Ursula about helping with the Foundation.” 

“Oh?” Titus chirps, interest piqued. You told him before his trip about your interest in it, and he was incredibly supportive. The Foundation was his mother’s after all. “What did she say?” 

“She’s letting me help with the Summer’s End Gala, and then we’ll see where we can go from there.” 

“She’s going to have you help her plan the snobfest? Should be fun.” Titus snorts. 

You look over your shoulder at him with a frown. “It’s a charity gala, how bad could it be?” 

“Yes, a gala attended by snobs, who do you think runs in our circle?” Titus says, growing more and more amused by how visibly annoyed you are.  

“Snobs and people who do human sacrifice? That’s exactly what I thought the rich elite was made of. Doesn’t mean I can’t help throw a fun party for a good cause.” 

Titus lets out a laugh. “Little Lamb, of course you can. And I know together you and Ursula are going to make it the grandest occasion any of those stuffy assholes have ever attended.” 

“You’re acting like you don’t have any friends that will be there.” 

“Oh, sure I will,” Titus shrugs. “Some of the guys are fun enough, a couple have been asking about you...accusing me of hiding you away...” 

“Isn’t that what you’re doing?” You ask, batting your lashes up at him. You turn back to him, dropping your gardening gloves onto a bench, and walking the fingers of one of your hands up his chest. “Keeping me here all distracted and satisfied so all those rich, less powerful than you men, can’t get their lecherous eyes on me. But don’t you want to show me off? Make all those guys jealous?” 

Titus’s lips twitch into a small smile, eyes looking you up and down, drinking you. Yes, he very much would love to see the jealousy his friends will hold when they meet you, especially with you dressed to the nines in a unique designer gown, dripping in diamonds, looking like a queen. His Queen. 

But. 

“It’s not the men I’m worried about,” Titus mumbles. He grabs your hand, turning it up to where he can see the scar from your wedding on your palm. He raises it to his lips, placing a gentle kiss over the spot where your blood was mixed, souls tied together forever. “It’s not their jealousy I’m concerned with.” 

You pause, reading an expectant expression from his eyes as he blinks down at you. “What? Don’t tell me. This thing is going to be filled with your ex girlfriends?” 

“Not filled.” 

“But a few will be there, I assume?” You ask, tone growing in intensity. Your jaw locks as he continues to smirk at you, nodding.  

Of course, you are aware of the fact that Titus Danforth has had plenty of romantic trysts over the years. He’s handsome, he’s rich, his family has all the power in the world. You haven’t talked about it, but it would take someone truly stupid to think a man like him wasn’t sleeping around as much as he could. But what reason do you have to be jealous? You married him. He’s the perfect man for you. You won. 

“Don’t tell me. Is this going to be one of those things where all the jealous rich ladies see your hot, younger, formerly poor wife, and act like catty bitches to me?” 

“Probably,” Titus says, incredibly amused smile on his face.  

“Oh, great,” You groan sarcastically. 

“My love,” Titus coos. “You’re going to do a wonderful job, Ursula will make sure you meet all the right people, the women who aren’t...terrible. And if you want me to stand up for you, I’m happy to.” 

“I don’t need you to fight for me, just support me if I end up having to slap a bitch.” 

“Hmm,” Titus shakes his head, chuckling. “Make sure we don’t let Ursula miss that, she’ll tell you who to aim for.” 

“Well...I’m not going to lie, I’m even more excited for this Gala. Just...promise me you won’t leave my side. If it’s just going to be the polite society version of my wedding nights, I don’t want to be alone this time.” 

“Never, little lamb, I promise,” Titus says, voice dropping to a serious tone. 

It’s not the ultimate test, you already passed that twice over in his eyes. But introducing you officially to the world, making them all know that you not only fit it in, but deserve to run it, is extremely important to him. But Titus knows your strength. Anyone who would cross you should live in fear. 

+ 

It’s August 31st; a warm, dry day is setting into a cool, breezy evening, as the guests arrive for the Danforth Foundation’s Annual Summer’s End Gala. It’s a black-tie event held at the Rhode Island Estate, complete with a red-carpet entrance for press to take pictures of the world’s elite, in their most charitable facades.  

Most of the house is cut off from wandering intruders, with armed security guarding any entrance or exit Titus and Ursula do not want them in. The event is held in the Ballroom, which you’ve explored but are seeing in full regalia for the first time, as well as a partial outdoor section off to the side of the Estate. Already, guests cannot stop complimenting your work refurbishing the gardens, lamenting they’re kept to only one small section of the grounds. 

It fills you with pride to know that you’re impressing them, and that Titus’s friends and colleagues compare your vision to that of his own mother.  

You’re happy they can’t get to your conservatory, though, that is still something private, a little plant filled palace just for you. 

The Ballroom is lit brightly, a combination of chandeliers and candelabras on every surface. You and Ursula chose the color scheme of red and black, and filled every place setting with roses and dahlias. It’s everything you ever thought these fancy parties would look like. Infinitely better than your Le Domas Wedding.  

Titus is dressed to the nines, black satin jacket sitting over a crisp white button up, fitting just snug enough that you can tell there is a strong, muscled body underneath. He let you perfect the product in his hair to soften up his curls and help them sit perfectly. He practically purred at the feeling of your fingers running through his hair. 

He looks more handsome than you’ve ever seen, though not as sexy as he did covered in blood and dirt, freckled skin glowing under the moonlight the night you met. 

The dress he had made uniquely for you has a sweetheart neckline, black torso that fades into a blood red skirt, detailed with little Swarovski crystals at the bottom. A long slit is cut up the left side that goes halfway up your thigh. Around your neck sits an ornate necklace made of black metal, adorned with rubies that sparkle under the lights. Your nails are painted red; Violet Danforth’s ring sits newly cleaned on your ring finger. You make sure to use that hand to adjust your hair or clothes whenever needed. 

It’s honestly a miracle you two even made it down to the party to welcome the guests. Titus has to fight against every instinct he has to keep his hands off you.  

Ursula takes the lead outside, welcoming everyone at the end of the carpet as the even takes off, while you and Titus greet them from inside the ballroom, arm in arm, the biggest smiles on your faces. You try to come off sincere to everyone you are introduced to, but Titus mostly keeps his true smile directed to you.  

He commands this room. Every time someone comes over to greet him, it’s like lords paying tribute to their king. 

A few of the Danforth cousins are in attendance, most couldn’t make it due to whatever business all over the world they attend to, but all have made significant contributions to the fund. Most of the people you meet seem nice, though you can read perfectly which ones have smiles that don’t quite reach their eyes, hiding their jealousy. You wonder if it’s jealousy over being head of the High Council, or if they’re just jealous over the Danforths in a general sense. 

The looks you get range from that jealousy, to pity, to lust from a few of the gentlemen, and to genuine joy. Many of the older attendees express happiness that Titus finally settled down, his parents would be so proud. Especially his mother. 

“I’m a lucky man,” is how he responds to each of them, dotting it with a kiss to your cheek or temple almost every time.  

You can’t stop the blush it causes, whole body heating up, and hand tightening where it grips his arm. 

The gala really gets going, with food being served and music filling the air, and it doesn’t take long for Ursula to make her way inside, where she takes over the job of introducing you to the women of her social circle.  

“Sorry, dear brother,” Ursula says, clicking her tongue. “I’m going to have to take her away for only a little while. You’ll get her back soon enough.” 

“Hold on,” Titus starts, gripping you tight. He’d promised not to leave your side, he intends to keep that. “You okay with that, my love?” 

A sense of anxiety fills you, the thought of meeting anyone with the shield of Titus at your side scaring you more than being hunted down by any of them with murderous intent. At least out there it’s kill or be killed. Here you actually have to make yourself likable.  

But you know it’s best to let Ursula bring you alone. “Yes, I’ll be back soon.” 

Titus purses his lips, waiting until the last possible moment to let go of your hand. “Fine, I’ll catch up with the boys, you take care of her.” 

“I’m not throwing her to the wolves!” 

She giggles as she pulls you away, and you throw him a sympathetic look as you watch him shake his head. He makes his way over to his sporting buddies, and you just know they’re all making a big fuss to him over you. 

“Come on, I have a few of the girls just dying to meet you,” Ursula urges. 

She leads you across the floor, smiling confidently and shaking hands with almost every guest she passes by as she goes. You stop at the other end of the room, where a group of four women, ranging from just over your age to Ursula’s are all standing in a small huddle, glasses of champagne in hands, whispering their gossip. 

One, a red head with long curly hair and black satin dress, the youngest looking one, widens her eyes with sheer excitement, squealing into the sip of her drink she’s finishing. “Oh my god! Urse! Is this her?” 

“Sure is,” Ursula says proudly, pushing you towards her. “Ladies, this is my sister-in-law, the new Mrs. Titus Danforth.” 

The redhead squeals again, throwing an arm around your neck to pull you into a tight hug. “Oh wow! It’s so nice to finally meet you! I have heard so much, and Ursula has had nothing but nice things to say! I’ve just been drowning in anticipation to meet the woman who captured Titus’s heart!” 

“Oh!” You choke, looking over at Ursula with wide eyes. “I wasn’t expecting such a warm welcome.” 

“Hm,” the redhead chuckles. “Well, you’ll probably only get it from me. I’m Penelope Alford, I'm the nice one.” 

“Hey,” one of the other women whines, followed soon by the others. “We’re nice.” 

“You’re judgmental, you were literally just speculating on how she could have possibly snatched Titus up,” Penelope says, rolling her eyes. 

You can’t stop the offended scoff that escapes your lips, looking between Penelope and Ursula, then over to the other women.  

“We didn’t mean it in a bad way,” one of them speaks up, voice dripping with fake honey. The kind of two-faced tone you’d prepared to encounter many times tonight. 

“Yes, exactly,” another chimes in. “We were all just wondering, Titus has such a history of unattachment, we’re surprised he would settle at all.” 

Would settle. You crack a smile to hide the slight pang of insult you feel. He’s not settling for anything with you, rationally you know that. 

“Girls, ladies,” Ursula tsks. “Don’t let any past biases fool you, this girl has everything I’ve ever wanted for my brother.” 

She gives your arm a comforting squeeze, which you meet with a thankful smile. At least you can count on her to look out for you. You lean over to whisper, “Thank you.” 

“No problem,” Ursula whispers back. Then, for good measure, “Remember, if any of them get to you, just think about the fact that you could literally kill them.” 

Anyone else might have the decency to be a little disgusted at the thought, but you just giggle, turning away to cover your laughter. The thought actually does help. 

“What are you two whispering about over there?” Penelope playfully asks.  

“Probably something bitchy and clever. How funny that Titus seems to have picked someone just like his sister,” the final woman says, annoyed frown ticking up her lip as she takes a sip from her drink. “Maybe you do fit in here.” 

Your jaw tightens. Yes, you absolutely could kill any of them. Thinking about it actually keeps your anger under control. But you don’t get the chance to answer, because Penelope is groaning and dramatically rolling her eyes. 

“Oh quiet. You’re just jealous it’s not you wearing Mother Danforth’s ring. But you and Titus only hooked up like, what? A month? Two? Years ago? Honey, it was never going to be you.” 

The other women snort into their drinks, as Ursula covers own laugh with a cough.  

“What was never going to be who?” A voice speaks over the music, just behind you. Its tone is high, almost like a song, but filled with taunting coldness.  

“Ugh, speaking of which,” Ursula grunts under her breath. 

A confused frown fills your face, as you turn to find...one of the most beautiful women you’ve ever laid eyes on.  

She’s somewhere in her early 40’s, just a little taller than you, with pale, marble-like skin, long black hair, lips painted red and pressed together as she raises a judging brow. Her dark eyes flash up and down your body. You can feel a sense of power radiating from her, but without any of the warmth you get from Titus or Ursula. A magnetic force that instead of pulling you in, threatens to push you all the way out the door. 

“Priscilla, I honestly forgot that you accepted this invitation,” Ursula says, voice tight, a practiced politeness. You’ve never heard her speak like this, with teeth gritted.  

“I almost didn’t,” Priscilla says. “But how could I pass up the opportunity to meet Titus’s new wife? You must be her.” 

You gulp, struck with a sense of fear that you were meant to have thrown away with the trash of your first solstice sacrifice. No. It’s not fear. The palpitating of your heart, the rush of tightness in your body, it’s not from fear at all.  

You’re filled with a different kind of alarm. One that is begging you to run to Titus, to take his hand and kiss him, mark him up, claim him.  

Whatever energy she gives off, it’s making you feel possessive. 

You still yourself, twitching away any sense of unsteadiness, giving her your best fake smile, holding out your hand for her to shake. “Yes, I’m Mrs. Danforth.” 

Her expression turns down into a disapproving scowl, and for a moment you can see a flash of madness in her eyes. Pure jealousy. “Well. Aren’t you...something. Not at all what I expected for him.” 

You can feel Ursula start to open her mouth, but you step in front of her. While it’s appreciated, you don’t think you need her to fight whatever fight this is going to be.  

“Well, I can’t help whatever you were thinking, I don’t even know who you are.” 

That madness flashes again, but is quickly stamped down. “Hmm. Oh, I’m nobody special I suppose. Titus and I used to date, on and off, a few years there.” 

And there it is. You knew there would be women here who shared a bed with your husband. Who knew him in ways that you didn’t care to think about. Did Priscilla ever share a hunt with him? Did she ever see him at his most brutal, most vicious, and understand him? Did she think she was meant to rule the world with him? Did she even really love him? 

“And yet, he married her, so quickly too,” Penelope says defensively.  

“Yes, very quickly,” Priscilla retorts. “I heard you went right from Alex Le Domas to Titus Danforth, quite the upgrade. How lucky you survived that fire at the Le Domas home. What a horrible way for a wedding to end.” 

There’s a bite in her voice that tells you she knows exactly what really happened at that wedding.  

“Yes, she’s so lucky to have survived that tragedy,” Ursula coughs, putting a comforting hand on your shoulder.  

The events of that weekend have been very muddied in the press, purposefully shadowy, with conflicting stories and complete lack of confirmation of anything. But anyone whose family has a contract with Le Bail knows the truth. 

Clearly, Priscilla is connected, not one of the High Council families, but in the organization, nonetheless. And maybe that’s the key to this tension. She wanted to climb the ladder of power and had been using Titus to do so, only to be strung along and see all her effort wasted. 

Titus picked you. He wanted you. Swore before Satan that you would be his. Had your souls tied together through blood. 

Those thoughts give you the confidence you need.  

“Alex never loved me, not really, not the way Titus does,” you say smugly, as you watch her hold back a snarl.  

She steps towards you, looking down her nose at you with dark eyes, pointed, teeth like fangs as she speaks. “I see right through you, little girl. This isn’t your world,” her eyes flash down to your left hand, to the silver moon and amethyst ring that sits perfectly fitting your finger. “I don’t know what you did, but you are sitting in someone else’s place.” 

“Who’s place? Yours?” Ursula speaks up, tugging you gently back. “Cill, you and Titus were never going to happen, take it from me. I don’t even want to think about it too much, but whatever you and Titus had was all about use. You used him to try to get ahead, and he used you as a warm body to fill his boredom. Our family name was never going to be yours.” Ursula turns to the other women, and to the ones that had started to drift over when they say Titus’ ex approach his new wife. “It was never going to be any of yours.” 

You bite back a smile, as Penelope giggles, and the other women all react in either jealousy or shock, while Priscilla scoffs, shaking her long hair back behind her shoulder, not doing a good job at all of hiding her embarrassment.  

“Penelope!” Ursula says cheerfully. “I believe that is your husband speaking to my brother over there.” 

Everyone’s attention is directed across the room, where your husband and another man are deep in a conversation. 

“Oh, yes,” she nods, looking at Ursula as though receiving psychic commands. She loops her arm with yours, pulling you away from the group. “Come along, let me introduce you.” 

You allow yourself to be taken away, which is probably a good thing, since you are pretty sure one more second having to talk to that woman and you be breaking a bottle of her head and stabbing her with the glass shards.  

The night is still young. 

“How could Titus stand someone like her,” you groan as the two of you move through the crowd. 

“Well, she didn’t used to be horrible,” Penelope explains. “I mean, she’s always been an entitled brat, but there was a time she could really put on the niceties. That was back when she actually thought Titus was ever going to give her a real chance.” 

“How can you be friends with her, you’re so...nice.” 

“She’s my cousin, actually,” Penelope shrugs. “In fact, she’s the reason I met the twins. She invited my husband and I to a polo game years ago, it was the first time I got to do anything with the High Council families, so I couldn’t really say no. Before I met them, I heard all these rumors and things, I just knew them as the sexy asshole twins from the spoiled monster factory.” 

You let out a loud laugh at that, then quickly collect yourself as you get stares from other guests. “Oh my god, that’s amazing.” 

“And not entirely untrue,” she says with a wink. “But I really do try not to judge people, and I knew Priscilla had a thing with Titus, so I played nice. And then I found I actually did like them. And my husband did too, so we just became friends. Even after things with Titus and Priscilla ended, badly let me tell you, I picked them in the breakup.” 

“It’s nice to know they actually do have true friends, I honestly thought everything would be, like, fake in this world,” you say. 

“Most of the time it is, you need to learn to play the game. Ursula and Titus are masters at it,” Penelope says, looking down at you, reading the tense micro expressions that phase over you. “But something tells me you’re very good at winning games, in fact,” she glances over at Titus, deep in conversation with her husband. “I know you are.” 

Maybe any of the other women here would mean it as an insult. But you can see in Penelope’s eyes a sense of pride. Sincerity. Relief washes over you, shoulders releasing their tension. You may have found a true ally in this world. 

As the two of you approach your husbands, Titus’s attention quickly directs to you, and you visibly see the way his body lightens as he smiles at you. 

He licks his lips as you wrap your hand around his strong arm, eyes taking in the sight of you for the millionth time. He simply can’t get enough of your beauty. “I see you met Penelope.” 

“Titus, you have chosen so well! We are going to be such good friends,” Penelope says cheerfully, throwing you a wink. “This is my husband, Elton.” 

“Great to finally meet you, Kid,” Elton says, picking up your hand to kiss the back of your fingers. “Titus my man, she lives up to everything you’ve said about her. He won’t stop talking about you, you know. Built up quite the reputation for his little wife.” 

You can feel yourself blush again. 

“Don’t embarrass her, El!” Penelope says, smacking his shoulder lightly. “We’re just very happy for him is all, and you as well.” She watches as Titus glances down at you, eyes filled to the brim with adoration, and a hint of hunger. “Come on, Elton, let’s leave them to it, hosting duties and all.” 

You say your goodbyes for now to her, with the promise of catching up more later. 

“Good thing you met her, out of all of Ursula’s friends, she’s probably the only one I can stand.” 

“She’s not the only one I met just now,” you say casually, running your fingers up the lapels of his coat. “There were a couple other women, a couple of your exes in fact.” 

He hears the grit in your tone, knows you’re annoyed. “Oh. Which ones?” 

“Well, one was Priscilla.” 

Titus clicks his tongue, letting out a long sigh, that turns into a slight whine at the end. “Right. Sorry about that.” 

“I knew you’d have a few old girlfriends here, but you didn’t really prepare me for her.” 

“Baby, I honestly didn’t think she’d come to this,” Titus groans. He looks down to find you staring off in the distance, as though your eyes are trying to catch another sight of her, like she’s going to run out for the attack. He presses his thumb to your chin, tipping your face up to him. “Little Lamb, whatever she said to you—" 

“It doesn’t matter—" 

“How you feel matters to me,” Titus cuts you off. He steps into your space more, until you feel his breath. “Whatever she said doesn’t matter, though. She’s...jealous and angry I was never going to give her this. I really never was.” 

You pout, face twitching as you go through about a million different emotions. “I believe you, obviously, just...fuck keep her away from me.” 

“She won’t trouble you for the rest of the night,” he assures you, kissing your temple. “Now come on, let’s try to actually have some fun.” 

You can’t help the smile that forms as he leads you to the dance floor, every eye in the room trained on you. How many of them know they’re looking at the most powerful couple in the world? 

+ 

A couple hours go by, Titus and you dance and drink and eat, and you meet more acquaintances, business colleagues, the world’s elite. The same looks of lust from the men and disapproval most women just washes off you, with Titus at your side. Your confidence grows with each new conversation, all feeling like competitions that you are winning. Not even the snide comments and questions about your upbringing seem to bother you anymore. 

You two finally have a moment to rest, sitting at a table together, leaning in close as you play with his jacket, and he sits back with a lit cigar in his hand. It’s comfortable, being on display for everyone like this. You must look like some young trophy wife, you’re sure the whispers and gossip about you have reached every ear, but with Titus’s attention, you can’t find it in you to care. 

That is, until the comfortability is shattered when Titus’s phone begins to ring nonstop. He tries to shut it off with frustrated, grunted swears, but it continues to go off.  

“For fuck’s sake,” he mumbles, finally reading the name on the screen. “Shit. It’s the contractor for the West Coast Lodge.” 

“Can’t it wait until morning?” You ask, blinking sadly up at him. 

“Lamb, I don’t think they’d be calling like this if it wasn’t an emergency,” Titus says regretfully.  

“You promised not to leave me,” you pout. 

A reluctant sigh escapes Titus’ lips, as he taps out the cigar on a plate, slowly standing. His hand slides to the back of your neck, and he leans down to nose at your cheek. “I know, my love, I won’t be gone long. Go find Ursula, or Penelope, it will only be a few minutes.” 

You’re too tired to beg, truly. So, you give him a nod and watch him go. Instead of finding either of your allies, however, you take the time to walk the room, admire the decor and people watch. Every time someone turns their attention to you, you direct yours to someone else. 

It’s like you’re trying to solve the puzzle of who is in with Mr. Le Bail, and who is just window dressing. How many of them were hidden under the cloaks and hoods at your wedding. How many of them have seen the footage of you destroying members of the High Council families? 

Do they know how powerful you are? How twisted? 

As you wander about, you miss the way a certain woman’s eyes have zeroed in on you, narrowing. But you aren’t her prey. No, her true target snuck out, took a left down the hall. And she’s been in this house plenty of times to know the exact room he’s hidden away in. 

So she sneaks through the masses, slipping past the guard through a hideaway entrance she’d learned about years ago, and upstairs to Titus’s office. 

+ 

“I don’t want to hear about supply delays. Money isn’t the issue, you tell them to deliver the lumber, or I’ll acquire their company and fire all of them. See it done!” 

Titus screeches into his phone, then throws it across the room before slamming his fists down on his desk. His eyes close tight, head shaking as he sucks in breath after breath, doing everything he can to calm his anger. 

He wants this resort to be complete by the Winter Solstice, not to be open to the public, but to bring the family there for the sacrifice, to see what he’s built for you.  The next person to call and tell him about a delay, is going to very quickly find their head smashed by the wrong side of his warhammer.  

“Fucking idiots,” he grits through his teeth. 

“Don’t you just hate it when people can’t get the job done?” A sing-song, cold voice flows into the room. 

It sends an annoyed chill up Titus’s spine, memories of late nights and arguments all coming back in flashes. A life he was happy to leave behind, a person he was happy to be rid of for years. 

“Priscilla,” Titus grunts, jaw clicking tight. He looks over his shoulder, eyes narrowed and dark, and finds Priscilla leaning against the doorway, cocking her hip out, arms crossed in a way that pushes her breasts out. It’s a trap he’d fall for in his younger years, and one he got tired of as he got older and more jaded. 

He’d taken his jacket off, left it thrown over his desk chair, and rolled his dress sleeves up to his elbows, the lines of his muscular forearms emphasized as he clenches his fists where they sit on the desk.  

“Oh, don’t look so surprised, I still know my way around,” Priscilla hums, voice saccharine, deceitful. He’s very used to that tone. “I’m always happy to give to a good cause. I’ve attended so many of these Danforth Foundations events, you remember, usually it was with you.” 

She pushes herself off the door frame and starts to approach, slightly pushing the door closed behind her, but not all the way. Titus’s eyes don’t leave hers for a moment, tracking each movement like looking at a rival predator. 

“That was a long time ago,” he says, shifting his body away when she reaches him. “You fit the role, but if I remember correctly, it wasn’t the charity you were here for.” 

That comment only makes her smirk. No, she was never at these events for the children, it was always to put herself next to Titus Danforth, in front of the eyes of all the world’s elite, and Mr. Le Bail. It was always to end the nights in Titus’s bed, doing anything she could to prove she was worth keeping. 

“I don’t remember any complaints from you,” she bats her yes, reaching out her hand to tap at the muscle of his arm. 

Maybe he should have jerked his arm away, should have told her to fuck off, never touch him again, but he...lets her touch. Wants to see what game she’s going to try. It’s entertaining to watch someone try so pathetically desperately to get something they’ll never have. 

“I remember plenty of complaints, Cill,” Titus sighs. “I remember endless complaining and bitching and moaning and nagging about what you wanted from me.” 

She purses her lips, nails scratching up his arm. Not hard enough to leave marks, thankfully, he’d have to break her bones for trying to mark up what belongs to someone else. What belongs to you... 

+ 

Time goes by, you dance a little with Penelope, share another drink with Ursula, all the while looking to the Ballroom entrance to see if Titus is going to make his return.  

You know it’s business, but it still feels like too much time has gone by. The Gala isn’t exactly winding down yet, and even with Ursula taking command of the room, you know people will start to wonder where Titus has gone. 

And he promised not to leave your side at all, let alone for twenty minutes to take some work call. 

So, you take matters into your own hands, sneaking on the outskirts of the Ballroom so nobody sees you leave. You ask the guard that’s waiting there where he went off to, and the man gestures up the stairs in the direction of Titus’s office. 

There’s a dim, orange glow emitting from the room, and for a moment an excited thrill fills you at the thought of surprising him, maybe locking the door for a quickie before going back to the Gala. 

That excitement, as well as you smile, is quickly stamped out when you reach the door, and hear the eerie voice of the woman you met not too long ago. 

+ 

“You were always running from me,” Priscilla clicks her tongue. “Always so afraid of disappointing Daddy, that you just couldn’t stay still for one moment. Don’t you get it, Ti? You rushed into this. What could that little girl possibly know about our world?” 

+ 

You swallow a lump as you listen to her words, watch how closely she stands to him. 

Your husband looks so handsome; you should be the one whispering to him, trying to goad him into taking you on his desk, but here he is, letting his ex speak ill of you. 

+ 

“What did you do the moment Chester Danforth passed? You married the first young thing that came into view. You can’t honestly tell me she’s cut out for this. Someone like her, someone who comes from nothing, whose name means nothing, will never belong here.” 

“Enough,” Titus snaps, pushing her hand away. He backs up, crossing his arms over his chest, staring down at Priscilla with a thinly chained darkness. “You don’t know anything about her. You don’t know a thing about what she’s capable of. You were never going to have me, Cill, I used you to pass the time. I used you to get Father off my back. But you were never going to have the Danforth name.”  

“Bullshit,” Priscilla spits, planting a pointed finger to his chest, backing him into a bookcase. “You and I were made for each other, I weathered every storm with you, always got you back in the end. One day, you’re going to wake up from this fantasy with her, and you’re going to come crawling back. You’re going to give me what I always deserved.” 

“You don’t deserve any of this. I was never yours. She’s not some phase I'm going through, she was brought to me by Mr. Le Bail’s will. She understands me in ways you simply never could.” 

“Ha,” she scoffs. “Oh, Titus, I don’t know you? I don’t understand you?” 

+ 

You’re so confused. He should have kicked her out by now. That’s the very least he should be doing. You’d prefer it if he took one of the heavy books off the shelf and bashed her over the head for ever disrespecting you.  

But then, you watch as her hand flattens on his chest, and he does nothing to stop the movement of it up his neck. Your blood begins to boil, hands shaking and clenching as you watch her touch him. He frowns down at her, but he doesn’t stop her hand, doesn’t shut her up, doesn’t leave when— 

+ 

Priscilla’s hand is cold; they’re always so cold, like no warmth has ever existed in her heart, as it slithers up to the back of his neck. “I know more about you than any woman ever could.” 

Titus licks his lips, not out of need, but rather as a tick to stop himself from attacking. He needs to stop himself from grabbing her face and bashing her skull into the corner of his desk. He simply can’t deal with that mess right now. 

He remembers their past, of course he does. What was purely physical, almost transactional, was everything to her. And he knew that at the time, found it fun to play around and drive her crazy with unspoken promises of power that comes with holding the Danforth name.  

But he was never going to give any of it to her. He wasn’t going to give any of it to any woman. Not until he saw you murder your in-laws. 

“You know,” Priscilla continues, putting on her most sultry voice. “I bet I still know everything that makes you tick. We used to have so much fun playing around...remember that time I wore your mother’s jewels, let you tie me up and use me for hours...how could she ever hold a candle to what I do for you.” 

Titus snarls, nose twitching as he tries to turn away, but Priscilla’s hand works faster, pulling him in by the back of the neck for a kiss. 

+ 

You gasp, loud enough you can see the way Titus jumps at the sound, but you don’t stick around long enough to see him shove Priscilla away. 

How could he let her do that? How could he sit there and let her touch him, kiss him? 

This is all fucked up. You want to turn back and kill her. You should grab your garden sheers and cut that stupid long hair and shove it down her throat before you stab her in the heart with them. 

And you shouldn’t be running, but your feet carry you almost against your will back down the stairs. They don’t take you back to the Ballroom, thankfully, running instead through the library, out to the side of the house, and to your conservatory. 

You slam the door behind yourself angrily, screaming into the glass covered room. 

+ 

“Priscilla!” Titus shouts, grabbing her forearms tight enough to bruise, and throwing her to the ground. He disgustedly wipes away her kiss with the back of his hand. “Don’t you ever do that again, are you fucking crazy?” 

“Are you stupid?” She spits back at him, huffing as she pulls herself off the ground. “You’re being an idiot. I could have given you everything—" 

“You are nothing to me!” He yells, getting right in her face, looking down at her menacingly. “You are pathetic. You hate your lot in life, and you have only ever wanted to use me to make yourself more powerful, but you are nothing. You’re going to get the fuck out of my house.” 

“You’re going to regret this,” Priscilla says darkly, shaking her hair back as she stands up straighter. “You and that little wife of yours—" 

Titus shoves her into the door with a loud slam, hand around her throat. “You will watch the way you speak about my wife. I want you out of this house. There is nothing to regret, because there is nothing here. Get the fuck out.” 

He lets go, but Priscilla doesn’t crumble, she’s too proud for that. She doesn’t have a verbal response, just snarls and turns on her heel, stomping as she runs out the door. 

Titus doesn’t have it in himself to make sure she does leave, that’s not what’s important at this moment. You are always the most important thing to him. 

+ 

He finds you watering your carnivorous plants in the conservatory. The white marble glows under the moonlight that pours in through the sky lights. You almost look like you’re floating. 

His eyes catch a twinkle to his left, and he sees your necklace and shoes carefully set aside on a table. He sighs as he passes them, stepping into the warmth of your space, but careful to keep his hands to himself. 

You refuse to look at him, but he can tell your shoulders are tense.  

“My love, what you heard, I don’t believe it, and what you saw—" 

“You let her kiss you,” you snap, finally looking over your shoulder at him. 

His breath is taken away at the fire in your eyes. He expected you to be mad about what she said about you, maybe even about their past, he expected you to even be sad, was ready to comfort you and wipe away tears of doubt. 

But none of that is what he’s found. This fire, which probably rivals the ones made by Satan himself, is not upset, it’s not an anger over yourself. You look hungry, you look possessed—no. You look possessive. Your eyes flick up and down his body, lip bitten between your teeth.  

“Lamb—” SMACK! 

Your hand lands firmly on his cheek. His jaw drops in shock, but in his eyes, you find only excitement and satisfaction.  

“You’re not mad about what she said?” 

“I don’t give a fuck about that,” You snarl. “I give a fuck that some random girl from your past thinks she can come into my home and put her hands on my husband.” 

“Oh, my love,” Titus groans, smiling wide as he backs you into the wood shelves. “She’s an idiot,” Titus says, leaning in to take in your scent. “I stopped her in the end, but I shouldn’t have let it get that far.” 

You slap him again, backing up as he lets out a sound from deep in his throat. Your hand lands on his chest, pushing him away from you by an arm’s length. You can feel your body heat up, the glint in his eyes makes your core melt, and your heart starts to race.  

Every inch of him is yours. As you look up and down his body, eyes landing on the parts you had seen her try to claim, and you feel the monster in you take control. She thinks she knows him? She thinks she can call any part of him hers? 

“Lamb, let me,” Titus tries to touch you again, but you stop him. 

“No, stay,” you say sternly.  

And there’s something deliciously thrilling in the way this man stops at your command, looking at you with wide eyes, sharp smile, waiting for your next word.  

You press a hand to his chest, keeping him in place while also helping you stay balanced as your other reaches up under your dress. His mouth parts and his eyes flick down your body, filling with a wanton darkness. You can see the raging demon in those eyes begging to be let out, to drop to his knees and grab you and touch you and prove with his fingers and his tongue that he knows who owns his heart, his whole being. 

You ignore it, focusing instead on slipping your panties down your legs. You smirk as Titus’s eyes widen just a little, tongue darting out to lick his lips. You know what he’s thinking, what he wants. You’ve probably lost half your panties to him hiding them away or straight up tearing them apart.  

He makes a move to take them, hand lifting just slightly, but you push him back again, earning a frustrated, spoiled little sound from his lips. You mockingly pout. “Not tonight, my love. You’re going to get what I want to give you. Understand?” 

A staggered breath leaves his lips, which twitch up into a smile again, and his eyes follow the path of your panties as they hit the floor. Fuck, he loves you like this, loves when you show your power, your confidence. “Baby—"  

SMACK! You hit him again; a shade of pink starts to form on his cheek. He moans, and you push his chest, causing him to stumble, and you hit him again, and again, on the cheek, on the chest, both of you smiling maniacally. 

You throw your arms around his shoulders, kissing him with a force that takes his breath away. Your teeth dig into the skin of his lip, tearing it open so his blood can enter your mouth, exactly the way it had the night you’d met. The night you claimed each other for the first time. 

His moan vibrates on your tongue, and his hands fly to your sides, fingers white where they press into you, hopefully leaving ten little bruises he can kiss later. 

Your own hands run through his hair as you stand on your tip toes, pressing your body as close to his as you can, feeling a wall of heat and his stiffening cock against your belly. You can feel your pussy clench at the thought of how turned on Titus is by you taking just a bit of control, and you know you’re just soaked between your thighs. Your heart swells knowing how much he does adore you. No one could take this man from you. 

You whimper into the kiss, running your hands down to his shirt to start undoing the buttons. He gasps into your mouth, hips jerking up into you when you scratch down his bare chest, freshly manicured nails leaving red lines on his skin.  

Yes, he thinks, mark me all over, show everyone I’m yours. 

“Fuck,” Titus moans, breaking the kiss only temporarily to get enough breath not to pass out. He braces himself on the shelf behind you, arms bracketing your body, heat radiating into your skin. “Love you like this, little lamb. Take what you want from me, tell me what you need.” 

“Need you,” you whimper, clumsily pulling Titus’s belt from his pants.  

The sound of its metal clinks on the marble floor beside you. You palm at his cock through his briefs, feel it twitch in your hand, feel the slight wetness from where its already leaking. You lick your lips, bring your fingers to your mouth as you suck whatever you can from them, looking up into Titus’s eyes through your lashes. He lets out the most pathetic, needy sound, pressing his lower body into yours for any semblance of friction he can get.  

“Need you,” you repeat, sliding your fingers from your mouth with a wet pop, bringing them down between your legs, Titus’s eyes following their every move. You grip his jaw hard, pulling his view back up to your face. Your voice lowers as you finish your command, “Need you to get on the ground.” 

You shove him down roughly, a strength and commanding presence that Titus fell in love with you, that made him want you so bad he was willing to throw the most important hunt of his life.  

He lands on his knees, and he tries to kiss your tummy, nip at your skin with his teeth, but you push him down even more by his shoulders, until his back hits the marble, white shirt fanning out on the ground. He almost looks like an angel, the way the moonlight shines on his freckled skin, but you know better.  

This man is a blood thirsty, world ruling monster, and he’s all yours. 

You ruck your dress up past your hips, and then you’re on him. Titus shimmies his pants down just enough to free his cock, and you sink down on him with a high-pitched whine. His hands fly to your waist again, the only anchor to keep himself from bucking up into your tight, wet heat.  

“Fuck, that’s it lamb, take what’s yours,” he moans, head thrown back against the tile, looking up at you through hooded eyes. A smile is laced on his lips, soft whimpers escaping as he twitches, trying so hard not to move before you tell him, hardly docile but still submissive, he’s exactly where he wants to be.  

Your mouth drops open on the first roll of your hips, hands planted firmly on Titus’s strong chest, breath coming out staggered. “God, you fill me so good, Ti. Cock feels so fucking big inside me.” 

You start to really move, setting a slow, torturous pace for Titus, who just stares up at you in awe, bottom lip bitten between his teeth. You look deeply into his eyes, possessive darkness flooding your senses, pussy fluttering around his length.  

It’s not the first time you’ve had him like this. The need to tear each other apart, to hold each other down and fight and fuck like animals has been equal from the start. He craves your dominant side just as much as you crave his. All over both your bodies are faded scars from nights filled with the most violent pleasure two people can give each other. Each time you rip an old wound open, it’s a promise of more to come. 

Your pace picks up, bouncing on his cock and rolling your hips so it hits that spot deep inside that sends electric sparks of pleasure up your spine. Your breath gets caught in your throat, coming out in broken whines, broken moans, repeated chants of his name.  

It’s dizzying, the energy vibrating and passing between your bodies, connected by some cosmic force. You’ve shared each other’s blood, tied your souls together, and every time he’s inside you, it’s a reminder that this was always meant to be your true fate.  

“Fuck, just like that, Little Lamb, pussy taking me so well, wish I could stay here all night. Should have locked you away in our room and let you take me like this. You’re so good, such a good girl, fucking made for me.” 

He’s babbling, feet planted on the ground, and you’re so flustered, so lost in the feeling of owning him that you don’t bother to tell him to stop when he starts to thrust up into you, meeting your every move in a perfect rhythm.  

You place your hands over his on your sides, and trail them up your sides, guiding him to hook his fingers under the neckline of your dress. The curves of your breasts bounce under your dress, and Titus’s eyes dart to where you're holding him, and you just know he’s drooling, fingers twitching on the fabric of your dress.  

“Lamb,” his voice is higher, the tone he gets when he’s desperate for you, almost pained. “Please, let me—” 

“Get up here,” you groan, voice harsh, eyes dark. Titus uses all of his strength to sit up, the new angle sinking you down on his cock at a different angle, and you squeal into a kiss at the feeling. “Pull it down.” 

“Yeah,” he whimpers, fingers roughly pulling your dress down, freeing your tits. He nuzzles into your chest, kissing the sweat off your skin, moaning into it. “Oh, my pretty little lamb.” 

Your hands fly to his curls, holding him close to you, moaning into his hair as you roll your hips again, cunt pulsing around him. Titus kisses you all over your chest, your clavicle, your neck, teeth grazing your skin, desperate to bite down, but frantic in his inability to pick where to start. He settles on your lower neck, biting down and sucking the skin, moaning as he feels your cunt clench around him. 

You keep one hand in his hair, cradling him into you, while the other scratches down his back, under where his shirt is barely hanging on. There’s no control in the sounds you let out, moaning into the night, the sweet echoes bouncing off the metal and glass around you.  

Titus can’t hear anything but you, can’t feel anything but your warmth, the way your pussy drips around his cock. The only thing that exists in his world in this moment is you. 

Which is probably why he doesn’t stop any movement when you hear a slight creak of metal from the other end of the conservatory. You gasp, but he only grips you harder, not missing a single beat. 

Just out the door, through the glass window, you can see pale skin and long black hair, and your eyes widen with a feral joy. You pant, breaths mixed with high sounds, and your lips twitch up into a smile, as Priscilla comes into view. 

Your pussy pulses around him, slick leaking out in waves when you make eye contact with her, and the look on her face is priceless. Somewhere between shock and horror and complete emerald envy. It takes everything in you not to start laughing. 

No, instead you pick your pace again, bouncing on him, letting out loud, drawn out moans. “Oh Titus. Fuck me so good, love your hands, love this big cock inside me.” 

“Yeah Baby, made for you,” he moans, no idea of the show you’re now putting on. 

You lean back a little, taking his face into yours, the pads of your fingers tickled by his silver stubble. You know she’s frozen in place still watching you with a hand gripping the side of the door. Her pale, clawed fingers bite into the wood, and you wonder how far she’ll let this go. For just one moment you break eye contact with her, so you can kiss him, dipping your tongue into his mouth, moaning. 

Her words show up in your mind, how she thought only she could do this to him, only she could give him this kind of pleasure. What a moron. 

Titus was made for you. 

You break the kiss, a string of saliva between your lips that he chases with his tongue, and you bring his face to your tits instead. He doesn’t need to be told what you want, closing his eyes and whining as his lips wrap around your nipple, sucking and whimpering, as your pussy clenches around him, and your gaze meets Priscilla’s again. 

How must you look? Hair a mess and eyes wet with tears, makeup probably running, riding your husband’s cock, the light of the moon like a spotlight to your lovemaking. 

Priscilla looks like she’s about to commit murder, and sick part of you hopes she tries. You’d love nothing more than to smash her brains to mush then go back to riding Titus until he comes inside you. 

This time you do let out a small laugh, which quickly sinks into a moan, your hands running through his soft hair.  

“You’re so good to me, Ti. Tell me you’re mine,” you say with a devious smile as she watches on.  

“I’m yours, my Lamb,” Titus groans, tongue darting out to lick at the pebbled skin of your nipple. It’s amazing how, even with the slight wrinkles at his eyes, the gray in his hair, he can look so boyish, his loyalty to you so pure. “Just as I swore to you, every part of me is yours. In this life and the next. You own my soul, my love.” 

You watch as Priscilla sucks in a deep, angered breath, snatching her hand away from the door as she stomps away, defeated. A triumphant smirk forms on your face as you kiss your husband again.  

“I’m all yours too, Titus,” you moan, “Every part of me.” You bring one of his hands to your lips, sucking two of his fingers into your mouth. Achingly slow, you guide his fingers down your body, finally letting him touch your pussy. “This is all yours, you’d never want anything else, right?” 

“No,” Titus groans, moaning as his fingers are soaked from where the two of you are joined. “Never. You’re it for me, Little Lamb. I’d die before I let anyone think otherwise, never again.” 

“Make me come, Titus, show me you’re mine—mhm,” your command is cut off with a breathy, biting kiss, Titus’s fingers rubbing circles over your clit, as his teeth nip at your lips. You whine into it, bouncing on his cock without care, jolts of pleasure ripping through your spine, heat flowing through every inch of your body. Honestly, you’re impressed with how much control you’ve managed to maintain this whole time. “Please, make me come.” 

He can feel your control slipping, and he smirks up at you, breathy yeahyeahyeah’s repeated into your mouth, caught and twisted into your own whimpers. He’s close, too close, wants to feel you come first, the way you deserve, just how you deserve everything.  

“Come, Baby,” Titus grunts, fucking up into your clenching pussy. “Wanna feel you come on my cock, claim me as yours. I’m fucking yours my sweet Lamb.” 

You can’t take it much longer, he knows every way to bring you to the edge of pleasure, and you tumble over that cliff happily. A choked out scream releases as your eyes roll back and you feel that delicious white heat surge through your body. 

You feel delirious, cunt clenching down on Titus’s cock as he keeps fucking up into you, grunting into your mouth, showering you with praise, voice dripping with sweet devotion. “So beautiful my baby, my lamb, fuck gonna come, need to—" 

“Come inside me, Titus,” you beg, chest heaving. “Please, fill me up, fuck me full—" 

You don’t even have the chance to finish your pleading when Titus lets out a disbelieving grunt of your name, thrusting up into you hard as he comes instantly. “Oh fuck, oh my love, shit.” 

A wide smile breaks on your face as you pant, heart racing, and you hum at the feeling of him filling you. That small, sick voice that lives in the deepest corners of your mind tells you that it would be so nice if it took. 

The gentle touch of your husband’s hand to your cheek breaks you from your thoughts, and you let yourself get pulled into another breathless kiss. You shake in his lap, taking a few more moments of closeness before you both have to get back to the party. Ursula is probably going to be annoyed as it is.  

But you find it hard to care about anything but the touch of Titus’s body under yours, the vibrations of his breathy moans as he continues to kiss you. You can feel the whispers of love left in your skin, even if the words are muffled from your ears.  

Maybe it was unreasonable so jealous over the insecure words of some insignificant woman, but fuck if the result wasn’t absolutely wonderful. Even after what she saw, she’ll probably never understand what you and Titus are, but at least she knows he’s yours. 

+ 

The two you eventually do part from each other’s bodies, Titus kissing his way up your legs as he reluctantly helps you put your panties back on. You can already feel his come start to leak into them, and it sends a thrill up your spine. 

He secures your necklace back as well, kissing both of your shoulders as you check your disheveled reflection in the small mirror you keep as decoration in the conservatory. You wipe away the remnants of tears and mascara, but you still look a mess, so you make Titus go back to the Gala first, so you can sneak away to your room to fix up your makeup. 

The party is winding down anyway, but you want to make sure you can be there with him for the goodbyes, maybe sneak in another glass of champagne before retiring for the night. 

You promise to be back in only a few minutes, which you should have known was a stupid thing to say as you close the door to your room and find yourself cornered up against it, the angry, bony finger of Priscilla pressing just above your heart. 

“Well, well, well, I have to say I’m impressed,” Priscilla snarls, mouth open wide to show her pointy teeth, but you can hardly describe the expression as a smile. More like a wolf attempting to intimidate a rival, fight for territory. “You really thought you were doing something down there, hm? You think I’m going to be deterred because you know how to get him off? Oh, the young pretty gold digging wife is a whore, who would have guessed?” 

“Excuse me,” you sneer, standing up straighter, shoving her hand away from you. 

“You’re nothing special, darling, you may have his attention now, but you don’t have the history,” Priscilla says, eyes wild, desperate, hanging on to her last shred of sanity. “Nothing I saw was new, I’ve been there. Something about having that mouth on you, right? He used to have crooked teeth, you know, the front ones? They left the most adorably distinct marks on my tits.” 

Your hands clench into fists at your sides, jaw tensing. You’re not going to let her get to you, she doesn’t matter. “Good for you, what was that? A decade ago?” 

“Try last year, darling,” Priscilla scoffs. The glint in her eyes shines at the subtle drop of your lips, smugness forming in her smile as she realizes she actually got you on something. “Hm. I see through that little game you were playing. Telling him he’s good, please. Exploiting his mommy issues to control him isn’t going to last, trust me. He’ll get bored and throw you out like waste in the goat pit soon enough.” 

And that makes you scream, wrapping a hand around her neck as you back her quickly into the wall, her head clunking hard against it, and she lets out a pained squeal. “You know that from experience?” 

“G-get off—" Priscilla chokes, eyes wide, fingers scratching at your hands, but you barely feel them. She’s nothing compared the fights you’ve already had to do to get here. 

“I don’t control him,” you snap, banging her head against the wall again. “He loves me you fucking idiot.” You loosen the grip on her throat, only so she doesn’t pass out and hears the words you need to say, need to drill into her head. “He worships the ground I walk on. I’ll bet you’re not familiar with that concept. What you saw is nothing like what you ever had with him, or ever would.” 

Complete and utter devotion is what she saw. Two sick souls that are destined for each other. 

“I would if you hadn’t gotten in the way. If my family could have fought for that seat.” 

You spit out a laugh, shaking your head. “I’ve had enough. You come into my home, try to take my husband, destroy my family, ever again and I will fucking kill you. And then Titus and I will fuck next to your corpse. Got it?” 

“I’d like to see you try, little girl,” Priscilla grunts, throwing a hand up to slap you. 

You easily dodge it, and with both hands at her neck you slam her against the wall again, this time smacking her face into a picture frame. The glass shatters, cutting her cheek and she screams, swatting at your legs.  

You look down at her pathetically. You consider kicking her a few times, maybe stomping out some of those perfect, pearly white teeth of hers. Your eyes catch the shine of a shard of glass on the ground, and you think maybe you should pick it up, carve a little more out of her pretty face. That twisted monster starts to come to life, something rumbling from deep in your belly, a hunger for blood. 

Before you can do anything more, you feel arms wrap around you and rear you back, your husband’s voice swearing down at Priscilla. “What the fuck are you still doing here?” 

Her eyes narrow at the sight of him on you, the way he grips you protectively. As if you need it. “Titus, look at my fucking face! She did this to me!” 

He hums out a quick impressed sound, raising his brows at you. “Yeah?” You nod and shrug, and he kisses your cheek. “Good girl.” His attention goes back to Priscilla. “You have been incredibly disrespectful to Mrs. Danforth in her own home, count yourself lucky you didn’t get worse.” 

And you can hear the excitement in his voice at the thought of you tearing her apart. 

“Titus, baby,” Priscilla begs, pulling herself from the ground, cradling the cut on her cheek. “Y-you don’t mean this, she’s done something to you—" 

“Oh give it up,” you groan, rolling your eyes. “Get the fuck out of my house.” 

Her eyes dart between the two of you, complete disbelief filling them. After a few more tense moments, her shoulders sag, and even though the fire never leaves her eyes, she finally accepts her defeat. 

“You’re going to regret this one, I swear on Le Bail’s name this isn’t over,” Priscilla mutters. She storms down the hall, and you both watch her descend the stairs. 

Titus is on you quickly, gripping your cheeks and checking you all over. He knows he doesn’t have to worry about pain, you’re tougher than most, but he still doesn’t want to find any of your blood spilled by anyone but him.  

“Oh Lamb, can’t even leave you alone for a second without you getting into trouble,” Titus coos.  

“Don’t look at me, I thought that bitch left a while ago,” you pout. “How did she sneak up here anyway?” 

“Unfortunately she knows all the secret passages, my fault really,” Titus mumbles. When he’s satisfied that you’re thoroughly uninjured, he takes a step back, brushing your hair over the little red mark he’d left on your neck. “You okay?” 

“Of course, that skinny thing can’t rattle me,” you shrug. “Just need to make sure she stays gone, she seems like the type to try to stab us in our sleep.” 

“Hm, yeah,” Titus chuckles, pulling his phone out of his pocket. “Give me a minute okay, just stay here.” 

You do as he asks, watching as he makes his way down the stairs, no doubt to tear a new one in the security. You hear his voice boom over the muffled music, threatening to make them the special guests at the next Equinox if she’s seen on the grounds again.  

You giggle. Your husband is kind of a psychopath and you love him so much. 

When he comes back up, he’s yelling orders into his phone. “See that it’s done!” 

You raise your brown, taking the hand that he offers to you, leading you back down the stairs. “What was that?” 

Titus shrugs, waving and smiling to a few of the guests as they make their way out. “Just making a business deal, that’s all. She’s not coming back, in fact she’s going to be leaving town tonight.” 

“What did you do?” you chuckle, standing up on your tip toes to kiss his cheek. “Have her kicked out of her hotel?” 

Titus laughs, pulling you in close. He shakes a few hands and the two of you say a few more goodbyes, before he leans down, deep, gravelly voice humming against the skin of your ear, “I bought the hotel.”