Chapter 203: His New Mark

He dipped her again, deeper this time, and she let him—trusted him completely, let herself fall backward knowing he’d catch her, always catch her. Her eyes found his from upside down, dark and shining with something that looked almost like tears, skirt riding high enough to reveal the slick, swollen lips of her bare pussy glistening in the low light.

"You’re scaring me," she whispered. "In the best possible way."

"Good."

"Phei—"

"What in the absolute hell is going on out here?"

Maddie.

Madison Whitmore stood at the top of the spiraling stairs, blonde hair a glorious post-sex disaster—tousled waves falling over shoulders that were barely covered by a silk robe hanging scandalously open.

The robe was a joke—short, sheer in places, slipping off one shoulder to reveal the heavy, perfect curve of one breast, nipple dark and peaked, the other barely contained.

Lower, the fabric parted to flash toned stomach, the flare of hips, and—when she shifted—the brief, tantalising glimpse of her bare, smooth pussy, lips already swollen and glistening because of course she slept naked and of course she was wet just from hearing them.

She squinted down at them like they’d personally offended her circadian rhythm.

"It’s—" She checked an invisible watch. "—some ungodly hour that is far too late for whatever this wholesome bullshit is. Why are you dancing? Why is Sierra laughing? Why does the universe feel tilted on its axis?"

"I’m dancing. I am happy," Phei said, still moving with Sierra, hand sliding possessively down to cup the curve of her ass through the shirt.

Maddie’s face contorted into theatrical horror.

"You’re what?"

"Happy. Joyful. Experiencing positive emotions. It’s a thing humans do sometimes, I’ve recently been informed."

"But you don’t—you never—" She squinted harder, robe slipping further to reveal more of that flawless, golden skin.

"Did you fuck Delilah?

Is that what this is? You finally nailed the Maxton princess, your cousin and it sent you into manic pixie mode?"

"No."

"Sienna? Did you somehow thaw that robot?"

"Also no."

"Oh my god." Her eyes went comically wide. "Melissa? Did you actually—with your aunt—in the mansion—while we were all—"

Phei laughed.

Actually laughed—a full, unguarded, slightly unhinged sound that bounced off the penthouse walls and startled all three of them.

Only if you knew... only if you knew my love...

"Close," he said. "Very, very close. But no."

Before Maddie could fire off another guess, he released Sierra, crossed the room in long strides, and grabbed his other girlfriend by the hand.

"Phei—wait—I’m not dressed—"

"You’re perfect."

"I’m literally falling out of this robe—"

"Perfect."

He pulled her down the last few steps and into his arms, one hand at the small of her back—fingers brushing bare skin where the robe had parted—the other lacing through her fingers. He began to move.

Maddie stumbled—she didn’t have Sierra’s drilled elegance, her body protesting this unexpected midnight tango with every gloriously clumsy step—but Phei was a patient, ruthless lead, and within moments she was following.

Sort of.

Approximately.

In the

sexiest

possible disaster of a way.

"This is ridiculous," she muttered, even as her hips found the rhythm, robe flaring with every spin to flash thigh, hip, the shadowed heat between her legs. "I look ridiculous."

"You look edible."

"I look like I just rolled out of bed because I did—"

"Not a breakdown. The opposite of a breakdown."

He spun her faster—rougher than Sierra—and her silk robe flared like dark wings, spreading wide to reveal the long, toned lines of her legs, the soft curve of her inner thigh, and there—

Phei’s breath caught.

The marks.

Maddie’s

harem Mark tattoos.

Twin dragons inked high on the insides of both thighs—intricate, fierce Western beasts with broad wide wings folded tight, muscular tails curling possessively inward toward the soft, secret crease where thigh met heaven. Scales shaded deep black with subtle

crimson-pink

highlights, eyes that exact amethyst purple matching his own, jaws parted as if tasting her skin—or ready to devour anyone who came too close.

And coiled through the dragons’ bodies, elegant script:

PRT.

Phei Ryujin Tiamat.

His new mark.

Customized, alright? Will of the owner.

Branded forever on the most intimate, hidden part of her body—visible only when she opened her legs for him, or when she spun like this, robe flying, offering the world a glimpse of what belonged exclusively to him.

Sierra had matching ones—different placement, same fierce claim.

His women.

His beautiful, brilliant, gloriously unhinged creatures who had looked at him—a former charity case with purple eyes and a monster between his legs—and decided to let him mark them forever.

He pulled Maddie back in, dipping her deep—her head falling back, throat exposed, robe slipping completely off one shoulder to bare one perfect breast, nipple hard and dark and begging.

"You’re staring at my tattoos," Maddie observed from her upside-down position, voice husky.

"I’m admiring my property."

"Possessive bastard."

"You love it."

"Unfortunately."

He pulled her upright, released her, stepped back.

Looked at both of them—Sierra flushed and breathless, shirt hanging off one shoulder to reveal one lush breast, nipple tight and dark, thighs pressed together like she was already aching. Maddie with her robe barely clinging, tattoos flashing possessively on her inner thighs, watching him with that mix of arousal and genuine concern for his sudden burst of humanity.

His

women.

His.

"I learned something tonight," Phei said softly.

"What?" they asked, almost in unison.

He smiled.

That slow, devastating smile that made their knees buckle and their panties (when they wore them) instantly useless.

"That someone’s been loving me," he said, "for a lot longer than I knew."

He held out both hands—one to Maddie, one to Sierra.

They

came to him

without hesitation.

And in the penthouse that overlooked Paradise, surrounded by city lights and obscene luxury and two women who had branded his name into their skin, Phei danced.

Not for strategy.

Not for revenge.

Not for any reason except that, for the first time in ten years of hell and three weeks of beautiful chaos and one impossible night of revelation—

He was

genuinely, stupidly, catastrophically happy.

And that, as it turned out, was worth more than all the revenge in the world.

****

A/N:

For today’s revelation... imagine if Phei had chosen to revenge on Melissa from the get no...

Just a thought to you.