CHAPTER 167: BACK IN HER ARMS

–Sophia–

Stay home? Nope. Not me. Livana had given me strict orders—glam Jane up, haul her out with us, and make sure Chef Wally didn’t get lonely on the dance floor. Honestly, I was itching for some action.

Jane’s room sat just a few doors down from Livana’s suite, with Logan brooding across the hall like some guard dog. I strutted inside, holding up a glittering mini dress like a trophy.

Jane froze mid-fold, her hands on neatly stacked clothes. Her gaze shifted to the dress, lingered, then her eyes—cold, cutting—landed on me.

"No," she said flatly.

I twirled the dress like it was spun gold. "Come on! Livana is tossing everyone out so she can snuggle with Damon. We’re on borrowed time here."

Her lips tightened. "Then something decent."

I tilted my head, teasing. "Wait... have you ever been clubbing?"

Her tone sharpened. "Of course. Jeans. Leather jacket. For undercover."

I laughed, loud and shameless. "Wow. Worst cover ever. You’d stick out like a narc."

And then—bam! A dramatic knock. Enter Deanne, bursting in with a full rack of clothes, heels clicking like thunder. Sequins, silk, leather—all shimmering under the light. My jaw almost dropped.

"I’ve got a wardrobe," she declared, a diva in command. "You—" she pointed at me—"handle makeup."

I snapped a salute and winked. "Aye, captain."

Jane, though? Oh, she was coiling like a spring. Her stance changed—more fighter than girl-next-door. "No makeover," she bit out.

Deanne didn’t flinch. She locked the door with a sharp click, rolling her army of outfits closer. Jane’s eyes flicked toward the balcony. My instincts screamed—don’t let her—

But too late. She vaulted. Just launched herself off like a damn gymnast.

"Get her!" Deanne shouted.

Music to my ears. Adrenaline shot through me as I sprinted, launching off the balcony with a whoop. The night air slapped my skin, cool and sharp. My heels dug into the ground as I landed, knees bending just right.

Jane darted across the garden, all agility and sharp turns. She flipped off a stone ledge, rolled, and sprang back up without missing a beat. My heart pounded, and I laughed as I chased her, grass tearing under my sneakers, hair streaming wild behind me.

"Jane!" I shouted. She vaulted a hedge like an Olympic athlete. Naturally, I followed—my legs burning, but loving every second. This was a play for me.

I spotted Logan leaning in the shadows, cigarette glowing faintly. I signaled sharply—grab her!—but of course, he just puffed smoke and smirked. Lazy bastard.

Jane swerved hard, trying to lose me in the dark. "Stop, Sophia!" she called, voice breathless but steady.

"Oh, come on!" I laughed, closing the distance. "We’ll have fun!"

Caine’s voice cut through, smooth and irritated. He stood by the path, phone in hand. "What’s with the marathon?"

"Catch her!" I snapped, still running.

He lifted an eyebrow, did absolutely nothing. Typical.

Jane spun, planting her feet, eyes blazing. I slowed, chest heaving, a grin still stretching across my face. "What’s with the running, huh?" I teased, circling her. "Don’t want to get drunk with me and glitter?"

Her jaw was set like stone. "I’m not going to a club with you and your friend." Her head jerked toward Logan.

"You are," Logan drawled, finally flicking his cigarette away. "Because Livana said so."

Jane’s eyes widened. Her voice cracked into a growl. "Livana? What the fuck? No—she didn’t."

Logan smirked. "So what’s with the track meet? Don’t tell me you’ve finally found your fear."

Not flirting. No. That was a duel. Sparks, not sweet heat.

Jane squared her shoulders. "I don’t fear you or the girls. You know who’s scarier?"

My curiosity piqued. I tilted my head, playful grin dimming just slightly. "Who?"

Her voice dropped low, sharp. "When the master loses his wife."

I stopped dead. A shiver slid down my spine. Damon without Livana? That wasn’t just scary—it was cataclysmic. Jane knew

something. She wasn’t just bluffing.

For a moment, silence choked the air. Even Logan blinked.

Then he cut through with a scoff. "Forget the dress-up. Just be our driver. We’ll drink. You don’t have to wear sequins. Just the keys."

Jane frowned. "Driver?"

"You can drop us off. Leave. Come back later," he said, like it was nothing.

I caught on, easing in. "There’s a café near the strip. Or a VIP lounge. You could hang out while we dance."

Jane’s eyes lingered, still sharp. Finally, she broke the moment by barking at Logan, "And don’t toss your cigarette butts around like trash."

He smirked, amused. "Got it. Just get ready, will you? Our getaway driver."

And there it was—the tug-of-war. Ice and fire. Deanne was right. Livana was stirring the pot, trying to ignite something between them. Whether it was chemistry or chaos, I wasn’t sure.

Jane stormed off. I turned to Logan, hands on my hips.

"You really think she’ll agree?"

"She will." His smirk deepened.

I narrowed my eyes. "Do you like Jane?"

"No." The denial was fast, clipped. "She’s a nurse."

I rolled my eyes. "She’s not just a nurse. She’s more than that."

His gaze went distant. "Doesn’t matter. She’s just a woman. She’s not Laura."

My jaw tightened. "Are you stupid? Of course, she’s not Laura. She’s her own damn person."

"Exactly," Logan muttered, smug as always, and walked away.

I stood there, chest still pumping from the chase, half-grinning, half-fuming. Whatever was brewing between those two—it wasn’t simple. And it wasn’t going to stay quiet.

–Damon–

I kiss every inch of my wife’s body as if she’s carved from fragile, sacred glass—something only I’m allowed to touch. Her soft moan vibrates against my lips, warm and low, a sound I’ve been starving for. What I’ve missed most isn’t just the taste of her skin, but the way she yields when I suck her breasts, the way she trembles when I drink from between her thighs. My whole body is already coiled tight, trembling with the ache to take her, though I haven’t even stroked my shaft or slid inside her yet.

It’s her fault—this need. She’s radiant in her short hair, her round belly rising like a secret moon under my palm. Carrying our

baby. Glowing, not like a goddess in some temple, but like my goddess—mine to worship, mine to devour.

She moans again, pushes my head down between her legs, and relaxes completely, trusting me. Needing me. I make sure my hands are clean, my touch steady. Then I slide my tongue against her and taste her. Her back arches, a breathless shudder; she bites down on her own hand to muffle her sounds. I hate that.

I lift my head just enough to murmur against her trembling skin, "Wife... you know I want you loud."

I press my mouth back to her, fingers sliding in alongside my tongue—God, she’s tight. She comes fast, her whole body quaking against my mouth. I climb over her, kissing her as I go, sucking her delicate lips until they’re slick from me.

She reaches up, her slender fingers brushing my face. Her gemstone eyes—blind, yet perfectly aimed at me—pin me to her. I like to pretend she can see me in these moments, when her gaze feels like ownership.

"Go for it," she whispers. "Make love to me."

"Babe," I rasp, smirking even as the beast in me growls. "You know my size."

"Don’t push it deep," she warns, and it’s almost a threat. It only makes my blood surge hotter.

I shift carefully, sliding behind her, spooning her. Safer this way. I lift her thigh, my palm splaying over her belly like a shield, caressing her skin before I finally push inside. Slowly. Gently. She gasps, her moans spilling out like honey, and every sound is worth the restraint clawing at me.

I kiss her cheek as she writhes against me.

"Damon..." she cries.

"Yes, my love?" My voice is low, dark, almost broken as I begin to move faster, still rubbing her swollen little button with my thumb until she squirms and comes again, clenching around me.

I can’t hold back. I spill inside her, groaning into her neck, my body shaking. She catches my hand, draws it up to her breasts, guiding me to touch what’s most tender.

"Are you happy?" I ask, still breathing hard. "Does your head hurt?"

"No..."

"How about our baby?"

"Baby’s fine."

Relief hits me like a drug. Maybe this softer rhythm, not the hard, brutal kind of fuck we used to have, will ease the fire in both of us. I pull out carefully, watching her turn to face me.

"Maybe next time," she teases softly, "you should increase the speed of your thrust—and a little deeper."

I smirk darkly, brushing a thumb over her flushed cheek, kissing her temple. "Babe... just how deep?" My voice drops into a warning purr. "Don’t make me fuck you hard and deep like before, Livana."

She hums, eyes fluttering shut, and I finally feel the heavy pull of sleep. For months without her, I’ve barely slept. Now, her warmth against me makes me feel almost human again.

I send a quick message to Wally—prepare dinner and leave it in the oven with our midnight snacks. We’ll eat after I nap with my wife. His confirmation pings back.

"Damon..." Livana murmurs, snuggling into my chest.

"Yes, my love."

"How many funds have you secured for our baby?"

"Twenty funds, scattered across Europe," I whisper, kissing her nose, inhaling her scent as my hand cups her bottom. "Don’t worry, my love. Liva, I love you."

She hums faintly, the way she always does. Expected. It still fills me.

I take her hand and place it against my cheek. My wife. My healer. My obsession.