You stood in the center of the grand suite like temptation carved into perfection. Your heels clicked softly against the marble as you approached them—two kings in custom black suits, waiting like predators... only you was the one with blood on her fangs tonight.

“Sit,” you said sweetly.

Aleksandr obeyed first, jaw tight, his eyes never leaving your curves. Luca followed, slower, defiant—until you leaned down and traced a finger under his jaw.

“Good boy,” you whispered.

Their breathing stuttered.

One by one, you undid Luca’s buttons, slow as sin, not breaking eye contact. You slipped the jacket off his shoulders, then unfastened his shirt… brushing just barely over skin that jumped under your touch.

Then she turned to Aleksandr, fingers grazing his collar.

“You two look so cute like this,” you murmured, smiling as their gazes darkened.

“Touch me,” Aleksandr breathed, almost pleading.

“Say please,” you cooed.

“Please,” Luca gritted out immediately, leaning forward. “I’ve been going insane all night. The show, the cameras, the fact that I couldn’t touch you—please, baby.”

But instead of giving in, you stepped back, crossing your arms with a smirk that made both men groan.

“Mmm… no.”

“What?” Aleksandr’s voice cracked, low and disbelieving.

“I’m not touching you.” You leaned in close, lips just a whisper from Luca’s. “Not yet. Not until you beg. Like really beg. Like… get-on-your-knees kind of beg.”

Luca’s breath hitched.

Aleksandr actually whimpered.

“You’re the devil,” Aleksandr rasped.

“No,” you grinned, slow and smug. “I’m your wife.”

And with that, you perched delicately in the velvet armchair across from them, crossing your legs as if you weren’t watching two of the world’s most dangerous men desperately try not to fall apart.

You tilted your head sweetly. “Now then… which one of you wants to be my good little boy first?”