CHAPTER 404: THE HAREM REUNION

"And I was catastrophically wrong," she breathed, a shaky laugh escaping her. "My God, Eros. My brain hasn’t been my own for days. It replays the memory of your touch, your scent, the exact cadence of your breathing when you breathe like this on my skin. It’s an endless feedback loop, and I couldn’t... I couldn’t make it stop."

He smiled, a genuine, private things for her alone. "I have some idea of the feeling."

She claimed his mouth again, a quick, fierce, bite of a kiss—a brand. "Good," she whispered, stepping back with the visible effort of a woman pulling herself from the edge of a cliff. Her composure was almost back in place, a mask settling over her flushed features.

"Anastasia is sending death rays my way. If I don’t let her at you soon, she’s going to flash-freeze the entire AMG inventory, and I doubt your credit card covers that kind of collateral damage."

Anastasia did not rush. To rush would be to admit urgency, and urgency was a loss of control. She advanced across the marble as if it were the floor of a private ballroom, each step a testament to her poise, her chin held at a defiant, aristocratic angle. Her silver-blonde hair was a coronal cascade down her back, and her expression was that of a queen surveying her domain.

But when she stopped before him, the scent of winter roses and cold air enveloping them, the queen was gone. The mask of ice fractured, and the woman beneath shivered into view.

"Eros," she breathed, his name a puff of white smoke in the warmth between them. Then again, a whisper meant only for him. "Eros."

He didn’t wait. His hands found her waist, the silk of her charcoal dress cool and impossibly smooth under his palms. He pulled her in, and she came, not with the slow melt of ice, but with the sudden, shattering collapse of a glacier.

Their lips met, and it was not fire. It was an inferno.

Anastasia kissed with the ferocity of a general laying siege to a city she intended to rule. It was a conquest, a brand, a desperate act of possession. Her mouth was demanding, her tongue a bold, sweeping invasion.

But beneath the aggression was a current of pure, unadulterated need, a raw, aching vulnerability she would sooner die than show the world. Her fingers, which had rested lightly on his arms, suddenly clawed at his jacket, gripping the fine wool like a lifeline.

He met her ferocity, stoking the flames, his tongue dueling with hers, one hand sliding up her spine to press her even closer. He felt the exact moment her control gave way completely. A low, broken sound escaped her throat—not quite a whimper, but the sound of surrender. It was the most exquisite sound he had ever heard. His ice queen, shattering in his arms.

When they finally broke apart, she was breathing hard, her perfect composure a ruin, her lips swollen and glistening. Her ice-blue eyes were wide, blazing with a chaotic mix of fury andlust.

"I hate you," she whispered, the words a ragged, honest tear in the fabric of her pride. There was no venom, only the raw truth of her undoing. "I hate you for this. For making me feel... weak."

"Good," he murmured, his voice a low rumble against the shell of her ear. He felt the full-body shiver that raced through her. "Because I love feeling you break in my arms."

She pulled back, her eyes flashing at his audacity, at the truth in his words. "Three days," she said, her voice striving for control and failing. "For seventy-two hours, I have been plagued by the memory of your hands. The thought of chartering a jet myself crossed my mind a dozen times, just to—" She cut herself off, her jaw tight, restoring the mask with visible effort. "Charlotte’s jet was simply more efficient."

A slow, sharp smile touched his lips. "You missed me."

Her gaze held his for a heartbeat, a silent battle waged and lost. "Desperately," she admitted, the word a raw wound.

Then, with the sheer force of will that defined her, she stepped back, the cool queen returning as if by sleight of hand. "Gabrielle is about to spontaneously combust," she said, her voice clipped and regal once more. "Go and douse the fire before she sets my new dress ablaze."

Gabrielle didn’t wait for permission.

She crossed the distance between them in three strides and crashed into him, all heat and hunger and Latin fire, her mouth finding his like she was starving.

God, she kissed like the world was ending.

Her body molded against his, curves pressing close, hands everywhere—his chest, his shoulders, his hair, his face—like she needed to touch every inch to confirm he was real. She tasted like cinnamon and passion, and when he gripped her hips, pulling her tighter, she moaned into his mouth.

"My love," she gasped when they finally broke for air, voice thick with emotion. "God, I missed you. Missed this." She kissed him again, quick and fierce. "Days felt like three years."

He spun her, dipping her back in a move that was pure instinct, and she laughed—bright and wild and free. When he pulled her upright, she was grinning, eyes blazing.

"You’re going to ruin me," she accused, but she was smiling.

"Too late," he murmured, and kissed her again.

She melted into it, then pulled back reluctantly. "Ashby’s giving me death glares. I should share."

"Later," he promised, and the heat in his voice made her shiver. "Tonight."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

Ashby’s approach was controlled, calculated—but her eyes betrayed her.

She stopped just close enough to touch, chin tilted up, expression composed. "Eros."

"Ashby."

"I told myself I could handle my life without you. That I was being ridiculous. That attachment was illogical and I was better than this."

"And?"

Her composure cracked. "And I was wrong."

He pulled her close, one hand tangling in her auburn hair, and when he kissed her, it was claiming—dominant, possessive, leaving no room for doubt about who she belonged to.

She kissed back just as fiercely, matching his intensity, her sharp edges pressing against his, and when they finally broke apart, she was breathing hard.

"I hate that you can do this to me," she whispered, echoing Anastasia.

"No, you don’t."

She laughed, breathless. "No. I don’t." She kissed him again, quick and fierce. "But I’m still not happy about waiting three days."

"Then don’t wait again," he said simply. "Come and stay with me. Always."

Something in her expression softened. "Always," she agreed.

Sophia approached last, quietly, like she always did—gentle grace in a soft dress, shy smile on her lips.

"Eros," she said softly, and there was so much warmth in just his name.

He reached for her, gentler this time, pulling her close but not crushing, and when he kissed her, it was tender—soft and sweet and full of genuine affection.

She sighed into it, arms wrapping around his neck, body relaxing against his like she’d been holding tension for days and finally found release. When they broke apart, she was smiling, eyes bright.

"I missed you," she whispered. "The others were dramatic about it, but... I missed you too."

He kissed her forehead, her cheeks, her nose, making her laugh. "I know. I felt it."

"Good," she murmured, then stepped back with visible reluctance. "Amanda’s been waiting longer than any of us. And she’s been... intense."

Amanda had entered then, apart from the group, arms crossed, trying to look composed—but her eyes were swimming with tears she refused to let fall.

Eros crossed to her slowly, and the moment he was close enough, she broke.

He kissed her, deep and desperate, cutting off her words, and she melted.

God, he’d missed her. Missed this. Amanda was different—she was the one he’d claimed first, the one who’d started everything, and holding her now felt like finding a missing piece of himself.

When they finally broke apart, she was crying openly. "I love you," she whispered. "I love you so much it hurts."

"I know," he murmured, wiping her tears with his thumbs. "I know, mi amor. I felt the same."

She laughed through her tears, then pulled back enough to punch his shoulder lightly. "Then why did you make me wait three days?"

"Never again," he promised. "Never."

"Good." She kissed him again, fierce and claiming. "Because if you ever—"

"Amanda," he said firmly. "Never. Again."

She searched his eyes, found truth there, and finally nodded. "Okay."

The Rescued

Soo-Jin approached hesitantly, still uncertain of her place, and Eros reached for her with a gentle smile.

"Soo-Jin."

She smiled, shy but genuine, and when he pulled her into a hug—not a kiss, not yet, just comfort—she relaxed against him.

"You came," he said simply.

"Charlotte said you’d want me here," she whispered. "That I’m... family."

"You are," he confirmed. "Always."

She pulled back, eyes bright, then stepped aside to let him breathe.