~𝙼𝙾𝙳𝙴𝚁𝙽 𝙳𝙰𝚈 𝙱𝙾𝙽𝙽𝙸𝙴 𝙰𝙽𝙳 𝙲𝙻𝚈𝙳𝙴~

chapter fifty-two

The next morning, Bellatrix stirred against the tangled sheets, her body deliciously sore, marked in places only Tig would ever see. Sunlight streamed through the blinds, cutting through the remnants of last night—whiskey glasses left half-full on the nightstand, Tig's kutte draped over the chair, her lace bra hanging from the bedpost where he'd tossed it in his usual impatience.

She stretched, feeling the ghost of his touch still lingering on her skin. Tig was already awake, propped up against the headboard, cigarette between his lips, watching her with a lazy smirk.

"Morning, baby," he rasped, his voice rough with sleep and leftover sin.

Bellatrix turned onto her side, running her fingers down his bare chest, her nails lightly scraping across old scars. "Morning," she murmured, her voice still heavy with sleep. "You look way too pleased with yourself."

Tig exhaled a slow drag, flicking ash into the tray beside the bed. "Maybe 'cause I spent all night reminding my old lady how much I love her." He smirked, tipping his chin toward the mess they'd made of the room. "And from the way you were screaming my name? I'd say you had a pretty good time too."

Bellatrix rolled her eyes, but the smirk tugging at her lips betrayed her. "Cocky bastard."

"You love it."

Before she could argue, the sharp ding of her phone cut through the moment. She groaned, reaching blindly for it on the nightstand. A quick glance at the screen told her it was Kreek.

Kreek: Brunch. Now. Bring your sunglasses, you'll need 'em.

Bellatrix huffed a laugh, shaking her head. "Kreek's demanding brunch. You coming?"

Tig leaned in, pressing a slow kiss to her shoulder, his stubble scratching her skin in a way that made her shiver. "Nah, baby. You go. I got some business to handle."

She knew what business meant. And from the way his knuckles were still healing, she had a pretty good idea of what kind of business it was.

Bellatrix sighed, pressing a kiss to his cheek before dragging herself out of bed. "Fine, but you owe me dinner."

Tig grinned, watching her as she walked—stalked—toward the bathroom, still completely bare, like she owned the whole damn world. "I'll make it up to you, baby. Count on it."

She shot him a wink before disappearing behind the door.

Tig took another drag of his cigarette, exhaling slow as he ran a hand through his wild curls.

Yeah. He was one lucky son of a bitch.

--

Bellatrix took a moment to look herself over in the full-length mirror, admiring the way the black floral romper hugged her curves. The deep v-neck displayed just the right amount of cleavage, while the spaghetti straps highlighted her tan, giving the outfit a relaxed yet edgy feel. The boots—lug-sole platform behemoths—added a few extra inches to her height, though it wasn't like she needed them to command attention.

Her long, sheer black kimono billowed around her as she moved, the fabric shifting like smoke with each step. The rose gold Cuban link lariat collar glimmered against her skin, giving her an effortlessly chic look, while her smokey eye makeup—dark, dramatic, and bold—accentuated the intensity of her eyes. Bellatrix had braided her hair into two space buns, her dark strands artfully twisted to match the sharp, rebellious edge of her ensemble.

She knew she looked hot. And as she took one final glance at her reflection, she felt a wave of confidence wash over her, knowing she was about to leave an impression—one way or another.