Saved By My Husband's Best Friend

The Price of Perfection

The blue silk felt like a shroud as I descended the grand staircase. Every step was a performance, a careful calculation to ensure my legs didn't buckle. Below, the penthouse was a winter wonderland of silver and white roses, packed with the city’s elite. But none wore a mask as polished as Jason’s.

He waited at the bottom, a champagne flute in hand. As I reached the last step, his fingers snapped around my waist like a snare.

"Smile, darling," he whispered, his tone like ice. "You’re the guest of honor."

"I am," I breathed, the lie tasting like copper.

For hours, I played the silent accessory. Jason was the "Golden Boy," charming the Mayor while his thumb brushed against the silk of my dress, inches from the marks he’d left behind.

"I need a moment to check on the catering," I lied, my heart thumping.

Jason’s eyes darkened—a flash of the monster—before he let me go. "Don't be long."

I escaped to the balcony, seeking the biting December wind.

"You're going to catch pneumonia."

Liam leaned against the stone railing, a silhouette of sharp angles and the amber glow of bourbon. He looked at me with weary disdain, the kind of look that made me feel like an uninvited guest in my own home.

"The 'perfect' life too loud for you tonight?" he asked, his voice a low, jagged rasp.

"I just needed a moment of silence, Liam. I didn't realize the balcony was reserved," I replied, my voice thin against the whistling wind.

"Everything in this city is reserved if you have enough zeros in your bank account," he countered, taking a slow, deliberate sip of his drink. He stepped out of the shadows, the moonlight catching the predatory sharpness of his features. He had always looked at me like I was a puzzle he had already solved and found boring.

As the wind picked up, I shivered, reaching up to push a stray lock of hair back from my face. In the movement, my lace wrap slipped an inch too far. The fading bruise on the side of my neck—the one Jason had kissed with such chilling ownership earlier—was exposed to the harsh, silver light.

Liam’s eyes zeroed in on it instantly. The bored expression vanished, replaced by a heavy, clinical focus that made my skin crawl.

"That’s a nasty mark, Sarah," he said, his voice dropping an octave. He didn't move toward me, but the weight of his stare felt like a physical hand on my throat.

"It’s nothing," I snapped, my heart hammering against my ribs. I jerked the fabric back into place with a trembling hand, smoothing the lace down as if I could erase the sight of it from his memory. "I was in a rush getting ready for the toast. I burned myself with my curling iron. I’ve just been... clumsy lately."

Liam stared at me for a long, suffocating beat. The silence stretched between us, filled only by the muffled bass of the music inside. He didn't look like he believed a single word I’d said, but he didn't look concerned, either. He just looked at me with a strange, dark intensity, as if he were waiting for me to break.

"Clumsy," he repeated, the word sounding like a mockery. He let out a slow breath of bourbon-scented air that fogged in the cold. "You should be more careful, Sarah. Jason hates it when his things are damaged. It depreciates the value."

"I’m not a thing," I whispered, the words feeling fragile and pathetic even as I said them.

Liam didn't even blink. He just turned back to the skyline, dismissing me as easily as a piece of trash. "Then stop acting like one. Get back inside. Your husband is starting to look annoyed, and I’m not in the mood to deal with his temper tonight."

I fled back to the suffocating warmth. I endured the toasts and the fake smiles until the last guest left.

"I'm going to bed, Jason," I said, not looking at him. He didn't answer. I hurried upstairs, scrubbed my face raw, and fell into a heavy sleep, thinking the danger had passed.

I woke to a sharp, biting pain on my right wrist.

The room was pitch black. I tried to move my hand, but leather strained against wood.

"Jason?" I whispered.

"Shh," a voice came from the darkness. A weight settled onto the mattress. "Don't make it harder on yourself."

My other wrist was pulled up and cinched tight to the headboard. I was spread-eagled, pinned to the silk, completely exposed. Jason leaned over me in the shadows.

"I'm your husband, Sarah," he murmured, his hand stroking my cheek. "I can do what I please with what belongs to me. You spent all night smiling for everyone else. Now, you’re going to smile for me."

"Please, Jason, I'm tired—"

"Shh. I’ve been watching you in that blue dress all night, wanting to devour you. You’ve been so distant lately. I think it’s time I reminded you why you’re mine." He ignored my protests, bunching up my silk nightgown. "I'm going to make you scream my name until you remember exactly who you belong to."

The leather bit into my skin as Jason moved with predatory slowness. "You’ve been starved, Sarah. I can feel how much you want this."

He moved between my legs and drove his tongue deep into my p**sy. It wasn’t a gentle lick; it was a rhythmic, forceful invasion. He used his tongue to mimic the act of taking me, driving into my wetness with a strength that made me cry out. He swiped across my cl*t with a deliberate pressure that sent white-hot sparks behind my eyelids. I tried to fight the rising tide, but he was too strong, his head buried between my thighs as he drank me in.

A low, broken moan escaped me as the first wave of a violent orgasm crashed over me. My body bucked against the restraints, shaking uncontrollably as I c*med right on his face.

He pulled back, a dark smirk on his lips. "See? You’re overflowing for me. And I’m just getting started."

"No... I’m too sensitive," I pleaded, every nerve raw.

He ignored me, driving his tongue back into my p**sy, pushing me toward a second, even more exhausting climax. As I lay trembling, he moved up my body like a shadow. He claimed one of my ni**les in his mouth, his teeth grazing the peak, while his thumb teased the other. I could feel his c*ck, thick and rigid, sliding up against my wet p**sy.

"Jason, I can't..."

His hand shot up, fingers wrapping firmly around my throat. He held me there, grinding his c*ck slowly against my c*lt. "If you don't start thanking me for your pleasure, Sarah, I'll make you regret it."

My vision swam. I saw no love in his eyes—only ownership.

"Thank you," I choked out. "Thank you, Jason."

He suddenly let go and slammed his c*ck into me with one deep, punishing thrust. I cried out as he took me hard, each strike a reminder of his total ownership.

He leaned down, lips brushing my ear. "Who do you love, Sarah? Tell me."

"I love you, Jason," I sobbed.

He crushed his mouth against mine in a searing kiss, tasting like me. As he finished inside me, I closed my eyes and let the darkness take me, knowing the gold-plated cage would still be there in the morning.