Accidentally Kidnapped the Warlord and Became His Wife

I should have known something was wrong the moment he groaned like a goddamn p**n star.

But I must have lost my mind first.

That was the only explanation as to why I was half-naked in a candlelit honeymoon suite, clutching a second glass of wine like it was holy water while a gagged, hooded man lay tied to the bed like a sacrificial offering.

I downed the rest of the glass in one burning gulp. My hand was shaking.

This wasn’t normal. This wasn’t sane. This was Sadie’s idea.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” I muttered into the phone and scurried to the bathroom. The heels I wore clicked against the floor, echoing off the soft jazz and the damn romantic scent of vanilla candles and roses. “I’m going to hell. I’m going to jail and then hell.”

“You’re welcome in advance, Rainey,” chirped my best friend—and future lawyer—before I could even scream.

“I’m about to climb on top of a man who’s gagged, blindfolded, and tied up like a hostage. What part of this doesn’t sound like something you’ll be defending me for in court one day?”

“That man is your fiancé, honey,” Sadie’s voice dripped with unbothered confidence. “Besides, you said Ezra confessed he wanted this. Don’t you remember? Kidnap me, ravish me, don’t even tell me it’s you until it’s over. His exact words. It’s totally legal, for fuck’s sake.”

I swallowed hard. My cheeks were on fire. “Yeah, but he was drunk.”

“And you drank two glasses to catch up. Now you’re equally liable. See that? Justice.”

I groaned. “Sadie—”

“Relax,” she cut in, breezy as ever. “I know a fantasy felony when I see one. Worst case? Spousal miscommunication with a very happy ending.”

“I’m not his spouse yet,” I hissed. “The wedding’s next week.”

“Which makes this a spicy pre-wedding celebration. Come on. The professionals were clean, safe, discreet. All you have to do is be hot and ride your future husband, Lorraine Redmond.”

“Jesus.”

“You’re welcome.”

The call ended, and I had no more excuses.

I walked slowly to the bedroom again, trying to recall the most adventurous thing we’d ever done beneath the sheets. Oh. Right. That one time I laid face down and he went a little harder than usual. That was it. That was the benchmark. I had called it spicy for days after.

He apologized like he’d broken me.

And now he was lying there, tied neatly at the wrists and ankles, a dark hood covering his head. I knew a gag was snugly in place between his lips because it was in the description of my request. His chest rose steadily. His breathing was controlled. He wasn’t panicking. He was waiting.

Maybe he remembered his own drunken words.

Oh God.

I should’ve said no to Sadie’s crazy idea. I should’ve stuck to lighting a candle and suggesting we try it doggy style again. That would’ve been bold enough.

But no.

I approached on shaky legs, the hem of my robe brushing my thighs. I climbed on the bed, straddling him carefully, letting my hands roam his chest.

He was warm. Solid. His scent curled into my nose. Clean soap, musk, maybe even the cologne I’d gotten him last Christmas.

No protests. No hesitation.

Only tension. Heat. Readiness.

“You’re gonna love me for this.” I kissed the line of his neck, just under the hood. I let my fingers trail to the waistband of his suit pants, and when I touched him there, he jolted with a low sound.

A groan? A growl?

God help me, that sound made me wet.

He couldn’t talk. The gag kept him wordless. The hood kept me bold.

I reached between us, unfastening him, guiding him into me with a shaky breath. He gasped—or moaned—and my nerves melted into raw, dangerous pleasure.

I rode him slowly, aching and desperate, his muffled sounds making my body burn hotter. Our bodies became slick with sweat and want, the air heavy with candle smoke and sin. His hips bucked, muscles straining under me.

There was something wild about it. Reckless, even.

His.

Mine.

And when it ended, I was panting, glowing, undone. We lay there like that for a minute. My body still tangled with his.

Then I sat up, breathless and giddy. I laughed, fingertips fumbling at the knot on the hood. “Happy almost-wedding, Ezra. One last surprise before you’re stuck with me forever.”

The gag came off first. Then the hood.

And the world snapped into jagged, brutal focus.

Those weren’t Ezra’s eyes.

Not his jawline.

Not his mouth.

And definitely not his smirk—because Ezra never smirked like that. Not like a wolf sizing up prey that had willingly walked into its den.

The man beneath me blinked slowly. His lips curved upward, lazy and smug. “You certainly know how to say hello.”

My blood ran cold.

That voice. Smooth, low, threaded with something amused and dangerous. That wasn’t Ezra’s voice. Ezra didn’t talk like he was about to bite  just to see what would happen.

I scrambled off him, nearly falling backward onto the floor, my heart thudding so loudly it drowned out the jazz still playing from the speakers.

No. No, no, no.

I stared at him, wild-eyed, breathing hard. My hands clenched the edges of my robe like they could somehow undo what I’d just done.

The hood lay in a heap between us now, and in the golden candlelight, I could finally see him.

And God, how could I have mistaken him for Ezra? He wasn’t even close.

Ezra had soft features, boyish and polished. The man in front of me looked like he carved his teeth in danger. His jaw was more angular, his skin a little darker, a little weathered. His eyes, starless jet black, and framed by lashes too thick to be legal, were watching me with something unreadable. Interest? Amusement? Calculation?

A small diagonal scar marked his left cheekbone, faint but unmistakable.

Ezra didn’t have a scar like that. Ezra had a mole near his jaw, and a dimple when he smiled. Ezra never looked like this man, with his lazy, predatory grin and the energy of someone who knew exactly how much power he held in silence.

And this man enjoyed what just happened.

Every second of it.

“You’re not—” I blinked again, as if that might reset reality. “You’re not Ezra. You’re not my fiancé—”

He cocked a brow, like I’d just said something adorable.

“You tell me, Angel. But I’ll say this much, that was incredible. Next time, though…” He sat up as far as the ropes binding him to the bed allowed, his muscles flexing without shame. “I’d like to be on top. If you don’t mind.”

“I’m sorry—“ My heart slammed against my ribs. “Next—?! No. No—there’s no next! There wasn’t even supposed to be a first!”

I scrambled back, stumbling over the tangled bedsheets, my hands fumbling for balance. My knees hit the marble floor with a painful thud, but I barely felt it. My entire body was buzzing, trembling. Nausea curdled in my stomach.

“What the hell is going on?! Who are you?!”

He just tilted his head, eyes drinking in the sight of me with unsettling calm. “Someone with very good luck.”

“This isn’t happening,” I whispered. My hands clutched at my hair, trying to ground myself. “Oh my god—oh my god—what did I do?!”

“Me, apparently.”

“Please shut up!”