Blood Money by Lana Sky

Chapter Ten

Ismell him, even before we near the doorway to the dining room.

Domino.

He’s seated at the head of the table again, his hands folded in front of him. He’s switched the white shirt for one of gray, and somehow this color unnerves me the most. Perhaps because it acts as a neutral tone, softening the intensity of his eyes while enhancing the hardness of his features.

“Have a seat, Ada-Maria,” he says, gesturing to the chair nearest him. “I promise that tonight, only chicken is on the menu.”

I stiffen. “Not Pollo d-de Roy?” My voice breaks so badly I can barely get the words out. Tears fall, lashing down my cheeks but I don’t dare wipe them away. I should crave any and every reminder of what he’s done.

What he’s claimed to have done, anyway.

“No, that is not on the menu tonight,” Domino says, tilting his head to observe me. “I hope you enjoyed your full day to yourself. It will be the last you may have for a while.”

I grit my teeth, alarmed by just how easily the threat creeps into his voice. I suspect he chooses now to deploy that bit of information for a reason. Most likely as a prompt to get me to ask, “Are… Are you going to kill me?”

He laughs. “Have a seat, Ada-Maria. This time, I’m afraid, the meal isn’t entirely for your benefit. I’m starving.”

Surprisingly, I sense a note of truthfulness in his voice. Maybe shock alone is what finally draws me closer to the table. I pick a chair halfway down the table from him, but as I pull it out, he shakes his head.

“No. No games tonight; you sit by me.”

I bite back a sigh and approach him, still smoothing my hands down my front. God, it’s as if every little thing I do might give away what I’ve done if I’m not careful. My hands shake. I don’t know what to do with them. Can he somehow sense traces of the drug vial on them?

He says nothing as I sit. Here, his scent hits me full in the face, and another thought creeps in before I can help it, far beyond escape or my kidnapping.

I wonder how he smelled after fucking Alexi, drenched in her cheap perfume. The two-dollar hooker smell wouldn’t mesh well with the spicy tinge of his aftershave. Though hell, they deserved each other. Why should it matter?

Still, sometimes I wonder if Tristan thought I really was as dumb as I looked, or if he just didn’t care to hide it. He never tried to wash her smell off him. I was paranoid that I could taste her on his lips whenever he kissed me.

My only saving grace had been to remind myself that Tristan was too selfish a lover to go down on me, let alone her. But who knows? It kills me that I don’t.

And now Domino…

“You seem distracted tonight, Ada-Maria.”

He’s touching me—a reality that doesn’t sink in until I see his fingers moving from the corner of my eye, twisting a strand of my hair around a thick, calloused thumb.

“Tell me you’ve been a good girl while I was gone.” His inflection dips in a way that makes me shiver. He wants an answer.

“I-I did what you said I could do.” Belatedly, I realize how pathetic that sounded. Weak.

But as sick as it is to admit, I think I satisfied him. His tongue flits across his lower lip.

“Only what I said? You wouldn’t lie to me, now would you, Ada-Maria?”

I jump, nearly choking on the nerves bouncing beneath my skin. The only way to distract from them is to speak, so I blurt the first thing that comes to mind. “You know a lot about lying, don’t you?”

He sits back and claps his hands, ushering in another parade of servers who place a series of platters onto the table. At least he wasn’t lying. The platters of baked meat look and smell like seasoned chicken, though I barely pay attention to them, or any of the other dishes.

For whatever reason, something makes me meet his gaze and hold it.

“I never lied to you,” I say.

He sits forward again, leaning his face alarmingly close to mine. “Your father did plenty of lying for the both of us,” he says. Reaching past me, he drags a plate so close to the table’s edge it nearly falls into my lap. “Eat. Help yourself.”

One of his servants fills his plate before scurrying out of sight.

I don’t touch mine.

“I never lied to you.” It feels important to repeat that. To ensure he can hear the honesty in my voice. And the hate.

“No…” He lifts a glass of wine I didn’t notice until then. Bringing the rim to his mouth, he inspects me before taking a slow sip. “You just lied to everyone else, didn’t you? Though considering the family you grew up in, do you even know what’s the lie and what isn’t?”

I hate how damn smug he sounds. I reach for my own drink only to stop short inches before bringing it to my lips, sloshing wine onto my lap.

“It’s not poisoned,” he admits—grudgingly, I suspect. His reluctance alone gives me the courage to take a sip.

It’s divine. One of the finest vintages I’ve ever tasted, and I nearly choke in my rush to gulp it down.

“Didn’t your Papa teach you, Ada-Maria? Never drink on an empty stomach.”

Gasping for air, I sloppily set my glass aside, relishing the soothing burn of alcohol. It alone must give me the courage to spar verbally with him.

“My father taught me that all men are bastards who lie, and cheat, and steal. It’s good to see that he, at least, didn’t lie to me.” It’s a selective way of looking at it.

One he isn’t amused by.

“Lie to you... Like your Tristan?”

I flinch, feeling fear flood my veins. Does he know that I found the pictures? Or was I so stupid as to give myself away? I can’t tell.

Peeling his gaze from mine, he turns his focus to his food.

“You should eat.” He picks up a fork and stabs at a piece of meat. Then he palms a knife and slowly severs it into pieces.

I swallow hard, flicking my gaze toward the selection of silverware lying beside my place setting. I wasn’t given a knife, just a fork, and spoon.

“Miguel is a damn good cook who excels at preparing both impeccable entrees as well as corrupt politicians. Don’t hold one experience against him. Eat.”

“You make a joke out of it?” I croak hoarsely. “Cooking my father like some fucking animal?”

He inclines his head and samples a bite of meat. “You and I both know that he’s done far worse to far more people, Ada-Maria.”

DoI know that?

“N-No,” I insist, pushing back from the table. “He could be ruthless, but even he wasn’t that cruel—”

“Did he whip you?”

His tone startles me more than the question itself. I would never expect that low, gruff note. Like he cares. Does he?

No, I decide, looking at him. He merely wants another way to get inside my head.

“You did,” I point out.

“Yes.” He stabs at a green vegetable and brings it to his mouth. “I did. Which reminds me…” He pushes back from the table as well and motions with his hand. “Stand up.”

My first impulse is to immediately sink into my chair.

His eyes take on that hard gleam again. He isn’t asking. “I said stand up—”

I nearly knock over my chair in my haste to comply. When I do, he jerks his chin, and I step back from the table.

“Turn around.”

My cheeks flame as I spin. When his low growl catches my ears, I go rigid.

“Goddamn,” he rasps.

I don’t know why I look. Something well beyond fear compels me to. When I glance over my shoulder, I find him stroking his jaw, his eyes on my sore, rent skin. Only by watching him do I catch his lips move and make sense of the rough grumble of syllables to leave his mouth next.

“So fucking beautiful.”

Beautiful.Only a monster would find beauty in blood and pain. Whatever drug he gave me has long since worn off. I can feel every stinging, burning inch, and it hurts. But when I delve into that pain, my wounds don’t seem to be the source of it. Just a selfish, vain realization.

He finds me beautiful only like this, bloodied and broken.

But he fucked Alexi with her perfect flawless skin. He didn’t have to whip her.

“I always knew there was something wrong with you.” The words are flying off my tongue, and it’s too late to choke them back. I blame the wine.

From his amused glance, I assume he does as well.

“You did, did you?” He returns to the table and pours himself a serving of wine. Then he reaches for my glass and fills it as well. “Is that what you were thinking every time you pranced before me in one of those tight ass little skirts? That I was wrong for you?”

I grit my teeth. “I could have anyone in Terra Rodea,” I snap.

He nods and takes a slow sip of wine. “Anyone but me.”

He’s right.

I think of him again with Alexi. Fucking that bitch.

Impulsively, I stagger to the table, snatching my glass of wine. I start to bring it to my mouth but sometime during the motion, I pivot and hurl it against the wall instead.

It shatters, and the liquid goes flying, staining the white wall like blood.

“You’ll wish you hadn’t done that,” Domino warns.

Pride is a strong enough barrier against fear. “If I wanted you, I could have had you,” I tell him. “You think you’re better than any other sycophant to circle around my father like a vulture? You’re all the same, with the same greedy cock and the same taste for a tiny waist and big tits. In fact, you were never worth my time—”

I don’t even see him move.

My chin is in his grasp before I know it, wrenched back until I have no choice but to meet his gaze.

“And if I wanted you, I would have had you dripping wet any time of day and anywhere, wouldn’t I, Ada-Maria? God, you couldn’t hide it even if you tried. I only had to snap my fingers, and you’d suck my cock in a heartbeat, wouldn’t you? Even in the bath…”

He trails off, but my brain picks up the sordid taunt for him. When he touched me, I reacted the exact opposite way a woman should respond to her captor. With insatiable need, like a shameless whore.

Stab.I want to stab him with the syringe, injecting every ounce of Ativan. God, I want to. My fingers twitch with the desire, and I wrench out of his grasp, contemplating running to my room and grabbing the vial now. Seizing my chance.

Wait.It takes effort to choke down the shame and rage and find the tendril of logic lurking beneath. I can’t be stupid and waste my only chance at escape. A better route would be to milk him for whatever I can and lure him into relaxing his guard.

“You were always so transparent, Ada-Maria,” Domino taunts, drawing my notice again. I wonder if he’s been speaking to me all this time. “So desperate. So fucking pathetic—”

“Then what do you want with me, then?” I try not to let the pain in my voice show.

I fail.

Regardless, I turn to him, meeting those cold green eyes once more.

“Why kill my father but take me?”

“Why?” He laughs and snags my chin again. Using it as an anchor, he drags me toward him, bringing our faces within an inch of each other’s. “I want something from you, Ada-Maria. Something that your father entrusted into your pathetic, weak little brain. I want you to be honest with me. Where is the Inglecias file?”

I rip out of his grasp. “Don’t touch me—”

“Then answer me.” He advances a step, his expression colder than ever. “Where is the fucking file?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“God damnit…” He’s closer in an instant, pressing his thumb against my bottom lip so hard it clips against my teeth. “You’re stupid, Ada, but not that stupid. Though sometimes, I will admit. You have me fooled.”

His voice… It’s dangerous, rumbling through my belly. So deep. So hoarse.

The way I’d imagine him sounding during sex, too drunk on lust to give a damn about maintaining his ruse as a stoic bodyguard.

Enough!I shake my head to snap out of it. It’s the damn wine addling my senses. Nothing more.

But then why is he frowning, still stroking my lip. Over and over again. “Give me what I want,” he tells me, contorting his voice into a mockery of gentleness. The effect is more alarming than when he shouts. “Be a good girl, and I’ll make this easier on you. Though admittedly, your fate is already far beyond my hands, Ada-Maria—”

“Get off me!”

I strike his chest with the flat of my hand and stagger away from him, crashing into the table as a result. Without looking, I feel along the polished surface for a weapon. Something. Anything. Then, as if by a miracle, my finger catches the edge of something sharp. Alarmingly sharp.

I find a dull surface to grab and brandish my weapon before me.

“Leave me alone.”

Rather than cower in alarm, he laughs. “You couldn’t use that on me even if you wanted to. Here, I’ll help.” In two strides, he’s practically on top of me, snatching my wrist—but rather than wrench the knife away, he manipulates my grasp until I’m holding the tip against his throat.

“Go on and do it, Ada-Maria,” he goads. “If you go straight into the artery, it’s easy. There will be no resistance from any muscle or bone—at first. Until the full extent of the bleeding kicks in. I hope you like a nice, hot shower because that’s what it will feel like—” his voice softens, damn near a whisper. “A warm, relaxing shower that tastes like salt and will stain that pretty little dress. So do it. I’ll even get it started for you...”

Horrified, I watch as he tightens his grip, driving the tip of the blade into his skin. He bleeds in a fat bead of scarlet that wells up right over the edge of the knife.

“N-No!” I pull back, and he lets me go. Off-balance, I stagger back and trip, landing on my knees.

“Thought so.” He shrugs, knife in hand, and brushes his thumb along the small nick on his neck. “A damn shame—” he brings that finger to his mouth and licks the tip. “I was looking forward to it. Your body covered in blood has always been a fantasy of mine.”

I choke. At the back of my mind, I realize this is exactly what he wants—to push me to the brink. I’m playing right into his hands by shivering, gaping in fear.

My father operated the same way. Men like them rule by terror. The ability to sow confusion and doubt in their enemies so that they never see the knife poised to stab them in the back. I can’t resist glancing over my shoulder just in case.

“I’ll warn you, Ada-Maria,” Domino says. “I’m almost bored of our game. Give me something useful if you want to play a little longer. Inglecias. Where did the bastard keep the file?”

I truly don’t know, but I sense that now isn’t the time to admit that. Instead, I ask the obvious question and pray it doesn’t set him off. “Why do you care?”

He blinks, his eyes narrowing. “Information is money,” he says, switching back to that disarming growl. “Let’s just say I know someone willing to pay a damn lot for said information. Where is the Inglecias file—”

“It’s personal to you, isn’t it?” I ask, seeing through the lie. Still, I’m not completely sure I’m right until a muscle in his jaw lurches angrily.

“Where is it?”

“Did you know Pia?”

How could he, though?

We knew everything there was to know about each other. Or at least, we did. Weeks before she went missing, my charming, chatty friend grew quiet and evasive about what she did in her free time. And with whom.

I do have my own life, you realize?she sniped at me once, too busy eying a delicate silver ring on her left hand to even look at me.

Soon, she wasn’t just keeping secrets. Our meetings after school became shorter and more infrequent, but she wasn’t in any extracurriculars to explain all those consumed hours. I even asked her once, if she were seeing a boy.

Her response was a sly smirk and a wink. I could be, though I wouldn’t call him a boy. Why, Adie? Are you jealous?

Of course, I was, and out of sheer pride, I never asked her again. Domino is in his early thirties now, meaning he would have been in his twenties back then. Too old? For a normal teenager, perhaps, but I soon learned that Pia’s taste skewed far older than that.

Which makes Domino a fitting candidate, nonetheless.

“Congratulations, Ada-Maria,” Domino says dryly. “You have managed to bore me—”

“Have I?” A dangerous stunt comes to mind. It’s stupid, but I have nothing left to lose. He claims to not care? Then he can prove it. I wet my lips with the tip of my tongue and say, “Pia Inglecias was a stupid, dumb bitch, and she deserved whatever the hell she got.”

He lunges, his eyes flashing. I don’t think he even realizes what he’s done until his hand is already around my throat, snatching the chain and pulling so tight my eyes bulge.

“How dare you even talk about her?”

“So you knew her,” I croak, my eyes watering.

He lets me go as I grapple with the fact that I managed to pry some sliver of information loose from him. He couldn’t fake that kind of anger. He knew Pia.

And that irrational sense of jealousy returns. I am ten times better than Alexi Rojas in every goddamn way. But Pia? She was always the brighter star of our trio, shining so fiercely I was all but invisible in her shadow.

But back then, I didn’t mind being invisible. As the stereotypical ugly fat friend, I think I was at my happiest. I could live as Ada without being seen as my father’s tool or a hot piece of ass. In so many ways, it was a better existence than having to stand on my own. Even forty pounds lighter, with a full face of makeup, I always knew at the back of my mind that if Pia were still here, I wouldn’t come close.

Domino loving her…that I could understand.

“If you knew her,” I croak, rubbing at my throat, “then you probably have a better idea of what happened to her than I do, or my father. She was barely talking to me when she left.”

A fact that my father used to his advantage. Why show loyalty to someone who only ever used you? he demanded. I am the only one who will ever protect you. Go do this for me…

“And even now, you continue to play dumb,” Domino hisses. The level of disgust in his voice stings. Almost as much as his anger confuses me. “Pia Inglecias is dead,” he says. “Don’t look so fucking surprised. I’m sure you know when, where, and have been dancing on her grave for the past ten years. Your father kept meticulous records concerning all of that, I’m sure. How he blackmailed the Inglecias family and tried to have them killed—”

“Pia… She’s not dead.” I can barely say those words out loud. I haven’t, not once since she’s been missing—even if I’ve suspected as much in the pit of my soul. She can’t be dead. She ran away because she bit off more than she could chew. As for blackmail…

My father wouldn’t waste time trying to threaten anyone to keep them silent. He’d cover his tracks too well to care.

“She ran away,” I say slowly. I could laugh at the expression on his face. Or scream. “If you were fucking her back then, you’d know that—”

“Pia is dead.” His voice rings out, chillingly final. “Stop with the little girl lost act. Your father killed her. You know that—”

“No.” I shake my head. “No, he wouldn’t.”

“And how can you be so fucking sure of that? He’s killed women before. Children—”

“No!” I stagger to my feet. “He wouldn’t kill Pia, because I had to make sure he wouldn’t. I’m sure he gave her some money and made her skip town—”

“What do you mean?” He sounds so hoarse. So desperate that I almost forget the monster I’m speaking to.

“Pia stole from us,” I say, gutted by the admission years later.

My nearest and dearest friend turned out to be like everyone else in my shitty life—interested in me only as far as my last name went.

“She used me to break into my father’s private office, and she took money from the safe. A lot of money. My father was so pissed…” I shiver at the thought, feeling the marks on my back prickle. Not the new ones—the older ones that may have superficially healed, but they always cut deeper than my skin. “He told me that he didn’t want to press charges. He just wanted her to know how it felt to have someone steal something important. So, I snuck into her room and took her diary. He was going to use it as leverage to make her return the money.”

In retrospect, it was just a stupid act, too petty to despair over. In reality, I was saving Pia from a hell of a lot worse. But still, I never felt dirtier than I did then.

Until I read said journal, of course, and felt even worse…

“I’m sure he gave her some of the money,” I blurt, aware of Domino waiting. “And she skipped town, too ashamed to show her face.”

“She’s dead.” Something in his voice makes me look at him again. His eyes are glazed, his lips set in a firm line that makes me suspect that he’s moved beyond anger. He’s suspicious. And confused.

“I wouldn’t lie about something like that.”

“No,” he admits, and I’m startled by the sigh of relief that rips through me. “You spoiled little fool. Pia didn’t steal money from that bastard. She stole—” He breaks off, stopping himself from revealing too much. “Now I know why Roy kept you so fucking close all this time. It wasn’t because you were in on his schemes. You were just dumb enough to believe him at every turn. I’m sure that helped him sleep at night.”

He isn’t joking. He’s dead serious.

“Stop talking like you know me! You don’t know me!”

“Don’t I?” His eyes flash, warning me to tread carefully. “I’ve known you from that very first day in Don Roy’s office, Ada-Maria. I saw you then in crystal-clear focus. A woman with enough beauty to get a man hard in seconds. And the brains of a fucking bunny rabbit. You react to every man the same and prance around, noticing only those with a nice credit card or a sexy sports car—with your Papa’s permission, of course. Am I too far off?”

“Yes. You’re wrong,” I snap.

But he’s not.

Fully aware of that, he smirks, his eyes glittering. “How so? The brains part? Or your choice in men? Tell me, in between that lawyer you’re fucking and the old man you let screw you a month before dating him, where am I off base?”

My cheeks heat with shame because he’s right. I wait for him to grind my nose in my biggest fault of all—wanting him.

“I’m surprised you knew my name, Ada-Maria. At least beyond being your father’s dutiful lackey.”

And there I have it. It’s stupid to cling to this one shred of triumph, but I do.

“I wanted you more than anyone,” I blurt, sounding smug for once. “Always.”

His smirk falls. “For a viper, bred from a family of liars, you sure are terrible at it.”

Though I should be lying. I shouldn’t want to prove him wrong. Obviously, this is bait to goad me into the trap of admitting my attraction to him. Still, I can’t seem to resist tripping right into it.

“I always wanted you,” I tell him, licking my lips as my mouth suddenly goes dry. He doesn’t race to cut me off this time. He’s watching, waiting. “Always. I watched you every night, in front of the guesthouse. I always tried to speak to you. And when I was in bed alone, I’d—”

I’ve said too much. My chest is heaving as every breath becomes a struggle. This dress feels too tight. My back is on fire, and beneath his gaze, I’ve never felt smaller, as fragile as the wine glass lying in pieces across the room.

Because in this moment, at least, all he wants to do is shatter me.

“I am not one of your old men, Ada-Maria,” he warns. “Don’t play your mind games on me.”

A suggestion I am more than willing to heed. I’m so tired. I think of that bed in the room he’s made my cell—but not the drugs hidden beneath my mattress. I just want to hide.

“Don’t you dare run from me.”

I’m spinning on my heel anyway, racing for the door. My thoughts are a blur. I don’t even have a clear aim in mind but to run. When I finally make out a direction, I realize that I’m not heading toward that large, rounded door. I’m staggering into that white bedroom instead.

I can hear him behind me, his steps deliberately slow. Thump. Thump. They echo as steadily as the ticking of those clocks he has. As relentless and inescapable as time itself.

Think!I move to the bed, gripping the end of the mattress just as he appears in the doorway.

“I think I’ve grown tired enough of these games, Ada-Maria.” He takes a step, and the harsh, pristine backdrop merely serves to illustrate how massive he truly is. So tall, with muscle straining against the sleeves of his shirt. The sliver of his chest visible ripples, his body tense with rage.

Viewing him now, I realize that there is no realistic way I could ever overpower him enough to deliver an injection. My only chance is to get him to relax his guard. To have him sit on the bed of his own accord, or sleep here, even…

One solution suddenly comes to mind—I could seduce him.

And I don’t have any other choice.

Any shame or doubt, I push out of my brain as I meet his gaze again. “Why did you never come on to me?” I ask him, fighting to keep my breathing under control.

He laughs, but the question has the effect I want. He’s distracted from his anger for now, at least.

He inclines his head, viewing me from behind dangerously thick lashes. Rather than soften his features, the attribute only serves to obscure what little emotion lurks within his gaze. “I thought I was clear enough on that point? No amount of beauty in the world can disguise a soulless interior—”

“I’m not talking about marriage, Domino,” I say, sounding stronger than I feel. “I’m talking about sex. I’m sure you’ve fucked plenty of women with dirty little souls.”

Alexi, for one. Knowing he’s been with her reveals his high and mighty act for what it is. An act. Which means he had another reason for avoiding me.

“Was it because of my father?” I ask while gathering the nerve to take a step from my hiding place, toward the foot of the bed.

When I do, he narrows his eyes, those beautiful lips parting as if to order me to stop. He doesn’t.

So, I creep forward another step. “He isn’t here now.”

Despite everything, I can’t keep my voice from breaking. The reason for my father’s absence is standing right here before me while I try to… What?

Seduce him?

If it were possible to, I would have at any other point during the last five years. Perhaps I wasn’t desperate enough?

Because I think he likes this. Watching me tremble before him, toeing some invisible line. To cross it would mean debasing myself fully, forfeiting any ounce of self-worth I may have left. Then again, I am a Pavalos.

Nothing trumps survival.

I finger the neckline of my dress. His eyes track the motion, halting my next breath.

“You would fuck me now?” he asks gruffly. “Why? In hopes that I’d be so enamored by that magic pussy I’d let you go?”

I flinch as the jab strikes its target. “N-No. I’m just curious,” I whisper. “You haven’t tried to touch me.”

Not outside of a brutal context, at least.

“If you wanted me, why not?”

“Because the world doesn’t revolve around Ada-Maria Pavalos,” he snarls, closing the distance between us. “I can die a happy man without fucking you. Trust me on that.”

“But you don’t have to.” The air feels so heavy, every breath takes the utmost effort. Sweat dampens my skin, and I’m aware of how thin this dress is. How sore my back is. How insane it is to play with fire and consider fucking the man who kidnapped me and killed my father.

I’ve done far worse in my life.

But the flicker of excitement in my belly makes this time so different from the others. I shouldn’t want this...

“Why not fuck me, if you could?” I ask, my voice heavy. “Especially if you don’t plan on letting me go?”

“Because I don’t want to be gentle, that’s why.” He grabs my throat, wrenching me closer before I can react.

I panic, struggling against his grasp before I realize that this is what I wanted. His nostrils flare with my scent as his gaze dips to my breasts.

Startled, I dare to assume that my seduction attempt is working.

“I wouldn’t be,” he says with the sincerity of a promise, still on the topic of gentleness. “I’d fuck you so hard, I’d—” He bites off the rest, but my brain takes up the task of imagining what he’d say. What he’d do to me. Bite, I think, given how his lower lip is skewered between his teeth, so hard the flesh is reddened.

Fear rises up, countering the fragile logic I’ve come up with. I couldn’t willingly let someone like him have me. It would be insane. Dangerous.

“That fucking mouth,” Domino growls, his eyes on the feature in question. “The things I’ve imagined those lips doing.”

It’s like my offer does something to him, unlocking the dangerous confessions I doubt he’d otherwise voice.

“If you want to play, then who am I to stop you?” He grabs my wrist, turning for the door.

To fuck me somewhere else, far from my only bit of leverage.

“W-Wait!” There isn’t time to think or plan. I lunge for him, pressing my mouth to his, clawing at his shirt to feel the hard planes of his chest beneath.

For a second—just one—I forget. My brain overloads and melts with the sensation I’ve dreamt about for so long. Few men live up to the hype their good looks and stature imply. Tristan is a prime example. Sex with him was a chore I had to endure, moaning at the right times to keep him excited. I don’t think anyone ever exceeded my expectations.

But this…

This is violent. He nips at my lips until they part, stealing his way inside. His taste, his scent, his heat. I’m drunk on all three, dizzy and breathless within seconds.

Abruptly, he pulls away, stepping back, his lips wet. He was toying with me, of course. Just as I think the thought, he snags a handful of my dress, lifting it.

The style forces me to raise my arms to assist him. I swallow in anticipation of his expression as the final piece of fabric is lifted away.

What I find is hunger. Raw open lust so scorching my skin feels seared in the face of it. The restraint he showed in the bath snaps. Boldly, he cups my breast against his palm, groaning at the feel.

I stop breathing at the sensation of his touch. Heavy and rough—yet soft and teasing. He is a wealth of contradictions as he strokes the peak of my nipple with his thumb.

I can’t suppress a gasp.

At the sound, his eyes meet mine again, darkening as if he’s battling some internal dilemma. Whatever conclusion he reaches makes him shrug.

“Fuck it.” That gruff exhale is my only warning as he shoves me back onto the mattress. He rakes his gaze over me, settling between my legs.

At the same time, he’s already ripping open the front of his slacks, and my eyes latch onto his movements, more curious than I’d ever admit out loud.

He’s gorgeous. He’s terrifying.

Already erect, he springs free, and I’m horrified to realize that I don’t know what initially aroused him. My offer? Or seeing my back in the dining room?

Without revealing the answer, he steps forward, mounting the bed after me, and my attention returns to the task at hand. Not that he seems inclined to let me take the lead. He shoves my left thigh aside, making room for him to crouch between both. Harsh, his hands slide beneath my hips, yanking me closer.

A thrill shoots down my spine, mingling with a fiery burst of pain. It hurts, but the pain is like a welcome anchor to the grim reality. This isn’t about lust, or even fucking.

This is war. To stay alive, I have to grit my teeth and bear the agony. I have to arch my hips into him, choking out a moan the way I have so many times before.

“Don’t.” A sharper sting overrides the various aches I feel. His nails, gripping the swell of my ass, biting deep. I gasp in shock.

And he pinches me again.

“No faking,” he commands. “No pretending. I don’t want that shit. I want…”

He doesn’t tell me. Instead, he shoves his hand between my legs, sliding what feels like a thumb against my outer lips. I can’t silence a cry of alarm. It feels…

Like I imagined it would. So damn good. His skin alone sows devious friction, and I can’t stop my legs from drifting further apart, opening myself to more.

But his goal isn’t to savor me. He rams a thick finger in deep without warning.

My eyelids flutter. Holy shit. He’s rough, entering me swiftly without care. Like he’s searching for something.

Gravely, his voice rumbles against my ear, revealing exactly what. “Wet.” He says it with such disgust. Such awe. It’s a marvelous discovery. A trap.

As if to prove the slickness he finds is real, he eases another finger alongside the first, stretching them both. Together. Apart. Further. Too far!

I cry out, gritting my teeth at the burn of being stretched. He doesn’t take his time or rub like I’m some cheap wind-up toy. I get the sense that he’s merely testing me instead. Satisfied, he wrenches his fingers free.

I hiss through my teeth at the loss. My legs are quivering, my heartbeat unsteady. I can’t seem to catch enough air as he raises his palm to his mouth and spits. When he moves that same hand to his cock, I know that he doesn’t need the lubrication. He’s doing it to prove a point—this is what he thinks of me. A whore he can take selfishly without preparation. A slut.

Someone desperate enough not to care either way.

Selfishly, he guides himself forward while snatching a fistful of my hair with his free hand. He tugs, slamming his hips forward in the same swift motion.

There is no resistance. At first. It’s like my body has become so accustomed to average men that his balls are striking against my ass by the time I register just how deep he truly is. How massive.

My lips fly apart, my voice a squeak. “You’re so big.”

He grunts in annoyance, pinching my inner thigh—but I’m not lying.

He’s verging on the edge of painful, every thrust like being rubbed raw from the inside out. But when he eases himself nearly all the way out, the friction is like dropping a lit match over a trail of gasoline.

A strangled cry echoes back to me, and it’s a second before I realize that it’s me. It’s been so long since I’ve felt something so intense. Nerves I’d forgotten existed come alive, begging for attention.

From him.

And he somehow manages to stimulate every last one as he shoves himself back in, slamming home with a grunt.

Even his sounds feed the tempests of sensation washing over me, addling my senses. I rock my hips into his next thrust. Groan when he slides out. Again. Again.

We’re jerking across the mattress. Soon, my head slips off entirely, dangling over the floor as he grips me tighter, increasing his pace.

It’s so damn good.

I’m whimpering beneath the onslaught, feeling my belly tighten like a rubber band stretched taut. Too taut. Snap!

My spine arches, fingers grappling for a fistful of the sheets. Orgasm, I realize. I can’t remember the last time I had one like this. So intense I can feel every muscle clamping down over his cock. Every pulsating ridge of muscle ramming inside me, heedless of the way my entire body tenses.

My lips are open, but I’m too breathless to make a sound, my eyes on the opposite wall as my head lolls in time to his movements, slamming off the mattress.

“Fuck!” He lunges, sinking his teeth against my collar bone.

I can feel him coming inside me, and it’s seemingly endless. I’ll burst from the force of it, but he’s already wrenching himself free.

Don’t let him go.

The thought drives me to muster my aching limbs into motion. I grab him, finding his mouth, kissing him with all I have.

Tire him.

I don’t think. I crawl onto my knees, shoving him back.

As his eyes meet mine, I freeze, waiting for him to shove me off. His gaze narrows instead. Impatient.

Without needing a prompt, I rake my fingers down his chest, tug at the remaining buttons holding his shirt together.

“Don’t.” He bats my hands away, but inclines his head lower.

Somehow, his cock is semi-hard, practically lurching into my hands. I ignore my hesitation and lower my head, taking him into my mouth as deeply as I can.

“Shit!” His fingers grapple for my hair, grabbing chunks so hard my eyes water.

I suck him like a starving woman, ignoring the taste. Until I can’t, forced to acknowledge that it’s nowhere near as repulsive as it should be. We taste like salt and sin together. Wrong and right. So damn good it makes my heart ache.

“Enough.” He’s thickening again, swelling over my tongue, but I don’t stop. I can’t. The desperate need to keep him here dulls me to everything else. Like common sense warning me to heed him. Like fear.

When he tugs on my collar, ripping my head free, I choke out a reply as his eyes flash dangerously.

“I’ve always wanted to taste you.” My voice is so breathless, he can’t tell if I’m lying. Am I?

Confused, he watches me, but he doesn’t shove me off.

I return to sucking him, surprised by the pulsating ache between my legs. I’m so sore, overly sensitive from an orgasm.

And yet, I could take him again. God, some sick part of me wants to. Needs to. I’m writhing, rubbing my thighs together just to dull the ache.

“Jesus Christ,” he says throatily. I can’t tell if it’s my mouth he’s referring to or my arousal, tinging the air. My entire body betrays me. I couldn’t hide my pleasure if I tried.

“Get on your knees.” He pushes me back again, so abruptly that liquid sprays from my mouth, my lips still parted in an o-shape.

A smug gleam alights his eyes, setting my entire body on edge.

“Do it.” He snatches my hair to make me comply faster, forcing me to spin, putting my back to him.

He doesn’t waste time taunting me. He runs his finger down my spine before stroking directly over his new target.

I wince, real fear breaking through the lust.

Men have fondled my ass before, begging me to let them take me there. I heard that whores like Alexi preferred it, eliminating any risk of pregnancy, but I never was a fan.

When Domino nears that area, he doesn’t beg for permission. He breaches me without warning, utilizing the hard tip of a thumb.

I shudder. “D-Don’t.” My act slips. I’m afraid.

He doesn’t care, driving himself deeper as my muscles fight to keep him out. It’s such a different violation than the other. My body can’t make that part of me as ready. The only solution is to let myself relax into him and force my muscles to allow him in.

And the pleasure here is different, slow-burning and cautious.

“You’d let me take you here if I wanted?” he asks, his voice so thick I can barely make out the individual words. He thrusts in a little harder, venturing a fraction deeper, and my cry is too sharp to smother. “Hell yes, you would.”

And that pleases him. Excites him.

He shoves me onto my hands, gripping my ass, and my teeth clatter as I try not to resist, bracing myself for the pain.

He enters my pussy instead, taking effort to go deep and hard.

This orgasm is harder to find. I have to reach between my legs, stroking my clit, finding it swollen and dripping as he thrusts in again. Lightning flashes with every stroke. Finally, release.

I groan, burying my mouth against the sheets to smother the noise.

He shouts, scratching me brutally as if in punishment.

He wanted to fuck me. Hurt me.

He didn’t want to enjoy it so damn much.