Blood Ties by Lana Sky
Chapter Thirteen
Ican’t stop him this time. My hands are easily batted aside, and I wind up grasping for the nearest source of stability I can find as his heat sears the flesh between my legs. It’s so soft, whatever it is, like I’m grasping at silk—his hair, I realize.
It’s my turn to rake my nails over his skull and pull as he does exactly what he warned he would.
He buries his tongue inside of me.
In this instance, I have no frame of reference to compare him to. As it turns out, most of the men I’ve slept with were only interested in their own pleasure, never mine. I was just a smiling, warm sex doll. The closest anyone came to attempting to get me off manually was Tristan, and only with his fingers, sloppily with no real effort put into the act.
But Domino…
Eat is such a dangerous word—so vulgar to describe simply putting your mouth on someone. When a woman sucks a cock, it’s not described so viciously.
But the feeling assaulting me now can only be described by terms that should never apply to something like sex. Devoured. Swallowed. Choked down. Worshiped...
He turns my body into his altar, and then he douses me in sin. After sin. After sin.
I scream, writhing as his lips press against my inner flesh, while his fingers come to spread me open. Ruthlessly expose every inch and fold. Then his tongue lashes, hot and violent, irritating every single nerve to a painful degree.
His teeth graze me next, and I jerk, trying to push his head again. Then gripping him for dear life as my eyes roll back.
It would be one thing, if he could abuse me in this way, and I’d have to endure it. Suffer through each slow, savoring lick. Keep my senses. Hate him and hate him.
He turns my body inside out instead. Every bit of twitching muscle and heated flesh becomes my enemy, rebelling against the faint sliver of my brain fighting for control.
I whimper, realizing it’s too late to shut him out. His tongue easily slips inside of me, molten hot. My body welcomes him, each drop of moisture flooding like gasoline toward the lips and tongue working in tandem like a match and tinder.
I’m on fire. Too hot. Burning alive. Melting. Ashes.
Then, just when my stomach stops flipping, and I can breathe again, he keeps going…
Shame is a concept that feels harder to grasp with every brutal, gut-wrenching orgasm he wrings from me. My spine is his toy, my limbs jelly, my voice so hoarse and broken I can’t speak.
Hurting him is the only language I have left to communicate with him. Raking nails and tugging fingers.
But he’s impervious, no matter how hard on his scalp I pull.
“…faking.” I feel his voice vibrate through me; it’s so guttural, overpowering every other sound to ripple through my skull. “So good at faking. My Ada. Keep faking.”
He’s taunting me, and I don’t even have the sense of mind to counter him.
My moans are shameless, reduced to whispered gasps as my voice breaks. I see stars by the time I start to believe he’ll finally take mercy on me. He’s stopped, his head resting heavily on my thighs, his pants basting the drenched skin between my legs.
“I imagined roses,” he rasps, tilting his head so that his eyes find me.
I’m too sensitive. Too raw. With one look, a pulse shoots down my spine, and I flinch; it’s damn near painful. One look, and it’s like he’s touching me all over again.
“Or bubblegum, or some shit,” he adds, his eyes narrowing. Slowly, he trails his tongue across his wet lips, tasting whatever moisture is there. The flavor must anger him. Infuriate. He glowers at me, through damp strands of black hair that frame his face like scorch marks. My devil, enraged by my taste. “How is it possible that you taste better than that?” he demands.
“Please,” I croak as he lowers his gaze, crouching between my legs again.
I’m panting, my back on fire, ass scraped raw by the stone beneath me. “Please... Enough.”
As if he would ever show me mercy.
Ruthlessly, his mouth engulfs me again. Torments me again.
The pleasure is so sharp and intense it borders on painful. It is pain, every hungry, groping touch from him. Every slow, relishing lick.
Eating is the only word that comes close to describing what it feels like. With nibbling, greedy tastes, he devours me whole.
I lose track of time and space. I just know that when the pressure finally relents, I’m leaning against a sturdy surface, softer than stone, but just as impenetrable.
“I’ve got you,” he says in a voice so rough my toes curl. “I’ve got you, Ada… Always, I’ve got you.”
Something in his tone reaches through my dazed, dizzying thoughts to some part of me beneath that stirs in alarm. It’s hard to remember why I should be. Why I shouldn’t relent to the grip of the man holding me against his chest, cradling my head against his shoulder, as he propels us both through the water. Why I should hate…
It’s like being amid the throes of the wildest, reckless, dangerous high. The rules of reality start to blend and blur, and my giddy brain tells me that anything is possible. Even the prospect of Domino Valenciaga craving me in a way that roughens his voice like I’ve never heard it.
But somewhere in the process of him lifting me from the water and carrying me across the property toward the terrace, my common sense starts to return. I wake up.
With the house looming above, there’s no denying who I am or the identity of the man holding me in his arms. I stiffen, scrambling to regain control of my limbs.
“L-Let me go,” I demand.
Either he doesn’t hear me, or he doesn’t care, swiftly mounting the bottom level of the terrace even as my palm lands harmlessly against his chest. I can’t see his face fully from this angle. Just a curtain of dark hair and the edge of his jaw, clenched so tightly it’s a firm, solid line.
He’s facing straight ahead, as though I don’t exist, even as he adjusts his grip on my body to keep me contained.
We must have been in the pool for hours. The sun is lower over the horizon, marking the hottest part of the late afternoon, not long before sundown. Bathed in the golden glow, the house looks majestic.
And more inescapable than ever, my beautiful paradise of a prison. Two figures lurk on the topmost part of the terrace, watching our approach.
One is short and diminutive in stature. Ines.
The other is tall and lithe, her blond hair swaying in a light breeze as she leans over the railing.
“Boo! No fair,” Alexi calls. “If you were going for a swim, I would have come! We could have played chicken.”
I can sense her barely concealed innuendo from here, even without having to see the simpering smile on her face.
Then I realize, that to know we went swimming, she can tell that Domino and I are dripping wet, our hair plastered to our heads. A quick glance down reveals that he donned his slacks at least before heading here.
But I’m still naked. Still raw and overly sensitive, too exhausted to even stand on my own, let alone cover myself.
The knowledge of people watching has me shrinking against him, forced to submit to the width of his arms to cover any exposed parts of me.
And the bastard is enjoying this. He has enough tact not to laugh outright, but I can feel the subtle tremors ripple through his chest. He loves having me unnerved, left with no choice but to rely on him.
A fact that I should always keep at the back of my mind.
I stay alert as he follows the gradual incline of the terrace, eventually winding his way to the top where Alexi and Ines wait, the latter poised for instruction.
“We’ll have dinner in the dining room,” he says to the maid who dutifully scurries off. Then, Domino inclines his head toward Alexi. “We’ll change and meet you there.”
I can’t look at her directly. Not when my face is on fire, every insecurity I physically possess screaming out in the open for her enjoyment. I’m sure she can see the marks and bruises on my body in stark detail. The slight trembling in my legs.
The wetness leaving Domino’s lips glistening.
I’m sure she can connect the dots—but that’s not what has me on edge. It’s the fear that in her eyes, I’ll find a conspiratorial gleam that warns she’s not the least bit surprised to see me like this, with him.
Because, every step of the way, she’s been in on his plan from the very beginning.
“Can’t wait,” she says finally, in a flat tone that doesn’t reveal her impression of the situation either way.
As Domino heads inside, crossing the threshold of the circular foyer, I can’t stop myself from looking back.
She’s watching us, one hand casually braced on the railing behind her, her head tilted so that the sunlight hits her from the best possible angle. She’s so effortlessly pretty that it hurts, her eyes the same big, endless blue that I remember, her face perfection, perky tits on full display by her lowcut top.
Her smile is cheerful, stretching eagerly across her face.
But in her gaze lurks open suspicion and a quiet hostility that she doesn’t bother to disguise. Domino isn’t the source of her annoyance, either.
Just me.
As Domino crosses the foyer, she disappears from my line of sight, and I find myself being carried into his room seconds later.
He sets me on the edge of the mattress and strolls for the closet, tugging his slacks down as he goes.
There is a shameless pride in how he stands utterly naked and scans the items hanging from the rails. At first, I assume that he’s putting so much scrutiny into picking an outfit for himself. One that will impress a certain blond, perhaps?
Then he fingers the hem of a black skirt, and I realize what he’s doing. He’s picking out an outfit for me.
I’d forgotten that sometime during the chaos of Jaguar’s arrival, he had women’s clothing brought here. He scans them all with a familiarity that makes my breath quicken. Like he already has the exact white A-line style dress in mind for me to wear. It’s just a matter of finding it.
When he finally approaches, chosen dress in hand, he eyes me with a ruthless sweep of his gaze.
“I’ll need to wash you.”
I shiver, my head swimming. It’s unnerving how he can shift from emotionless to bristling with intensity on a dime.
“I can wash myself.” I try to stand, and I barely flex my feet against the floor when I’m assaulted by a million different, conflicting sensations. My various scrapes and injuries are on fire, each one throbbing at full force. Between my legs feels sore, rubbed raw. Even the slightly cooler air inside feels like stabbing knives against that sensitive skin. Forget washing myself; I don’t even know if I’m brave enough to risk standing up.
“So damn stubborn.” Domino hauls me to my feet by my wrist, making the decision for me.
I’m biting my lip so hard I taste blood as he makes me follow him into the bathroom and lean against the counter. He retrieves a clean cloth from somewhere, wets it beneath the faucet, and then wipes me with a rigorous, clinical focus.
The same way my father maintained his luxury vehicles. It was one of the few tasks he preferred to do himself, waxing them to perfection, ensuring they made the best possible impact.
I’m as much a possession to him as those cars were to my father. I can see the same cold focus in his eyes as he drags the cloth over my belly and between my legs. He’s making a note of every scrape and scratch. Every time I flinch and jump when he grazes a barely healed injury.
He’s making a mental map of every inch of me.
A man who planned on selling you wouldn’t be this obsessive, a part of me warns. I ignore it.
His motives aside, I try to reassemble my logical thought process as I come down from that sexual high. The things he said come rushing back to me, mainly about Jaguar and Alexi.
“Why was she after Tristan?” Is he implying that she was doing so on Jaguar’s say-so?
She works for him,he said.
“Why is she here now? What do you—”
He presses a finger to my lips, sealing them with just enough pressure to cut me off.
“You’ll get your answers,” he says, dropping his rag into the sink. He retreats into the room and returns with the dress bunched in both hands. He motions for me to raise my arms, and when I do, he dresses me, tugging the material down to fall over my hips.
With an appreciative glance, he surveys his work in the mirror. Hunched behind me, he can’t disguise the way his eyes dip over the V-shaped neckline. “I knew this one would suit you,” he remarks in a voice so subdued I almost miss what he says.
He knew…
I inspect myself, noting that the white dress—like pretty much everything he’s had me wear since my arrival—is far beyond the usual norm I’d stick to. It’s too bold, and at the same time, too minimal. The demur shade of white makes my eyes look even larger than they are.
In comparison to his bulk, I’m as delicate as a porcelain doll.
A contrast that I think he enjoys.
“Come.” He crosses the balcony, reenters the closet, and grabs a shirt and dry slacks, pulling them on with little fanfare. Then he leads the way into the dining room, where Alexi lounges shamelessly against the back of the chair placed at the table’s head.
At the sight of Domino, her mouth quirks into a sly smirk as she arches her back so high her nipples threaten to pop out from the neckline of her top. “I’m starving,” she purrs. “I’m just about ready to stick anything I can get ahold of into my mouth.”
The bitch.
She looks past me, her eyes tracking Domino as he claims a seat beside her. His hand latches onto my wrist, forcing me to take the one next to him.
“It’s about time we got to catch up, Adie,” Alexi says, flicking her attention to me. “Gosh, how long has it been?”
Not long enough, in a sense. For so long, Alexi has so doggedly pursued any man I’ve had any hint of interest in. Am I surprised that she managed to dig her claws into Domino?
No. I’m more alarmed by the fact that she succeeded.
She’s mastered his talent for poker faces, it seems, her blue eyes unreadable as I meet her gaze. She sits forward, letting her breasts press against the table while she curls a bit of blond hair around her finger.
“Little Adie, all grown up. It’s so weird, you know I almost didn’t recognize you when I came back.”
Two years ago, Alexi Rojas returned from obscurity to make my life hell any way she could. But before then, we were as close as sisters. Not to the same extent Pia and I were, but close enough.
I used to know all of her secrets, and she knew mine. Like the bad little habits we both indulged in, and one she taught me to perfect.
You should keep a toothbrush in your purse,she told me once, as we huddled in the bathroom of a classroom building on the campus of our boarding school. You can stick it down your throat, and it helps make everything easier. I bet we’ll both lose ten pounds by next month, and then no one will dare make fun of you the next time we wear bikinis.
I thought that was so kind of her. Sweet, actually. It’s funny how, despite the world in which I grew up, I could still be so goddamn naïve. To me, back then anyway, Pia and Alexi were the best friends any girl could ever ask for.
I was sure we’d be close forever.
“You look the same,” I tell her. “I guess some people keep their baby fat forever. It looks cute on you, though.”
Her smile falls flat, and I’m pathetic enough to take a grim sense of satisfaction in that. It’s so surreal to see her head, uninjured, her skin unblemished, giggling with Domino like they’re old friends. Even now, she keeps herself angled toward him, cleavage on display. It’s as if she’s become so accustomed to seeking out male attention, she’s compelled to do so, even when the male in question seems to have no interest in looking her way.
He’s fixated on the windows instead, eyeing the rapidly darkening sky.
“I’m going to check on our meal.” He rises to his feet and heads for the hallway. When I start to follow him out of habit, I swear I see him jerk his chin in a silent command. Stay. “I’ll be back in a moment.”
Confused, I stare after him as my heart pounds unsteadily. Given that—in my entire time here—he’s preferred to summon servants who appear on a dime, rather than fetch our meals himself, I’m on edge. I’m flashed back to the night he had what he claimed to be my father served on a silver dish. Does he have a similar meal in mind for Alexi’s benefit?
Or… I realize as I turn my focus back to the woman in question, he left purposefully. So that we could “catch up” in private.
And what a lackluster reunion it’s shaping up to be. Without her required dose of testosterone nearby, Alexi slumps back in her seat, her eyes openly displaying disinterest. Sighing, she inspects a manicured hand, watching the light glint off her pink nails.
It’s a convincing show—because that’s exactly what I sense it really is. An act.
As the seconds tick by, she grows visibly impatient, waiting for me to make the first move.
Because she’s unsure of what I know, a part of me suspects. As much as she seems to hate me, she doesn’t want to say the wrong thing. Some sick, twisted corner of my brain gets immense pleasure out of watching her squirm.
But something tells me that Domino won’t give us long to reconnect. Is this impromptu opportunity for an interrogation done for her benefit? Or mine.
“So,” I say, flattening my hands against the table’s glass surface. “How long have you been fucking him?”
Alexi’s smile returns in full as her eyes narrow. “You know, I spent a long time trying to imagine how this would feel. To see the high and mighty Ada-Maria Pavalos sniveling in fear for once, cowering in the shadow of a plot she has no damn clue of. I thought I’d feel bad for you. Pity, maybe? In all honesty, I’m enjoying every minute of it. Humility looks good on you, Ada. You should try to embody it more often.”
I flinch, and I almost forget Domino’s warning from the pool. She works for him. And, their apparent relationship aside, it’s evident from the lengths he’s gone to conceal our conversations that he doesn’t trust her.
I have to tread carefully.
Hopefully, I can do so while knocking her down a peg or two.
“Why don’t you give me some pointers on humility?” I say. “In between fucking Tristan and Domino, I’m surprised you had room for anyone else.”
Her brows furrow for a split second before she disguises the expression behind another forced smile. Still, I know that I confused her. How?
“How has Dom been?” she asks in that husky purr, leaning back against her chair. “Poor man. To have spent so much time under the thumb of the mighty Pavalos family. I bet it was like being in prison. Who knows how much sexual frustration he’s built up over those long, hard years? No wonder you look like you’ve been dragged to hell and back. I think I would have trouble keeping up with that kind of virility, and I’ve heard that you’re the sort of girl who doesn’t like to break a sweat.”
“Haven’t you heard,” I croak, desperate to appear unrattled. “I like it rough.”
She purses her lips, crossing her arms over her chest. “You know, I never took you for the type to wind up in a situation like this,” she says, but I know a taunt when I hear one. “Alone in a big-ass manor with your father’s bodyguard and no connection to the outside world. I would have thought that someone who brands herself as a socialite would be a little concerned about what might be happening in Terra Rodea.”
I sit straighter, trying to disguise as much of my interest as I can. She’s hinting at something, dancing around it. But what?
I’m tempted to ask her outright and drop the caution. Damn Domino and his mind games, I need answers. The only thing holding me back is the knowledge that Alexi would never give me something I wanted. I’d have to trick her into revealing it.
“Why should I care about the big bad world?” I ask with a shrug. “I’m safe here with Domino. If there’s something I need to know, he’ll tell me.”
She smirks, an eyebrow raised. “You really are that fucking gullible.”
I get the sense that statement slipped out unbidden, though she does her best to cover the break in composure with a forced laugh.
“I think I’d feel a bit differently. Then again, I always was a bit less self-centered than you.”
It’s my turn to smirk. “Oh? I agree. You’ve been so selfless you’ve been fucking anyone who so much as looks at me. Like Tristan.”
She scoffs. “Oh, come off it, Ada. Like you actually gave a damn about Two-second Tristan. For what it’s worth, I couldn’t stand him. Not only was he bad in the sack, but he had horrible taste in women. I had to practically drool, or he’d lose interest. No wonder he liked you so much. I’ll let you in on a little secret, Adie—” She leans across the table, and the breeze carries the scent of her cheap perfume to my nose. “He didn’t even tell me he had a girlfriend when he started fucking me—though I already knew, of course. When I finally asked about you, do you know what he said? That he was humoring you out of respect for your powerful daddy. Fancy that.”
My brain goes blank. I don’t know how to process her nasty digs all at once. Instead, I try to ignore them, looking past the hateful rhetoric to the truth lurking beneath.
“If you didn’t like him so much, why fuck him at all? At least I actually had some interest in him.” I nearly choke on the lie, not that Alexi seems to notice it.
She’s practically lunging across the table, blue eyes blazing. “Why? Don’t be such a dumb cunt, Ada. You know. I’m sure Domino told you all about his little scheme. To have me get close to Tristan and suss out all of his bad-boy plots. I know you’ve made a name for yourself based on being a dumb, blond bitch, but Jesus Christ, you can’t even drop the act here?”
“D-Domino had you get close to Tristan?” I croak.
Her raised eyebrow quirks even higher. “He didn’t tell you.” A shadow falls over her expression as her beautiful features rearrange into a blank mask. She sits back, putting space between us that feels less like a retreat and more like she’s hiding something. Or she said too much. “Maybe Domino hasn’t been quite as talkative as I thought; what in between all those hot and heavy rounds of screwing.”
I don’t miss the note of jealousy in her voice then, but I’m too distracted to pounce on it like I should.
Domino manipulated Alexi into sleeping with Tristan. Though, of course, he did. It makes so much sense it should have been evident from the start. He took those pictures of them. He had Tristan’s home outfitted with a camera to make secret recordings. He even threw as much in my face, leaving me to put the pieces together on my own.
And yet, it somehow feels ten times more violating to hear it straight from the horse’s mouth. Not only was Alexi in on his scheme, toying with Tristan for a reason beyond just getting back at me. She was doing it for Domino.
And he trusted her enough to have her enact his scheming for him.
Suddenly, I don’t want to play this game anymore. I don’t want to know what else I’ve been so fucking oblivious to. More and more, it’s starting to feel like, once again, I’m the butt of a joke everyone else is in on but me. I’m the pawn being manipulated across the gameboard.
Alexi alluded to the chaos unfolding in Terra Rodea. With my mother dead and my father in the hospital, I can only imagine. What the hell has Domino unleashed?
And what does he really have in mind for me?
I start to push back from the table, too overwhelmed to stay on task. I’ve barely moved when I sense a presence approach me from behind, bringing with them a scent of cooked meat.
“Dinner will be more informal tonight,” Domino explains. His muscular arms reach past me, placing a platter of what looks like meat and vegetable skewers on the center of the table. Ines appears at the other end and sets down a dish of rice and a platter of fruit.
“Can you please bring us some wine,” Domino tells her before reclaiming his seat.
Within the blink of an eye, Alexi is back to her smirking, overly extended self. Boldly, she reaches out, placing her hand on Domino’s shoulder.
“You didn’t have to go through so much trouble,” she chirps, but her gaze is on me, narrowed and searching. “I didn’t even know Ada loved this kind of food.”
Domino turns to me, and I stiffen, unprepared for the intensity I find reflected in his gaze. He cradles my chin against his hand, stroking along my jaw. “She’s surprisingly adventurous,” he murmurs. “So willing to try different things.”
I grit my teeth so hard my jaw cracks. I hate not knowing. I can’t tell if they’re both allied conspiratorially, playing mind games at my expense.
But this time, I don’t suppress the urge to run. I wrench out of Domino’s grasp and push back from the table.
“I’m not hungry—”
“You will eat.” He somehow manages to sound more charming than threatening. Perhaps it’s the grin he flashes that robs the bite from his words. Or the fact that his hand slides against my lower back, unseen from Alexi’s position. “We wouldn’t want to offend our guest?”
He grabs a skewer of something that looks like seasoned chicken and bites off the top most chunk. Then he hands it to me.
I feel Alexi’s gaze on me, itching like a nasty rash. Domino, however, forces eye contact, and I can see the dare written clearly across those green irises. Eat. Or so help me God, I will shove this stick down your goddamn throat.
I grab it and take a bite, chewing without tasting. As I swallow, Domino sits back while Ines appears with the bottle of wine. She dutifully pours three glasses, and Domino grabs the one nearest him.
“A toast,” he says, lifting his glass to the air. “To old friends.”
“And to new ones,” Alexi chimes in, taking a drink of her own.
I claim the final serving and bring it to my lips without waiting for him to solidify the toast.
Chuckling, he follows my lead, but I keep going long after he and Alexi set their glasses down again. Until I’ve drained every last drop.
“You should eat first, Ada-Maria.” Domino’s tone is swift and cutting. “I wouldn’t recommend drinking on an empty stomach.”
“You know what I wouldn’t recommend?” I toss back.
God, his expression transforms so quickly it’s terrifying. He’s a beast, teeth bared and ready to bite. I know I’m going too far—every ounce of common sense in my body is warning me to stop. Play along. Trust his promise, even though he’s lied, and abused, and brutalized.
By the time I reconsider provoking him now, it’s already too late.
“I wouldn’t recommend fucking a man who fucks the trailer trash—” Looking Alexi dead in the eye, I add, “Twice.”
Then I scramble to my feet, knocking over my chair in my haste to move.
But I’m nowhere near quick enough.
Domino snatches my wrist. “I suggest you sit down, Ada, and return to our meal.” He’s audibly angry now, unable to carry on his playful ruse.
Good.
I’m done being his little toy.
“I suggest you don’t kidnap women from the family you work for. That you don’t claim to have killed their father or orchestrated an attack that caused the death of their boyfriend.” I rip my hand away, but—to my shock and growing alarm—he lets me. “I would also suggest that you don’t fuck the town whore, Domino. And maybe next time? Try not to sell me, either.”
I run, and surprisingly no one chases after me or throws me down. I make it all the way into the white room, slamming the door in my wake. Then I lock it. Heart pounding, I search for the heaviest thing I can find—a white dresser against the wall near the closet entrance—and I throw my weight against it, pushing it before the door as a makeshift barricade.
I have no delusions that it will hold him. For good measure. I strip the bed of blankets and drag the mattress to the door as well, propping it upright against the dresser for added reinforcement.
Then, like a coward, I race into the closet, close the door and wedge myself behind the back shelf.
