I sink my teeth into his throat, right where his pulse is racing out of control, biting down until I taste salt and hear him curse against my temple. Dom pushes his body harder against me, rutting with such force I’m pinned between him and the wall, and I buck back tauntingly, rolling my hips until he’s trembling with restraint that’s already fracturing at the edges. Every thrust and gasp between us shifts the power—he takes, I seize it back, both of us fighting for dominance neither wants to surrender.
My hands tear at his shirt, buttons scattering as I expose the landscape of scars I’ve memorized in dreams. My nails carve fresh lines over old wounds until he hisses my name like a prayer and a curse combined. His hand fists in the silk of my dress, bunching it up around my waist in one brutal motion. Cool air is a blessed respite against my hot skin.
Dom doesn’t bother with teasing or gentle touches, just drives two slim fingers deep inside me without warning. The burn is exquisite, the stretch exactly what my body has been craving, and I cry out against his throat as my walls clench desperately around him. The silver of his rings bite cold against my heated skin as he pushes deeper, the contrast making me gasp. Each movement sends those smooth metal bands dragging against my entrance, a delicious friction that has me rocking against his hand for more.
I rip his belt open and shove his pants down until I can wrap my hand around his cock. He’s thick and long, with a curve that I know hits every perfect spot inside me. The second my fingers close around him Dom jerks, a strangled sound ripping from his throat that makes me clench around his fingers.
He’s beautiful like this, lashes dark against his cheeks and barely holding his eyes open. His mouth falls open, and I can see him fighting to breathe through the pleasure. When our eyes meet there’s something raw there, something that looks too much like devotion, and it scares him. I watch him turn his face into my neck, hiding from whatever truth just crashed between us.
I stroke him slowly, my thumb sweeping through the bead of moisture at his tip before dragging it down his length. He’s so hard it has to hurt, veins standing out under my touch as I work him with steady strokes that make his hips jerk forward. In response, his fingers scissor inside me, stretching me wider before he curls them to massage that spot that makes lightning shoot up my spine. He adds pressure with his thumb against my clit, drawing merciless circles.
Dom’s grip on my throat loosens, fingers trailing away, and I already miss the weight of his hand there. He brings that same hand up to cradle my face, thumb brushing away tears I didn’t realize had fallen.
“Fuck,” he groans against my shoulder, voice completely wrecked as I stroke him faster. I can feel how close he is, how his whole body is wound tight and ready to snap, but his fingers don’t stop their relentless pursuit. The rough pad of his finger circles that bundle of nerves, dragging me closer to the edge with every stroke. He’s determined to watch me come apart in his hands before he allows himself the same release.
“Tell me, love, was this rebellion worth it? Have you punished me enough, or do you want more?” His eyes lock on mine, and what I see there makes my chest seize. The grey has bled away completely, pupils blown wide with something that looks dangerously close to panic. This isn’t the controlled Dom who owns every room he enters—this is a man coming apart at the seams.
“You’re being dramatic,” I tease, trying to lean in and nip at his throat, but he pulls back. His grip tightens, forcing me to meet his gaze, to see the raw desperation bleeding from him.
“Strip me bare at The Den and chain me to the wall, carve your name into my chest with a blade, use me however you see fit—just don’t disappear on me again.” His voice cracks completely. “I thought you were done with me. Thought I’d finally pushed you too far and lost the only thing that matters. I’ll crawl on my knees through broken glass if that’s what it takes to earn your forgiveness.”
The offer hangs between us like a loaded weapon. This isn’t just dirty talk, he’s offering me complete dominion over him, something Dominic Blackwood has never given anyone. But there’s something deeper here, something raw and fevered that I can’t quite put my finger on. This isn’t just about sex or power games. This is about pain that lives so deep in your bones you need someone else to cut it out of you.
Part of me wants to take all his dark pieces, every jagged edge Kian carved into him, and make it disappear. But another part understands the need for physical pain when everything inside hurts too much to bear. I get it, because I’ve been there too, needing someone else to hold the control so I don’t have to think, don’t have to feel anything but what they give me. For him, pain proves he’s still alive after years of his father trying to kill everything soft inside him. For me, surrendering control means I can finally stop carrying the weight of everything alone.
“I need you,” I gasp against his mouth. “Need you to mark me from the inside out until there’s nothing left but us.”
His breath catches, relief flooding his eyes, because he knows it too—we’re two flames feeding off each other’s destruction, and maybe that’s exactly what we deserve. We’ll consume everything in our path, but at least we’ll go down together, and that’s better than surviving alone.
He positions himself at my entrance, just the tip brushing against me, and the sensation makes my vision blur. I’m so close to sinking down on him, so close to taking what we both desperately need—when a door slams somewhere in the distance. The sound crashes through our heated bubble.
Reality floods back with brutal clarity. The whooshing in my ears gives way to soft music floating from the ballroom, the faint clink of champagne glasses, the murmur of voices that could discover us at any moment. We’re in a fucking coat room at a gala, and I’m seconds away from letting him fuck me against the wall.
It takes every ounce of self-control I possess not to slam myself down on his cock. Instead, I push against his chest, breath coming in sharp pants. “Dom, we can’t—”
“Don’t stop,” he breathes, voice breaking as his hips rock forward, seeking more contact. “Please, Aria. You’re the only one I’d ever fucking beg for. Take what you want from me. All of it. It’s yours.I’myours.”
“Dom . . .” I pant, struggling to find words when all I want is to give in. “You’ve ruined me for anyone else. You know I’m yours, I always have been. But not here.”
He pulls his fingers from me slowly, watching my face as he brings them to my lips. “Clean them,” he commands. I part my lips and take his fingers into my mouth, tasting myself on his skin. My tongue traces each digit while his eyes burn with possession. “Good girl,” he groans, the praise sending heat straight through me even as I release him from my lips.
The wild desperation in his gaze retreats, that frantic edge pulling back as he rebuilds his composure. He’s still dangerous, still entirely Dom, but the raw vulnerability disappears behind familiar armor.
“Saturday,” I say, pressing my lips to his jaw. My fingers slide through his hair, not pulling now, but gently scratching against his scalp, making him lean into my touch. “Wait for me until Saturday.”
“Forever, if you asked,” he murmurs, voice steadier though still threaded with want. “But Saturday sounds infinitely better. Though I swear these three days will be the death of me.”
He lowers me carefully to the floor, hands steady as my legs threaten to buckle. Without a word, he keeps me upright until I find solid ground.
I reach for his torn shirt, running my fingers over the places where buttons used to be. My ruby pulses warm against my skin as I let the magic flow through me, watching as fabric mends and buttons reappear one by one. My hands still shake slightly but I take my time, smoothing each repaired seam over his chest.
His hands mirror my movements, adjusting my dress with the same careful attention, each touch soft but claiming. The world sees Dominic Blackwood as ruthless and merciless, someone who leaves destruction in his wake. But here, in these quiet moments between heartbeats, he shows me the man hidden beneath all that darkness.
Mom’s journal—Dom’s peace offeringfrom the gala—lies spread across the antique desk in her old study, its pages arranged in meticulous chaos. The room still carries her residue: leather-bound tomes crammed into dark wooden shelves, the lingering scent of ink and parchment, the elegant lamp that casts amber shadows over decades of research.
The ScryVision mounted on the far wall emits a low, ambient hum, its enchanted surface bathing the space in shifting light as the evening broadcast plays. A smooth-voiced anchor narrates over curated footage.
“Following the implementation of the Security Amendment introduced at the Guardian Gala, enforcers continue to support spell compliance across central districts. Today’s highlights demonstrate seamless integration and rising civic trust.”
