A sharp, breathless cry leaves my lips as he fills me completely. He is so deep he is hitting the very back of my walls, a blunt, bruising pressure that feels like absolute ownership.
Dominic groans, his forehead dropping to rest against mine. He stays buried deep inside me, his eyes closed as he breathes through the overwhelming sensation. His chest heaves against mine, slick with sweat.
"Fuck," he breathes, his voice a ragged rasp. "You feel so perfectly made for me. So tight. So wet."
He slowly pulls back, dragging the thick length of his cock out until only the head remains, and then he slams forward again, burying himself to the hilt. I scream, my nails digging half-moons into his heavy shoulders.
The pace he sets is agonizingly slow, deeply deliberate, and physically punishing. He grinds his hips at the base of every thrust, ensuring the thick base of his shaft rubs brutally against my swollen clit. The friction is unbearable. My internal walls spasm and clutch around him, greedily pulling him deeper.
"That's it," he praises darkly, his breath hot against my ear as he continues his relentless, heavy pounding. "Take every inch. Take all of it."
He slides one hand under my lower back, lifting my hips to change the angle, giving him access to parts of me I didn't even know could be reached. He hits a spot deep inside, and a bolt of pure electricity shoots through my nervous system. My vision blurs.
"Dominic!" I scream, my legs wrapping tightly around his waist, locking my ankles over his broad back.
He quickens the pace, the slow, deliberate thrusts transforming into a violent, rapid pounding. He is a force of nature, entirely unleashed. He buries his face in the crook of my neck, his open mouth pressing against my skin as he drives into me with feral, desperate energy.
"Give it to me," he demands, his hips snapping forward, pounding into my pussy with enough force to slide us up the mattress. "Break for me, Sienna. Give me everything."
The tension in my lower stomach coils tight, winding tighter and tighter with every brutal thrust. The friction of his thick cock stretching me out, combined with his heavy, bruising grip on my hips, pushes me completely over the edge.
I break. A prolonged, high-pitched cry tears from my throat as my climax rips through me. My internal walls clamp down viciously around him, spasming in violent, uncontrollable waves. The pleasure is so intense it borders on agony, completely wiping my mind blank.
Dominic groans loudly, a deep, primal sound of triumph. Feeling my body clench around him is all it takes. He drives into me three more times, fast and brutal, before burying himself as deep as physically possible. His entire massive body locks up, his muscles turning to stone as he unloads inside me. Hot, thick pulses of his seed flood my pussy, filling me to the brim with his heat. It is a claiming that sears through my body, leaving me occupied by his weight and marked by his seed.
He collapses against me, his heavy chest pressing the breath out of my lungs, but I don't care. I wrap my arms around his broad, sweat-slicked shoulders, holding him as he rides out the violent aftermath of his climax. His breathing is ragged, tearing through his throat in harsh, uneven gasps. He buries his face in my hair, his lips pressing blindly against my temple.
He stays there—buried deep, unmoving, his weight a living anchor. When he finally withdraws, it is slow and deliberate, a wet slide that leaves me feeling hollow in a way I am not ready to examine. He immediately pulls me flush against his chest, one arm banding across my shoulders, his hand pressing warm and possessive against the back of my neck.
We lie there for a long time, tangled in the ruins of the silk sheets. Eventually, the adrenaline begins to ebb, replaced by a deep, profound exhaustion. Dominic pulls the duvet up, covering my bare shoulders, his hands performing the motion with a practiced, obsessive care.
He doesn't speak for a while. The man who just confessed to caging his own sister and refusing to hold his niece is the same man who is now carefully tucking the blankets around my shivering body. He is a paradox of violence and absolute devotion, and I have chosen to anchor myself to the center of his storm.
Then Dominic reaches over to the heavy mahogany nightstand. He opens the top drawer and pulls out a small, sleek burner phone. It isn't his encrypted compound device; it's completely unmarked.
He lies back down, keeping me pulled flush against his side. He stares at the blank screen for a long, heavy moment. The silence in the room shifts, dense with a confession I can feel gathering in his chest. I watch the muscle in his jaw flex as he taps the screen, unlocking it.
There is only one number programmed into the device.
He presses the call button.
I hold my breath, watching his face as he brings the phone to his ear. His eyes are dark, completely unreadable, but the sheer tension radiating from his body is deafening.
The line rings once. Twice.
A click. And then a voice—a woman's voice, low and guarded and unmistakably Costa in its cadence.
"Dom."
One syllable. His name, spoken by the sister he just confessed to destroying. The effect on Dominic is seismic. His entire body locks, every muscle in his massive frame going rigid against me. His throat works visibly, the tendons straining as he swallows whatever wall has been sitting behind his teeth for a year.
"Lucia." His voice is a gravel-heavy rasp, stripped of every weapon he usually wields. He sounds exactly like what he is: a man calling the person he hurt most in the world.
A beat of silence on the line. Then: "Are you eating?"
Despite everything—despite the blood, the fire, the confession still hanging in the air of this room—a sound escapes Dominic's throat that might, in another man, be called a laugh. It is brief, rough, and entirely devoid of humor. But it is real.
"I'm eating," he says.
