36. His Sinner
Chapter thirty-six
His Sinner
I wake up to sunlight streaming through a window so large it looks like it belongs in a gallery. It takes me a second to orient myself, to remember where I am—Dominic’s bed.
The sheets smell like him, and my cheeks heat as flashes of last night come rushing back, vivid and impossible to ignore. He had me strung up and ate me out until I collapsed. I didn’t have a say in it, I just begged him for his mouth.
I sit up quickly, the covers pooling around my waist, and take in the room. It’s massive, the kind of space you’d see in a glossy magazine, all sleek lines and dark colors. The walls are a muted gray, the furniture polished and minimalist.
It’s not what I expected from him. For someone as rough and deadly as Dominic, his room is disturbingly neat. Everything has its place, from the books lined perfectly on the shelves to the sleek black dresser with nothing but a single watch resting on top.
My eyes drift to the far wall, and I freeze. There they are—the bars I was strung up on last night. My cheeks burn as the memory rushes back, vivid and overwhelming. The way he pulled every response from me like he’d memorized exactly how to unravel me. I tear my eyes away, trying to push it down, but my heart’s already pounding.
Get it together, Aria . I scold myself, my gaze moving around the room again, desperate for a distraction. There’s no chaos here, no sign of the recklessness he wears so easily. Even his nightstand is spotless, just a glass of water and a book.
Lord of the Flies by William Golding. Interesting.
My eyes fall on a small rack on the opposite wall, and my lips curl into a sarcastic smile.
Whips, paddles, restraints, all arranged neatly, like they’re part of an art exhibit. For someone so rough around the edges, Dominic is clearly a neat freak. Even his chaos is organized.
The sound of the door creaking open snaps me out of my spiraling thoughts. My head jerks toward it just as Dominic strides in, radiating a confidence that grates on my nerves.
He’s shirtless, a pair of black sweats slung dangerously low on his hips, and for a moment, my brain stalls.
God, he’s everything I hate and everything my body can’t seem to resist. His torso is a patchwork of scars and tattoos, the black ink scrawled across his skin only accentuating the sharp cut of his muscles.
My gaze snags on his chest, where the faint gleam of silver catches the light. His nipples are pierced, the barbells glinting against his skin, and my stomach twists in ways I don’t want to examine. My mind conjures unwelcome thoughts about how they’d feel under my fingers or against my tongue.
He’s not just a man. He’s a weapon. Sin wrapped in muscle and steel.
I tear my eyes away, but it’s too late. He saw. His smirk says it all.
“Like what you see, Little Sinner?” he drawls. His body moves with the kind of predatory grace that has my stomach twisting into knots and he sets a tray of food down on the bedside table.
I stiffen, yanking the sheet up higher over my chest, even though I’m fully clothed. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
He chuckles, low and smug. “Too late for that,” he says, his voice dripping with arrogance. “You can’t hide it, baby. You’ve got that look.”
“What look?” I snap, glaring at him even as my pulse hammers in my ears.
“The look that says you’re trying real hard to pretend you don’t want to tear these sweats off me with your teeth.”
“You’re delusional,” I say, my voice shaking slightly, betraying me. “Get over yourself.”
“Am I?” he asks, leaning down so his face is level with mine, his lips inches away. “You’re still staring, though.”
“I’m not—” I start, but the words catch in my throat as he straightens up and leans back slightly, stretching his arms over his head.
My gaze betrays me again, trailing down his torso to the sharp V of his hips, the faint trail of hair disappearing under the waistband of his sweats. My stomach twists again, and I hate myself for the heat pooling low in my belly.
I snap my gaze back to his face, furious with myself for falling into his trap, and his grin only deepens.
“See?” he says, his voice smug. “You can’t help yourself.”
“Don’t you have something better to do?” I hiss, crossing my arms over my chest. “Like torment someone else?”
He shakes his head, his dark eyes gleaming with amusement. “Nope,” he says, his voice muffled slightly. “You’re my favorite pastime, Little Sinner.”
I glare up at him and he laughs and the corner of his mouth twitches like he’s holding back more taunts. Instead, he sits down on the edge of the bed, his elbows resting on his knees as he looks at me
“Hungry?” he asks, his tone casual, almost mocking.
I shake my head, my stomach twisting with too many emotions to name. “I don’t want anything from you.”
He tilts his head, studying me like I’m a puzzle he’s already halfway solved. “Suit yourself,” he says, picking up a piece of fruit from the tray. He pops it into his mouth, his tongue darting out briefly, and I can’t help but stare at the piercing glinting as it moves.
“Jesus, Dominic,” I mutter, dragging my gaze away.
He chuckles again, leaning closer, his scent flooding my senses. “Careful, baby. You’re not supposed to use His name in vain.”
I roll my eyes, trying to ignore the way his proximity sets my nerves on fire. “Do you always have to be such an ass?”
“Only with you,” he replies smoothly, his smirk returning as he picks up another piece of fruit and holds it out to me. “Come on, eat something.”
“I said I’m not hungry.”
“Don’t be difficult, Aria,” he says, his voice softening slightly, though the edge never leaves it “Unless you want me to feed you.”
I glare at him and my stomach growls at the worst possible moment, betraying me. His smirk returns, and I swear I want to slap it off his face.
“See? Even your body knows better than to argue with me,” he says, holding out a piece of toast.
I grab the toast from his hand, biting into it aggressively, just to spite him. He laughs softly, leaning back slightly, his gaze never leaving me.
“Good girl,” he murmurs, and the casual possession in his voice makes my stomach flip in a way I don’t want to think about. When I finish the toast, he picks up a piece of fruit, holding it out like he’s daring me to refuse. I sigh heavily, my resistance crumbling.
“Fine,” I mutter, opening my mouth, and he slips the fruit between my lips, his fingers brushing against my skin.
“Stubborn,” he says, his voice almost gentle. “That wasn’t so hard.”
I chew silently, refusing to answer, refusing to give him the satisfaction. When he picks up another piece of fruit, I shoot him a glare. “I can feed myself, you know.”
“I know,” he says, his smirk returning. “But I like feeding you.”
“Of course, you do,” I mutter, leaning back against the headboard. “Is control your kink, or is it just a personality trait?”
He chuckles. “Aria, you’re in my bed. If you think I’m going to let you do anything without me, you’ve got a lot to learn.”
I glare at him again, but it’s half-hearted. He has a way of disarming me, of making me feel like every fight I pick is already lost.
And maybe that’s why I ask, my voice quieter now, “How long are you planning on keeping me here, Dominic?”
He tilts his head, studying me like I’m a puzzle he’s trying to solve. “As long as it takes.”
“As long as it takes for what?” I snap, my frustration bubbling over. “For me to what? Break? Give in? What do you want from me?”
He leans forward, his expression shifting, his voice dropping to that low, dangerous tone that always sends a shiver down my spine. “For you to remember.”
I freeze, my breath catching in my throat. “Remember what?” I whisper, though I already know the answer.
“You know what,” he says simply, his eyes locking onto mine. “You’ve buried it so deep you’ve convinced yourself it’s gone. But it’s not and it’s about time you face it.”
My throat tightens, and I look away, staring at the bars on the wall again. The memories are hazy, fragmented, but they’re there, just out of reach, like a puzzle I don’t know how to put together.
“You think you can force me to remember?” I ask, my voice trembling slightly.
“No,” he says, his voice softer now, almost gentle. “But I can make you want to.”
My fists clench in the sheets, my frustration boiling over. “You’re insane.”
“I like to call it realistic,” he says with a shrug, standing up and grabbing the tray. “But I’m also right. And deep down, you know it.”
I glare at his back as he walks toward the door, his confidence infuriating and unshakable. He pauses in the doorway, glancing back at me with that maddening smirk.
“You look good in my bed, Little Sinner. Real good.”
“Go to hell,” I mutter, but the heat in my cheeks betrays the venom in my words.
“Already there, baby,” he replies, his smirk widening. “And I’m taking you with me.”
And with that, he’s gone, leaving me alone in the massive room with my thoughts—and the unmistakable feeling that he’s already won.