Chapter 15 - Isabella
Two days pass, but it feels like an eternity.
Dominic has been nowhere to be found. Or maybe he’s been everywhere but nowhere near me. The silence is deafening, but it’s not unfamiliar. I don’t know why it surprises me. Him keeping his distance when he chooses, shutting me out without explanation. But this time, it’s different.
This time, we crossed a line that can’t be undone. Sex doesn’t change things. But it did.
I don’t know what I am to him now. A game? A mistake? A weakness?
I wish I could say I don’t care, but that would be a lie so bold I wouldn’t even believe it myself. I crave him. The rough edge of his voice, the heat of his skin, the way he commands everything—including me. And the worst part?
He knows it.
I don’t see him at all during those two days. No stolen glances, no hushed conversations, no accidental brushes of fingertips. He’s busy, I remind myself. Preparing for the auction. Setting a trap for Samuel Delgado. Risking his life over a painting. Over power.
And yet, not seeing him feels like a punishment.
It’s the morning of the auction and I’m more nervous than I’d like to admit. I don’t know what Dominic’s plan is but whatever it is, I know it’s dangerous. A knock on my door startles me from my restless thoughts. When I open it, there’s no one there.
Just a black box.
I lift the lid, fingers brushing over the smooth silk inside. A red dress, striking, daring. Backless, with a plunging neckline and a thigh-high slit. Expensive. A brand I could never afford, even in my wildest dreams.
Atop the fabric, a small note in sharp, familiar handwriting.
Wear this tonight.
—D
No explanation. No instructions. No apology for leaving me in the dark for two days.
I stare at the dress, at the command woven into the silk, and something in me clenches. This is his way of reminding me that I belong to this world now. His world. And maybe, to him.
By the time evening rolls around, I’ve done my makeup, slipped into the dress, fastened my heels, and spent too long staring at my reflection, picking at the details. I don’t recognize myself—not because of the dress, but because of the way my heart is pounding.
A sharp knock at my door pulls me from my thoughts. I already know who it is before I open it.
Dominic.
And the moment I do, my breath catches.
He stands in the doorway, tall, powerful, dressed in a dark suit that fits him like a second skin. The kind of man who looks like he belongs at the head of a dynasty, at the top of the world. And maybe he does.
His eyes rake over me. Slow. Unapologetic. Like he’s memorizing every inch of my skin the dress dares to expose. The way he looks at me sends a pulse of heat through my body—a hunger restrained only by circumstance.
“You look…” He exhales sharply, his gaze darkening. “Fuck.”
It’s not exactly the compliment I was expecting, but it still sends warmth creeping up my cheeks.
“Was that the reaction you were going for?” I tease, trying to ignore the way my skin tingles under his scrutiny.
His lips curve into a smirk, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I wasn’t expecting you to look like… this.”
“You sent me the dress.”
“I didn’t send it so every man in that damn auction could look at you the way I am right now.” His voice is rough, laced with something territorial.
I arch a brow. “Would you like me to change?”
His lips press into a thin line, and I swear for a second he actually considers it.
“No.” His voice drops lower. “But don’t expect me to be civilized if someone even looks at you for longer than a second.”
A shiver rolls through me, and I don’t know if it’s from fear or intrigue.
The estate is quiet as we step outside. The black SUV waits in the driveway, the driver standing by, waiting for us. But as I move toward the back seat, Dominic stops me with a firm hand on my lower back.
“I’ll drive.” His voice is calm, but there’s no room for discussion.
The driver gives an uneasy look. “Sir—”
“Leave.”
The man doesn’t argue. He simply nods, stepping aside as Dominic opens the passenger door for me.
I should protest. Question why he feels the need to be in control of everything. But I don’t. Because truthfully?
I don’t want to be anywhere but by his side.
As I settle into the seat, he shuts the door with a quiet finality before rounding the car and slipping behind the wheel. The space between us feels smaller than it is.
The scent of his cologne, the heat of his body, the memory of his hands on my skin—it’s too much, too close.
He starts the engine, his fingers tightening around the steering wheel. I can sense the strain in his grip, as if letting go would mean losing control entirely.
“You’re quiet,” he murmurs as we pull out onto the road.
I glance at him, studying his face, the way the streetlights cast shadows over his features. He looks tired.
“You’ve been avoiding me,” I say finally.
His fingers twitch against the wheel, but his expression doesn’t change. “I’ve been busy.”
I swallow the disappointment that tries to creep in. Of course.
“And now?”
He turns his head slightly, just enough for his eyes to meet mine. They’re unreadable, dark, but I see something simmering beneath the surface.
“Now,” he says, voice low, “I’m right here.”
The words make my heart stutter.
A thick silence settles between us, the only sound the quiet hum of the engine as we drive through the darkened streets. The city glows in the distance, lights dancing against the horizon like tiny embers, but I barely see it.
All I can focus on is him.
The tension in his jaw, the way his grip tightens around the wheel, the quiet way his breathing has changed—shallower, uneven.
I swallow hard, trying to ground myself, but it’s impossible. Not when his presence is so intoxicating. Not when the air between us feels so thick, so heavy, so charged.
And then, he speaks.
“If I had seen you before tonight…” His voice is rough.
I glance at him, pulse kicking up at the way he looks straight ahead, as if forcing himself not to turn toward me. As if he can’t risk looking at me.
He exhales sharply, like he’s struggling to find the right words.
"I wouldn’t have been able to stop myself," he finally says.
Heat floods through me at the rawness of the confession. He’s saying it like it’s a warning, like he’s barely keeping himself in check now.
The thought thrills me, unsettles me.
My fingers tighten against my lap. “Maybe…” I take a breath. “Maybe I don’t want you to.”
That gets his attention.
His head snaps toward me, his dark eyes locking onto mine with a sharp intensity that steals my breath.
For a moment, he says nothing. Just watches me with stoic demeanor. But his eyes tell a different story.
They glance down—to my parted lips, to the quick rise and fall of my chest, then lower, lingering on the curve of my dress. His grip on the steering wheel causes the leather beneath his fingers to creak.
A muscle ticks in his jaw. “You’re playing with fire here.”
My stomach clenches at the way he says it, like it’s both a promise and a threat. Like he’s warning me that if I cross this line, there’s no turning back.
I meet his gaze, holding it, my own pulse wild. “I’m not afraid of getting burned.”
His breath hitches. His fingers flex against the wheel.
And for a second, I think he’s going to pull over.
That he’s going to drag me into his lap, push my dress up, ruin me right here in the car, consequences be damned.
But he doesn’t.
Instead, he laughs softly. A dark, low sound that make my thighs clench.
His voice drops to a sinister whisper.
“You think I can’t take you right now?” His eyes flick down, lingering at the hem of my dress, before dragging back up to meet mine.
A tremor runs through me. Not just at his words—but at the way he says them. Before I can reply, his hand finds my bare thigh, which is exposed by the slit in my dress.He rubs his hand up and down, then suddenly takes his warmth away and puts his hand back on the wheel.
The car hums beneath us, the low vibration of the engine thrumming through my body, but it's nothing compared to the way Dominic’s voice affects me—low, dark, commanding.
He doesn’t even have to touch me—his presence alone is enough to make my skin burn.
His hands grip the wheel, his knuckles flexing slightly, his forearms taut. His suit fits him obscenely well, the crisp white shirt stretching over his broad chest, the dark fabric clinging to the ridges of his arms as he maneuvers the car effortlessly.
I need to plan for the auction.
Prepare myself for Samuel Delgado, for the danger that looms ahead.
But all I can focus on is Dominic.
The way he’s been looking at me since I stepped into the car—hungry, possessive, controlled.
And now, his next words nearly knock the breath out of me.
"Touch yourself."
I freeze.
A slow, sharp ache pulses between my thighs.
He’s still staring at the road, casual, unaffected—but his voice? His voice is anything but.
I turn to him, shocked, breathless. “What?”
His lips twitch into that infuriating smirk, like he already knows I won’t refuse.
“You heard me,” he says, his voice smooth and thick like whiskey. “Put your hand between those pretty thighs and touch yourself.”
My pulse pounds against my ribs.
Heat pools in my stomach, spreading lower, throbbing.
I want to tell him he’s insane.
But I don’t.
Because God help me, I want this.
I shift slightly in my seat, pressing my thighs together. His smirk deepens, like he knows exactly how worked up I already am.
“You’re already wet, aren’t you?”
My breath shudders.
I hate that he’s right.
I swallow hard, my body aching with desire.
Slowly—so slowly—I slide my hand down my thigh, slipping under my dress.
Dominic inhales sharply, so quiet I almost miss it.
His fingers flex against the steering wheel, but his eyes remain on the road.
Still, I feel his attention on me.
Like he owns me. Like I already belong to him.
“Good girl,” he murmurs, his voice a quiet growl.
A shiver runs through me.
My fingers graze over my panties, and I bite my lip at how soaked I already am.
I hesitate, but Dominic’s voice is there again, commanding, dark, impossible to resist.
“Slide them aside,” he says, his tone sharper, rougher. “And show me how wet you are.”
A gasp catches in my throat but before I can protest, my hands move in obedience.
My fingers tremble as I push my panties aside, letting the cool air kiss my bare skin. I lift my dress up so I don’t stain it and my fluids escape my body.
Dominic curses under his breath.
I hear the way his breathing deepens, how his hands flex against the wheel, but he doesn’t look at me.
Not yet.
I part my thighs slightly, dipping my fingers into my own wetness—a slick, needy heat that makes my body shudder.
Dominic exhales slowly, roughly.
“You’re a dirty fucking girl, aren’t you?” he murmurs, voice dark with approval and satisfaction.
Possession.
My breath hitches as I start rubbing my clit in slow circles, just like he wants.
“Do you like that?” His voice is silk, but there’s a razor-sharp edge beneath it. “Are you wet because of me?”
I close my eyes, losing myself in the sensation.
The forbidden thrill of this—touching myself in the passenger seat of Dominic Castellano’s car, obeying his every filthy command.
My fingers press against my swollen clit, teasing, playing, sending waves of pleasure through me.
“Yes,” I whisper, voice breaking.
His smirk deepens, but I see the barely contained hunger in his posture.
"Faster," he orders, voice dark, rough. “Make yourself come for me.”
I whimper, obeying.
My hips shift against my own touch, the pleasure building too fast, too intense.
Dominic smirks, but his gaze is darker now.
"Now imagine my tongue on you," he says, his voice a low, sinful promise. "Licking and sucking on your clit while you ride my face."
A broken moan rips from my throat.
Fuck.
I can’t breathe.
The thought of Dominic between my legs, his mouth on me, his fingers sinking deep inside me—
I arch against the seat, desperate, needy.
“Imagine me turning you over,” he murmurs, voice laced with sin. “Spreading you wide. Fucking you hard.”
I gasp, my fingers moving frantically now, pushing me closer, closer—
“Say it,” he commands. “Tell me you want my cock inside you.”
A ragged moan escapes me.
“I want you, Dominic.” My voice is a breathless plea. “I need you.”
He groans softly, shifting in his seat, adjusting himself—and I know he’s hard.
I fucking know it.
“You like being my dirty little girl?” he taunts, his voice pure filth.
“Yes,” I gasp, my body aching, desperate, on edge.
I need to come.
“Now,” he murmurs, his voice like velvet and steel. “Come for me, Isabella.”
A strangled cry leaves my lips as my body shatters.
The orgasm rips through me, pleasure crashing in waves, rolling, pulsing, making my thighs tremble, my stomach tighten, my head fall back against the seat.
“Dominic—” His name breaks from me like a prayer.
I hear him curse under his breath.
He exhales harshly, gripping the wheel so tightly his knuckles go white.
I force my eyes open, my body still pulsing, and find him watching me.
His eyes are dark, his jaw tight, his chest rising and falling with slow, controlled breaths.
His hand flexes against the wheel, and his cock is visibly hard against his slacks, pressing tight against the fabric.
I know he’s barely holding himself together.
And God help me, I love it.
The car slows as he pulls into a private lot near the auction, but neither of us moves. He slowly drives towards the back of the building where I spot a back door.
Then—Dominic lets out a low, rough chuckle.
“Now that,” he murmurs, voice raw, “was the best fucking drive of my life.”
I flush, still breathless, still shaking, and glare at him, but he just smirks.
“There’s a private office on the second floor, wait for me there,” Dominic states. “This door will take you straight to it.”
“What? Why?” I ask, confused.
“Because if I don’t fuck you within ten minutes, I’m going to lose my mind.”