25. Tatiana
25
Tatiana
T he penthouse feels cavernous tonight, like I’m wandering through the belly of some luxurious whale. The marble floors are cold beneath my bare feet as I pace from the kitchen to the living room, replaying Dom’s abrupt exit for the thousandth time.
Real smooth, Tatiana. You practically eye-fucked him and licked your lips like he was a human ice cream cone, and he ran away like you had cooties.
I grab my glass of abandoned scotch from the kitchen counter. The one he poured for me before things went sideways, and take a hearty swig. The amber liquid burns pleasantly, warming me from the inside out. Not that I need warming. I’m already running hot, a confusing mix of anger, embarrassment, and lingering desire making my skin feel two sizes too small.
Just ten more days of this bizarre charade, and then what? Back to my normal life? As if anything could feel normal after the past three weeks of playing billionaire’s wife.
The night had started so well. We were a goddamn team at the gala. When that investor, Mr. Chung, tried to trip us up with his questions about our future, we’d been seamless. The way Dom had looked at me when I talked about raising a family while reviewing architectural designs... there was something real there. I’d stake my new Cartier watch on it.
And then we came home, and I thought... I really thought...
What, genius? That he’d sweep you off your feet, confess his undying love, and fuck the living daylights out of you? That Mr. Commitment-Phobe would suddenly forget this whole arrangement was his idea to save his precious business deal?
I drain my glass, wincing at both the burn and my own pathetic wishful thinking.
“This is absurd,” I mutter to myself, setting the glass down with a decisive clink. “I’m not some lovesick teenager. I’m a grown woman with a business degree and self-respect.”
The latter might be debatable, considering I agreed to the “Personal Comfort Clause” that essentially turned me into an on-demand sex dispenser. Twice, officially. Three times, if you count... whatever that was after I completed the Day 14 clause.
Which was hot as fuck and you know it.
I shake my head, trying to dislodge the memory of Dom’s mouth on me, his hands on my hips, the way he—
No. I won’t go there. Not now.
What I need is answers. Real ones, not the evasive bullshit he’s been feeding me about “minor disturbances” at the investor dinner. And I need to know if there’s anything genuine beneath this contract, this arrangement, or if I’m just kidding myself.
Ten days left, and I’m standing here agonizing over a man who dismissed tonight, and everything we’ve been through, including “the kiss,” as a “performance.”
I march to my room, throw on a silk robe over my nightgown, and tie it with decisive fury. The clock reads 11:37 PM. Too late for a professional conversation, but that ship sailed when he started avoiding me.
His office door is ajar, soft light spilling into the hallway. I can see him hunched over his laptop, brow furrowed in concentration, tie loosened but still hanging around his neck like he couldn’t be bothered to remove it completely. He looks exhausted but devastating, and my stupid heart does a little flip.
Remember the altar, Tatiana. Remember standing there like an idiot while everyone whispered and pointed.
Men leave.
It’s what they do.
I should turn back. Instead, I take a deep breath and knock on the door frame, my knuckles barely making a sound against the wood.
He looks up, eyes momentarily unguarded before the shutters come down.
“Tatiana,” he says, his voice carefully neutral. “Something wrong?”
“Actually, yes.” I step into his office uninvited, emboldened by scotch and frustration. “I’ve been reviewing the Alvarez proposal for the sustainable cooling systems, and your margins are off.”
It’s a minor detail, one he’d probably catch himself eventually, but it’s the only legitimate business reason I could come up with to confront him at this hour.
He leans back in his chair, eyebrow raised. “Is that so?”
“Yes. You’ve underestimated the installation costs by at least fifteen percent. I ran the numbers twice.”
Dom studies me for a long moment, and I fight the urge to fidget under his gaze. “That’s an unusual concern for after midnight.”
“It’s not midnight yet,” I counter, glancing at the sleek clock on his wall. “And I couldn’t sleep.”
“So you decided to audit my spreadsheets?” His tone holds a hint of amusement now, which only irritates me further.
“Someone has to.”
He sighs, pushing his laptop aside. “Fine. Show me.”
I pull up the relevant file on my phone, stepping closer to his desk to hand it to him. He takes it, fingers brushing mine in the exchange, and I hate the little spark that jumps between us at the contact.
He studies the screen, scrolling through my annotations.
“You’re right,” he admits after a moment. “Good catch.”
The easy capitulation throws me off balance. I was geared up for an argument.
“While we’re at it,” I say, plunging ahead, “I’d like to know what really happened at the investor lunch.”
His entire demeanor changes in an instant, shoulders stiffening. “We’ve been through this. It was a minor—”
“Disturbance, yes, I know the party line.” I cross my arms over my chest. “But Mr. Chung specifically mentioned ‘familial issues.’”
“This again?” Dom stands abruptly, his chair rolling back with the force of the movement. He towers over me, and I have to fight the instinct to step back. I won’t give him the satisfaction.
“Let it go, Tatiana,” he says, voice dangerously low.
“No. We’re supposed to be partners in this charade. You said it yourself. We’re a team. How am I supposed to play my part if you keep me in the dark?”
He moves around the desk in three long strides, closing the distance between us. “You want to talk about familial issues?” His eyes are dark, intense. “I’ll show you familial issues.”
Before I can process what’s happening, his hands are on my waist, backing me against the wall beside the door. My heart hammers against my ribs, fear and excitement warring in my veins.
“Dom, what are you—”
His mouth crashes down on mine, cutting off my question. The kiss is nothing like our previous one. It’s harder, more demanding, as if he’s trying to claim something.
His hands tighten on my waist, fingers digging into the silk of my robe, and heat pools low in my belly.
Push him away! This is exactly how he avoids real conversations, by distracting you with sex!
But I can’t. I don’t want to. My hands betray me, sliding up his chest to grip his shoulders instead of shoving him back.
He breaks the kiss, both of us breathing hard.
“Tell me to stop,” he says, voice rough. It doesn’t sound like a suggestion; it sounds like a challenge.
I should. I absolutely should tell him to stop, to answer my question instead of whatever this is. But the words won’t come.
His hand slides into my hair, gripping lightly. “Tell me to stop, Tatiana.”
“I...” My voice fails me as his other hand unties my robe, pushing it open to reveal the thin nightgown beneath. “Don’t change the subject.”
He laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “Always so stubborn.” His mouth finds my neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin, and my knees threaten to buckle.
“Ten more days,” he murmurs against my skin. “Then you can walk away and never deal with my family issues again.”
The reminder of our deadline sends a fresh pang through my chest.
“Dom, I just want to understand—”
“No, you don’t.” His hand slips under my nightgown, finding the bare skin of my thigh. “You want to control the situation. Just like I do.”
I gasp as his fingers trail upward, tracing patterns on my skin that make coherent thought impossible. “That’s not—”
“Isn’t it?” He pulls back slightly, eyes searching mine. “You hate not knowing. You hate not having all the information, all the cards on the table. It’s why you’re such a good PA, such a good consultant. It’s why you have spreadsheets for everything.”
He’s not wrong, and that irritates me even more. “So what if I do? It doesn’t mean—”
His fingers find the edge of my underwear, and my words dissolve into a sharp inhale.
“Tell me to stop,” he says again, fingers hovering, waiting. It’s the third time he’s said it, and I realize he’s actually giving me a choice, even as he tries to take control.
“I don’t want you to stop,” I admit, the words barely audible. “But this doesn’t solve anything.”
Something flashes in his eyes. Triumph, relief, hunger, all at once.
“No, it doesn’t,” he agrees, then kisses me again as his fingers slip past the barrier of my underwear.
I’m already embarrassingly wet, and he makes a sound of satisfaction against my mouth when he discovers this fact. His touch is confident, knowing exactly how to make me tremble.
“Dom,” I gasp as he works me skillfully, my hips moving involuntarily against his hand.
“Yes?” He sounds calm, controlled, but I can feel the rapid beat of his heart where my hand rests on his chest.
“Take me to bed,” I say, surprising both of us. “If this is... if this is the last time, you and I... I want a proper bed.”
Something shifts in his expression, a momentary crack in his armor. “Is that what you think? That this is goodbye sex?”
I don’t know what to think anymore. “Isn’t it?”
Instead of answering, he scoops me up, one arm under my knees, the other supporting my back. The ease with which he lifts me sends a fresh wave of desire through me. I’ve always been independent, self-sufficient. The idea of needing anyone, being carried by anyone, has always seemed laughable.
But in this moment, with Dom carrying me to his bedroom like I weigh nothing, I can’t find the joke.
This is dangerous, Tatiana. This isn’t just sex anymore, and you know it.
His bedroom is massive, dominated by a king-sized bed with charcoal gray linens that look sinfully soft. He deposits me on the edge of it, then steps back to loosen his tie completely, pulling it free from his collar in one smooth motion.
I should feel at a disadvantage, sitting here in just my open robe and nightgown while he’s still mostly dressed, but there’s something thrilling about watching him undress, knowing what’s coming.
He unbuttons his shirt with deliberate slowness, eyes never leaving mine. “You still haven’t told me to stop.”
“Do you want me to?” I counter, finding my voice.
“No.” The admission seems to cost him something. “But I want you to be sure.”
“I’m sure,” I say, and it’s true. Whatever confusion reigns in my heart, my body knows exactly what it wants. “But I want answers afterward.”
He shakes his head, a humorless smile pulling at his lips. “Always negotiating.”
“Always,” I agree. It’s safer than admitting the real reason I want to know about his family, not because I want to solve a puzzle, but because I care, because I want to understand him, because ten days feels both eternal and impossibly brief.
His shirt joins his tie on the floor, revealing the sculpted chest I’ve felt but rarely seen. The sight of him steals my breath all over again.
God, he’s gorgeous. Like, unfairly, absurdly gorgeous. It should be illegal to look like that.
He approaches the bed, kneeling before me, hands sliding up my calves to my knees, gently parting them so he can kneel between them. The position should make me feel vulnerable, exposed, but something in his gaze makes me feel powerful instead.
“Lift your arms,” he commands softly.
I comply, and he first slides off the silk robe, letting it fall behind me on the bed. Then he pulls my nightgown up and over my head, leaving me in just my panties. His eyes darken as they roam over me, taking in every inch of exposed skin.
“You’re beautiful,” he says, and there’s no deceit in his voice. No calculated seduction. Just raw appreciation.
My face heats, the compliment catching me off guard more than his hands on my body had.
“So are you,” I reply, because it’s true, and because I don’t know what else to say.
He laughs, the sound genuine this time. “I’ve been called many things, but ‘beautiful’ isn’t usually one of them.”
“Their loss,” I shrug, trying for nonchalance despite being nearly naked while he still has his pants on.
His hands slide up my thighs again, this time hooking into the waistband of my underwear.
“Up,” he instructs, and I raise my hips to let him pull them down.
Now I’m completely exposed. Dom’s gaze is hungry as it travels over me, and I resist the urge to cover myself. I’ve never been particularly self-conscious about my body, but something about the intensity of his focus makes me feel simultaneously powerful and vulnerable.
He stands, unbuckling his belt with efficient movements, then removing his pants and boxers in one smooth motion. His cock springs free, already hard and impressively large, a bead of pre-cum glistening at the tip.
Jesus Christ. How did that even fit in my mouth?
The memory makes me clench involuntarily, and from the way his eyes narrow, I think he can tell.
He reaches into the nightstand drawer, retrieving a condom. I watch, mesmerized, as he rolls it on with practiced ease.
“How do you want me?” I ask, surprising myself with my boldness.
A smile curves his lips, predatory and promising. “Just like this.”
He moves over me, powerful body covering mine as he lowers me back onto the bed. His weight feels delicious, grounding, and I wrap my legs around his waist instinctively.
“Tatiana,” he murmurs, and the way he says my name sounds almost reverent.
I thread my fingers through his hair, pulling him down for a kiss that’s softer than I expected. For a moment, we’re just kissing, exploring each other’s mouths with a gentleness that belies the urgency thrumming between us.
Then he shifts, positioning himself at my entrance, and the gentleness gives way to something more primal. He pushes inside slowly, giving me time to adjust to his size, but there’s no hesitation in the movement. The stretch burns in the best possible way, my body eagerly accommodating him despite the initial resistance.
“Fuck,” he breathes when he’s fully seated inside me. “You feel incredible.”
I can barely form words, overwhelmed by the fullness, the pressure, the sheer rightness of it.
“Start,” is all I can manage.
He does, withdrawing almost completely before driving back in with a force that makes me cry out. His pace is deliberate, controlled, each thrust calculated for maximum impact. I dig my nails into his shoulders, desperate for something to anchor me as pleasure builds with shocking speed.
“Is this what you wanted?” he asks, voice strained. “When you came to my office tonight?”
“No,” I gasp as he hits a spot that makes stars explode behind my eyelids. “But I’ll... take it!”
He laughs, the sound tight with restraint. “You certainly will.”
I want to give him some witty retort, but all I can do is hold on as he increases his pace, driving into me with a ferocity that borders on desperation.
The buildup is swift, unstoppable, like a wave gathering force. When it hits, it crashes through me with stunning intensity, tearing a scream from my throat that would be embarrassing if I had any capacity for embarrassment left.
“DOMINIC!”
Dom follows moments later, his rhythm faltering as he presses deep and shudders against me, my name on his lips like a prayer.
“Tatiana...”
For long moments afterward, we just breathe together, his weight a comforting pressure, my legs still wrapped loosely around him. I never want to move, never want this moment to end, because the minute it does, reality will come crashing back in.
Eventually, he shifts to the side, disposing of the condom before pulling me against his chest. The tenderness of the gesture makes my throat tight.
“That was...” he trails off, seemingly at a loss for words.
“Yeah,” I agree, because what else is there to say? No adjective seems adequate.
We lie in silence for a while, his fingers tracing idle patterns on my bare shoulder. I’m hyperaware of the ticking clock, both literally and figuratively. The digital display on his nightstand reads 12:26 AM. Another day down. Nine left.
“My brother showed up at the investor lunch,” he says suddenly, his voice quiet in the darkness.
I freeze, surprised by the voluntary information. “What?”
“Nico. He’s... troubled. Has been since we were teenagers.” The words come haltingly, like each one costs him. “He claimed I stole the resort concept from him. Made a scene.”
I prop myself up on one elbow to see his face better. “So did you? Steal the concept?”
“No!” he says. “Of course not. We might have had a brainstorming session on sustainable resorts years ago, but he has no claim on Serenity Shores whatsoever.”
I nod slowly. “So that’s what Mr. Chung meant by ‘familial issues...’”
Dom nods, eyes fixed on the ceiling. “Nico and I have a complicated relationship.” His voice cracks slightly on the last words.
I want to press for details, to understand this glimpse of vulnerability, but instinct tells me not to push. Not now, when he’s finally offering something real.
I lay my head back on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. “Thank you for telling me.”
His arm tightens around me slightly. “Don’t thank me. I should have told you sooner. It affects the deal.”
And just like that, we’re back to business. The brief window of genuine connection closes as quickly as it opened.
“Right,” I say, trying to keep the disappointment from my voice. “The deal.”
“Tatiana—” he starts, then stops. “This was... it was good.”
I almost laugh at the inadequacy of the word. “It was.”
“An extension of the Climax Clause,” he adds, and even though his tone is light, even joking, the words land like a slap.
Just business. That’s all this ever was, all it ever could be.
“Of course,” I agree, hating how easily the lie flows. “Physical release. No strings.”
I feel him relax beneath me, relieved that I’m playing along with his fiction. “Exactly.”
We lapse into silence again, and I wonder if he can feel the rapid beating of my heart, betraying the calm I’m trying to project.
Because despite everything... the contract, the deadline, the memory of being left at the altar by another man...
I’m falling for Dominic Rossi.