6. Elena #3
Dominic pulled back slightly, his breathing ragged, his eyes searching mine with an intensity that made my chest tighten.
“Elena, you’re not.. we shouldn’t do this if you’re drunk and upset about something you won’t tell me about.”
“I’m not that drunk. And I want this. I want you.” The honesty was raw, unfiltered, exactly what I needed him to hear. “Please don’t make me explain why. Just.. please.”
He stared at me for a long moment, his internal debate visible in the tension of his jaw, the way his hands tightened on my waist. The gentleman in him wanted to refuse, to insist we talk first, to make sure I was making this decision for the right reasons.
The possessive part of him, the part that had been pursuing me with single-minded intensity for weeks, wanted to take what I was offering without questioning the motivation behind it.
Possession won.
His mouth found mine again, harder this time, more demanding. His hands moved from my waist to my hips, pulling me against him with enough force to make me gasp. The gentleness he’d shown during our previous encounters was absent, replaced by something darker, more primal, exactly what I needed.
I pulled at his shirt, needing skin, needing the reality of him to erase the memory of Marcus’s surveillance.
Dominic helped me, yanking the fabric over his head and tossing it aside before his hands found the zipper of my dress.
The sound of it lowering was loud in the quiet apartment, a point of no return that neither of us acknowledged.
The dress pooled at my feet. I stepped out of it, standing before him in nothing but my underwear, feeling exposed and vulnerable and desperate for him to make me feel something other than violated.
Dominic’s gaze moved over me with the kind of intensity that made my skin flush with heat. His hands followed, tracing the lines of my body with a regard that felt at odds with the hunger in his expression.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he said, his voice rough with desire. “I’ve wanted this, wanted you, since the moment I saw you at that gala. Do you have any idea what you do to me?”
“Show me.”
The command was all the permission he needed.
His mouth found my neck, my collarbone, the hollow of my throat, each kiss deliberate and possessive.
His hands moved to my breasts, cupping them through the lace of my bra before unhooking it with practiced efficiency.
The garment fell away, and his mouth replaced his hands, his tongue circling my nipple before his teeth grazed the sensitive flesh.
I gasped, my hands fisting in his hair, my body arching into his touch. The sensation was overwhelming, consuming, exactly what I needed to forget about Marcus and the photographs and the violation that had been haunting me for months.
Dominic’s hands moved lower, hooking into the waistband of my underwear and pulling them down my legs. I stepped out of them, completely naked now, vulnerable in a way that should have terrified me but instead felt like freedom.
He lifted me easily, his hands beneath my thighs, and carried me to the bedroom. The gesture was possessive, claiming, exactly what I’d expected from him. He laid me on the bed with surprising gentleness, then stood at the edge, looking down at me with an expression that made my breath catch.
“Tell me what you want,” he said.
“You. I want you.”
“Be specific.” His hands moved to the waistband of his sweatpants, but he didn’t remove them, waiting for my answer. “Tell me exactly what you want me to do to you.”
The demand was dark, possessive, designed to make me articulate my desire rather than simply accepting his. The power dynamic was clear; he would give me what I wanted, but only after I admitted I wanted it.
“I want you to touch me,” I said, my voice steadier than I expected. “I want you to make me forget everything except this moment. I want you to claim me the way you’ve been threatening to since the night we met.”
His smile was predatory, satisfied, exactly what I’d expected. He removed his sweatpants and boxers in one smooth motion, and I had my first full view of him. He was muscular, powerful, aroused in a way that made my stomach tighten with anticipation and a hint of nervousness.
He climbed onto the bed, his body covering mine, his weight pressing me into the mattress.
His mouth found mine again, the kiss deep and consuming, his tongue exploring with the same intensity he brought to everything else.
His hand moved between my legs, fingers sliding through my wetness with a confidence that suggested he knew exactly what he was doing.
I gasped against his mouth as his fingers found my clit, circling with just enough pressure to make my hips lift off the bed. He worked me with deliberate precision, building the pleasure slowly, methodically, until I was writhing beneath him.
“You’re so wet for me,” he murmured against my ear, his voice dark with satisfaction. “I’ve barely touched you and you’re already soaking. Do you have any idea how much I want to be inside you right now?”
“Then do it.” The words came out breathless, desperate. “Stop teasing me and just…”
“Not yet.” His fingers slid inside me, two at first, then three, stretching me in a way that made me gasp. “I want you ready for me. I want you so desperate that when I finally fuck you, you’ll know exactly who you belong to.”
The possessiveness in his words should have been a warning, should have reminded me of Marcus’s obsession and the photographs and all the reasons I should be cautious. Instead, it made me wetter, made my body clench around his fingers with a need that bordered on painful.
He worked me with his hand while his mouth moved to my breasts, his tongue and teeth alternating between pleasure and the edge of pain. The combination was overwhelming, consuming, exactly what I needed to forget about everything except the sensation of his touch.
When I was on the edge of orgasm, trembling and desperate, he withdrew his fingers. I made a sound of protest that turned into a moan as his mouth replaced his hand, his tongue finding my clit with unerring accuracy.
The sensation was electric, overwhelming, more intense than anything I’d experienced before. His hands gripped my thighs, holding me open for him, his mouth working me with a skill that suggested he’d done this before, that he knew exactly how to make a woman come apart beneath him.
I came with a cry that I barely recognized as my own voice, my body arching off the bed, my hands fisting in his hair. The orgasm rolled through me in waves, each one more intense than the last, until I was boneless and gasping and completely at his mercy.
Dominic didn’t give me time to recover. He moved up my body, his mouth finding mine, letting me taste myself on his tongue. The intimacy of it was shocking, arousing, exactly the kind of thing I should have found too intense but instead made me want more.
“I need to be inside you,” he said against my mouth, his voice rough with barely contained need. “Tell me you want this. Tell me you want me to fuck you.”
“Yes.” The word came out without hesitation. “Yes, I want this. I want you.”
He positioned himself at my entrance, the head of his cock pressing against me with enough pressure to make me gasp. He was big, bigger than I’d expected, and the stretch as he pushed inside was intense, bordering on painful.
“Relax,” he murmured, his hand moving to my face, his thumb stroking my cheek with surprising gentleness. “Breathe. Let me in.”
I did as he instructed, forcing my body to relax, to accept the intrusion. He pushed deeper, inch by inch, until he was fully seated inside me. The fullness was overwhelming, consuming, exactly what I needed.
He stayed still for a moment, letting me adjust, his forehead pressed against mine, his breathing ragged. When he finally moved, it was with a controlled precision that suggested he was holding himself back, that he wanted to be rougher but was restraining himself for my benefit.
“Don’t hold back,” I said, my hands moving to his shoulders, my nails digging into his skin. “I don’t want gentle. I want you to fuck me like you mean it.”
The words were all the permission he needed.
His control shattered, replaced by something primal and possessive and exactly what I’d been asking for.
He pulled almost all the way out before slamming back in, the force of it making me cry out.
He set a punishing rhythm, each thrust deep and hard, his hands gripping my hips with enough force to leave bruises.
The pleasure was intense, overwhelming, mixed with just enough pain to keep me grounded in the moment. I wrapped my legs around his waist, changing the angle, letting him go even deeper. The sensation made me gasp, made my body clench around him in a way that drew a groan from his throat.
“You feel so fucking good,” he said, his voice rough with exertion and pleasure. “So tight, so perfect. You were made for me, Elena. Made to take my cock, made to be mine.”
The possessiveness in his words should have been a warning. Instead, it pushed me closer to the edge, made my body respond with a need that bordered on desperate.
He shifted position, pulling out and flipping me onto my stomach with an ease that reminded me of his strength. His hands gripped my hips, pulling them up, positioning me on my hands and knees. The vulnerability of the position was shocking, arousing, exactly what I needed.
He entered me again from behind, the angle different, deeper, more intense. His hands moved from my hips to my hair, fisting in the strands and pulling my head back with just enough force to make me gasp. The dominance of the gesture was clear, unmistakable, exactly what I’d been asking for.
He fucked me harder in this position, each thrust driving me forward, his grip on my hair keeping me exactly where he wanted me. The combination of pleasure and control was overwhelming, consuming, exactly what I needed to forget about Marcus and the photographs and everything except this moment.
“Touch yourself,” he commanded, his voice rough with exertion. “I want to feel you come around my cock.”
I did as he instructed, my hand moving between my legs, my fingers finding my clit. The added stimulation was almost too much, pushing me rapidly toward another orgasm. My body tightened around him, drawing a groan from his throat.
“That’s it,” he said, his rhythm becoming more erratic, less controlled. “Come for me, Elena. Let me feel you.”
The orgasm hit me like a wave, intense and overwhelming, my body clenching around him with enough force to make him curse. He followed moments later, his grip on my hair tightening, his body going rigid as he came inside me with a groan that sounded almost pained.
He collapsed beside me on the bed, both of us breathing hard, our bodies slick with sweat.
The silence that followed was heavy, weighted with everything unsaid.
I should tell him about Marcus now, should explain why I’d called him over, should confess the violation that had been consuming me since I’d opened that package.
Instead, I closed my eyes and let exhaustion pull me under, choosing avoidance one more time.