17. Dominic
Dominic
Elena slept for fourteen hours, her body claiming the rest it needed to begin processing the trauma. I stayed beside her, leaving only to accept the bag of clothes Lucia brought, to make coffee I didn’t drink, to stare at my phone as updates came through about Marcus’s arraignment.
Kidnapping, false imprisonment, stalking, violation of a restraining order.
The charges were extensive, the bail denied, the prosecutor confident in a conviction that would result in significant prison time.
Detective Mitchell called with updates, her voice professional but satisfied, the outcome exactly what the case deserved.
Elena woke at six in the evening, her eyes opening slowly, confusion giving way to recognition as she registered where she was. She looked at me, really looked at me, seeing something in my expression that made her reach up to touch my face.
“You didn’t sleep.”
“I couldn’t.”
“Dominic…”
“Don’t.” The word came out harsher than I’d intended.
“Don’t tell me I should have slept, or that I should take care of myself, or that I need to process this in healthy ways.
I spent hours yesterday not knowing if you were alive.
I spent hours imagining every possible horror, preparing myself for the possibility that I’d lost you before I’d ever really had you.
I’m not okay, Elena. I’m not going to be okay until I know you’re safe, until I know he can never touch you again, until I’ve proven to myself that I can protect you the way I should have been protecting you all along. ”
She was quiet for a long moment, her hand still on my face, her thumb tracing the line of my jaw with a tenderness that made my chest ache.
“It wasn’t your fault. What happened yesterday, what Marcus did… none of that was your fault.”
“I should have been with you. I should have insisted on going to that market with you. I should have…”
“You should have nothing.” Her voice was firm, cutting through my spiral of guilt.
“I made the choice to go alone. I made the choice to break routine, to try to reclaim some normalcy. What happened was Marcus’s choice, Marcus’s crime, Marcus’s responsibility.
You don’t get to take that on yourself.”
The logic was sound, rational, exactly what a therapist would say. It did nothing to diminish the guilt, the rage, the absolute conviction that I’d failed her in the most fundamental way possible.
“He’s in custody,” I said, changing the subject to something I could control. “Arraigned this morning, remanded without bail. Detective Mitchell says the case is solid, that he’ll be convicted, that he’s looking at twenty years minimum.”
“Twenty years.” Elena’s voice was hollow, processing the number. “Twenty years of knowing he’s out there, thinking about me, constructing new fantasies, waiting for the day he gets released.”
“He’s never getting near you again. I’ll make sure of it.”
“How? How do you make sure of something like that? How do you protect someone from a person whose obsession exists entirely in their own mind?”
The question was rhetorical, born of exhaustion and trauma rather than genuine inquiry. I answered it anyway, the promise coming from a place beyond reason.
“By never leaving your side. By making sure you’re never alone, never vulnerable, never in a position where someone like him can touch you. By being exactly the possessive, controlling presence you were afraid I’d become.”
Elena sat up, the movement sudden, her eyes meeting mine with an intensity that matched my own.
“Is that what you want? To be my constant shadow, my protector, my cage? To transform what we have into something defined by fear and control?”
“I want you safe. Everything else is negotiable.”
“Everything else is the point, Dominic. Everything else is what makes this a relationship rather than another form of captivity. I spent so many hours tied to a bed yesterday, listening to a man explain why his obsession was actually love, why his control was actually protection. I can’t.
. I won’t.. trade one cage for another, no matter how much I love you. ”
The words should have stung. They should have made me reconsider, should have triggered some recognition that my possessiveness was crossing lines that shouldn’t be crossed. Instead, they crystallized something that had been forming since the moment I’d seen her in that cabin.
“I’m not Marcus. What I feel for you isn’t delusion or fantasy.
It’s real, it’s consuming, and it’s not going away.
You can call it possessiveness, you can call it control, you can call it whatever makes you feel better about accepting it.
The truth is simpler than that. You’re mine, Elena.
You became mine the moment I saw you across that ballroom, and yesterday only proved what I already knew; that I’ll do anything, become anything, sacrifice anything to keep you safe. ”
“Even if it destroys what we have?”
“What we have survives because I’m willing to be what you need.
Right now, what you need is someone who won’t let you out of his sight, who won’t take chances with your safety, who will be the wall between you and a world that’s proven it can hurt you.
Later, when the trauma has faded, when Marcus is a memory rather than an immediate threat, we can renegotiate.
We can talk about healthy boundaries and mutual respect and all the things that make relationships sustainable.
Right now, we survive. We heal. We let me be exactly as possessive as I need to be to ensure you’re safe. ”
Elena stared at me for a long moment, her expression cycling through emotions I couldn’t name. When she finally spoke, her voice was soft, resigned, accepting.
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Okay, Dominic. You get to be possessive. You get to be my shadow and my protector and my cage. You get to be exactly as controlling as you need to be, for now, with the understanding that this isn’t permanent.
That when I’m ready, when I’ve healed enough to reclaim my autonomy, you’re going to step back and let me breathe. Can you promise me that?”
The promise she was asking for was reasonable, necessary, exactly what a healthy relationship required. The part of me that loved her, that wanted her happiness more than my own comfort, knew I should agree without hesitation.
The part of me that had spent hours in hell yesterday, that had imagined every possible horror, that had felt my world collapse at the thought of losing her, wasn’t sure I could keep that promise.
“I can try,” I said finally, the honesty feeling like failure.
“I can try to be better, to give you space when you need it, to trust that you’re safe even when you’re not with me.
I can’t promise I’ll succeed. I can’t promise my need to protect you won’t override my respect for your autonomy.
I can only promise that I’ll try, and that I’ll never stop trying, even when I fail. ”
“That’s enough.” She leaned forward, her forehead resting against mine, her breath warm against my lips. “That’s enough for now.”
We stayed like that for a long moment, breathing together, existing in the space between trauma and healing, between possession and partnership, between the darkness of what had happened and the uncertain light of what came next.
“I need you,” Elena whispered, her voice rough with emotion.
“I need to feel something other than fear and violation. I need to feel you, to know that what we have is real, that it’s different from what Marcus thought he had with me.
I need you to claim me in a way that erases his touch, his voice, his presence from my memory. ”
The request was born of trauma, of the need to reclaim her body and her choices after hours of having both stolen from her. The rational part of my brain knew I should refuse, should suggest she wait until she’d processed what had happened, should prioritize her healing over my desire.
The rational part of my brain had stopped functioning the moment I’d seen her tied to that bed.
I kissed her with an intensity that bordered on violence, my mouth claiming hers with a desperation that had been building since yesterday.
She met me there, her hands fisting in my hair, her body pressing against mine with a need that matched my own.
This wasn’t gentle, wasn’t careful, wasn’t the kind of intimacy that prioritized comfort over catharsis.
This was raw, consuming, exactly what we both needed.
I stripped away the shirt she was wearing, my hands mapping her body with a possessiveness that went beyond desire into something primal.
Every touch was a claim, every kiss a promise, every whispered word a vow that she was mine and I was never letting her go.
My cock was already hard, straining against my jeans, the physical evidence of how desperately I needed her impossible to hide.
Her eyes dropped to the bulge pressing against denim, her breath catching, her pupils dilating with recognition and want.
She reached for me, her fingers working at my belt with trembling urgency, and I let her.
I let her strip away the barrier between us, let her see exactly what she did to me, let her understand that my need for her was absolute and consuming.
When my cock sprang free, thick and hard and already leaking at the tip, she made a sound that was half gasp, half moan. Her hand wrapped around my length, stroking once, twice, her touch tentative but hungry. I groaned, my hips jerking forward involuntarily, my control fracturing at the edges.
“Now,” I managed, my voice rough with need. “I need you in a bed now, spread out for me, completely mine.”