Chapter 25 DOMINIC
DOMINIC
The pond hidden deep in the woods outside Clinton had been my mother’s secret. She’d shown it to me when I was a boy, and for years it had been our escape. The view was breathtaking, something wild and pure that felt untouched by the harsh world I lived in.
But today, I wasn’t looking at the view.
I was looking at Athena King.
There was something intoxicating about the way her eyes lit up when she caught sight of something beautiful—how her entire face seemed to glow with emotion.
She savored small things as if they were priceless, and it did something to me.
. That shit is rare, especially for someone who’d had everything handed to her on a silver platter all her life.
Her red hair caught the sunlight, shining like fire against the backdrop of green trees.
The warmth kissed her soft skin, and for a brief second, I felt a flicker of jealousy that the sun was touching her, not me.
The blue sundress she wore clung and fluttered with the breeze, teasing glimpses of legs that had no business being this perfect.
I hated how much I wanted them wrapped around me.
“This place is magical,” she whispered, slipping off her shoes and dipping her toes into the pond. “I’m jealous you grew up here.”
“My mother showed it to me when I was a little boy.” I paused, swallowing the lump in my throat. “It became our secret spot.”
I usually shoved thoughts of her deep inside, locked away where they couldn’t hurt me.
But every time I let my mind wander, the same image haunted me—the blood on the table, her lifeless eyes filled with tears.
A nightmare that never fades. My father tore down everything she ever taught me, but he failed to erase the most important thing—her.
Athena sat down on the blanket next to me, but kept a careful distance, like she was afraid to cross some invisible line. I wanted to pull her close, to erase that space between us, but I held back. She wasn’t mine, she never would be. Whatever this was, it was temporary.
“Tell me more about her,” she said softly, almost like she regretted asking.
I stared at her. I didn’t talk about my mother, not to anyone but Alec—the only person I trusted with my life, but Athena’s calm, honest eyes held me captive for some reason.
“Her name was Freya.” I stared at the rippling water. “She was the kindest person I ever knew. Always ready to help others.”
“Freya Greyson,” she repeated, tasting the name. “You said it once before.”
nodded. “I carried her last name before my father took me.”
“Dominic Greyson,” she said, testing the name on her tongue.
Hearing it burned. Years since anyone had said it. My mother used it when she scolded me, and I hated it then. Now I’d kill to hear it again.
This place hadn’t changed. Not one goddamn thing— the air, the trees, the light. Everything was the same and yet as if everything had changed.
“We didn’t have much,” I said. “But we had each other. That was enough.”
“Where was your father… during that time?” She moved closer, her voice soft
“Gone.” My tone cut sharply. “He showed up when I was eight.”
“When she…”
“When she was murdered.” I nodded once.
The air between us stilled, like the world itself held its breath.
That night was carved into me like a scar that refused to fade.
I still saw her face—every scream, every struggle, every second before the light left her eyes.
I had been too fucking small, too useless, and weak to save her.
That weakness had shaped me. I made it my life’s mission to never feel that way again- and I succeeded.
I clawed my way into the darkest corners of this world.
I became the man my mother would’ve begged me never to become, and I made peace with that.
A warm hand touched my shoulder. I looked up, and Athena was there—eyes full of something I hadn’t seen in a long time. Compassion, grief, even. Guilt that didn’t belong to her but was etched into her expression like it was her own.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “You loved her so much. It’s so unfair.”
And the way she said my name, like it meant something, made it all so much worse.
Because in that moment, I forgot. I forgot that her father had a hand in my mother’s death.
I forgot that my father’s blood ran through my veins.
I forgot the hate I was supposed to carry for her—for all of them.
I should’ve hated her with everything I had, but when her hand slid across my chest and rested over my heart, I forgot how to.
She moved slowly, straddling me like she’d done before, and yet my body reacted like it was the first time.
Like I’d been starved for her, and she was the only thing that could bring me back to life.
She fit on top of me like she was made for it.
My hands stayed at my sides, fists clenched, until hers found their way to my neck.
Her touch was light—too light—and I hated how much I needed it.
“You don’t deserve this pain, Dominic,” she said, brushing her fingers over my jaw. “You don’t deserve the hatred that’s poisoning you from the inside out.”
She rested her forehead against mine, breath shaky.
“I know you’ve locked away the good part of you, but it’s still there. I see it.”
“You put too much faith in me,” I exhaled. “I’m a lost cause.”
“You can try to convince yourself all you want, but you can’t fool me. I put my faith in this”
And then she kissed me.
And fuck it, I kissed her back like she was the only thing keeping me alive.
She gasped against my mouth, and I swallowed the sound like it was air.
My hands found her waist, fingers digging into her curves as I pulled her flush against me.
She was soft and warm, her body grinding against the ache between my legs, and fuck, she felt so goddamn good.
Her hips rolled—whether intentional or not, I didn’t care.
I groaned into her mouth, the sound low and desperate.
Her moans were breathy and broken, like she needed this just as much as I did.
We kissed hard and fast. My hands slid down her back, tracing the shape of her like I was memorizing every inch, every curve.
Her soft body rubbed against the hard line of my cock, the friction through our clothes unbearable, maddening.
Her heat soaked through my jeans, and it was all I could do not to lose control right then and there.
Each kiss grew more desperate and consuming.
Her lips clung to mine like she was trying to pull the broken pieces of me back together.
Athena moaned into my mouth, and it sent fire straight through my veins.
Her hands fumbled at the buttons of my shirt, and instinctively, I stopped her—my fingers wrapping around hers, stilling her.
“Athena…” I growled against her mouth, still kissing her even as I tried to pull back. “We have to stop.”
“I don’t want to stop,” she whispered, rolling her hips against mine deliberately, knowing exactly what she was doing. “Please, Dominic… don’t stop.”
Fuck.
Hearing Athena King begging is something I swear could make me burn, and I deserved to. I’d already earned my place in hell, but this? This would drag me there faster.
I searched her eyes, hoping—praying—for some sign of hesitation. Something to break the spell and save us both, but all I found was fire. A hunger that mirrored my own.
And then she kissed me again, hard and desperate.
Her mouth stole the last fragments of resistance I had left, sucking the fucking soul out of me.
My self-control snapped like a goddamn wire.
I turned us over, my body caging hers against the blanket beneath us.
She opened for me—legs parting, hips arching up into mine, wordlessly begging for more.
I ground my cock into her heat and nearly came undone.
“Stop me,” I warned, kissing down her throat. “You have to stop me.”
“No.” She tugged my hair, dragging me closer. “I want this. I want you.”
And that was it. That was the line I couldn’t crawl back from.
I groaned low and deep, my mouth finding that perfect spot between her breasts. I bit down, marking her, dragging the straps of her dress down her shoulders. She arched into me as if she wanted me to brand every inch of her. And hell, maybe I did.
Her dress slid down, and her breasts spilled out—full, perfect, nipples already hard.
She was a fucking vision. A fantasy, a temptation that could ruin me.
She pulled her thong down, slow and bold, tossing it aside like she already knew I wouldn’t survive what was coming next. And damn it, she was right.
I drank her in. She was bare beneath me, gorgeous and raw. The ache in my chest rivaled the one in my pants. She wasn’t just a woman; she was the woman. The one I wasn’t supposed to touch and the one I couldn’t seem to stop touching.
I kissed down her body and she writhed beneath me, gasping, moaning, and I took every sound like a fucking gift.
My shirt came off with her help. She unfastened my pants, and I didn’t stop her.
I couldn’t think straight with her eyes on me, with her bare skin against mine, with that look on her face like I was everything she needed.
“You’re so fucking perfect,” I murmured, kissing my way down her stomach, nipping at her soft thigh. I dragged in her scent and nearly lost it. “It’s unreal.”
“Dominic… please…” She trembled under my hands.
God. Her begging. Her voice was like honey and sin; it unraveled something deep inside me. I dipped lower, kissed her inner thigh, and finally, I gave her what we both needed.
I licked up her center, slow and punishing, from her slick entrance to her clit, and her entire body jolted in response. Her cry—raw, sweet, tortured—was the kind of sound that could bring a man to his knees or send him straight into war. And fuck, I would have done both.