Chapter 35
Dominic
Iflinch when my bedroom door slams behind me. I didn’t mean to close it so hard, but I needed to put some distance between us before I lost control and crossed a line I can’t take back. What the fuck was I thinking?
I’m starting to believe Emily Ashford is going to be my undoing.
I brought her here to protect her and to let her heal, not to take advantage of her.
And yet, the second she’s close, the second I get my hands on her, every ounce of restraint I’ve been clinging to shatters, leaving nothing but raw desire I can’t contain.
I left fucking marks on her for Christ’s sake. Seeing her pretty porcelain skin, red and purple from something I’d done in the heat of the moment, brought back images of all the bruises that bikie fucker left on her before I ended him.
The worst part is, I held back with her. I didn’t even give her my all, and that’s probably what scares me the most. She’s too fragile for a monster like me.
I reach down and grasp my rock-hard cock through the denim of my jeans and squeeze it in frustration.
I’ve never wanted anything or anybody as much as I want her, but I can’t stop thinking about what she’s been through or the scars she carries that no one should ever leave on someone they claim to love.
Emily’s sweet, angelic, and everything I’m not. She deserves better than a man who struggles to keep his own desires in check, better than someone who will inevitably complicate her life instead of making it easier.
Every time I look at her, I feel the weight of what we have, but however intense those feelings are, they can only end in heartbreak. Sooner or later, she’ll see me for what I am, and when that happens, this spark between us will burn out, leaving nothing but ashes in its wake.
“Fuck,” I grunt out as I tilt my head towards the ceiling and scrub my hand down my face.
I can still smell her on my fingers, taste her on my tongue.
For one stupid moment, I gave in to my desires. I allowed myself to believe this was what she needed, but the truth is, I’m not even close.
I yank my T-shirt off in frustration and toss it across the room as I reach for the button on my jeans, heading towards my en suite.
I need to wash her off me, scrub away every trace, and stop fooling myself. I hope in the morning she’ll still be able to look me in the eye and somehow forgive me for what I did.
I don’t even bother to wait for the water to heat up as I step under the spray, hating myself more than I ever have before in my life.
A moment of passion, which I know for sure she at least enjoyed, has left me feeling like an absolute cunt, like I ruined something pure with my own selfishness.
My cock is still pulsing between my legs, but I ignore it. I can’t stop thinking about how her body reacted to my touch, the way her skin shivered under my hands, her fucking scent that clung to me, and all those sexy little noises she made that now only remind me of how badly I messed up.
It’s some ungodly hour in the morning. It’s pissing down outside, and I’m still lying in bed wide awake. Normally, the sound of the rain hitting the roof would knock me out, but tonight it does nothing to ease my self-hatred.
I’m mad at myself for what I did to Emily, but even madder at the way I handled it.
I’m not good with feelings and all that shit, but I should’ve been more of a man.
I shouldn’t have turned and walked away.
That was a shitty move. At the very least, I should’ve given her some kind of explanation instead of letting it spiral into this mess.
Now all I can do is lie here and stew on the knowledge that I’ve made things worse.
I wouldn’t be surprised if I wake in the morning to find her gone, and I couldn’t fault her for leaving. She’s better off, but I hope that’s not the case.
A scratch at the window, followed by a long, drawn-out “Meow,” drags me out of my thoughts. I already know what I’m going to find, as if my night couldn’t get any shittier.
“Fucking Fat Cat,” I grumble when my eyes land on a drenched ball of obese fluff shivering on my windowsill.
I consider ignoring him, letting him figure it out himself, but the pit in my chest tightens. I swear under my breath, toss the covers aside, and throw on my jeans.
This freeloading fuck is not even ours, even though the girls have claimed him as part of the family.
I’m still grumbling under my breath as I trudge through the house, heading towards the back door. I stomp through the backyard, the wet grass squishing under my bare feet.
“Jesus Christ,” I mutter as I scoop the soggy cat into my arms. He claws at me as I move back towards the house, which only makes my temper flare. “Scratch me again, and I’ll leave you out here to fucking drown,” I grumble, already knowing I don’t mean a word of it.
I hoist him a little higher when he starts to slip from my grip; he weighs a fucking ton.
“Next time you pass by a window, I suggest you look at your reflection in the glass. Either that or you need to stop going to every house in the street and begging for whatever scraps are on offer.”
The cat stares up at me like I’m personally trying to ruin his entire life, and I swear I hear a little hiss. How’s that for gratitude?
I swore this heart attack on legs would never set a paw in my home, but I’ve already fucked things up with Emily, and the last thing I need on my conscience is killing her fucking cat.
I end up dumping him unceremoniously in the laundry. He shakes himself off, glaring at me like it’s all my fault. I groan as I head back into the hallway to grab a few towels from the linen cupboard.
I open the laundry door just enough to toss the towels onto the floor.
I probably should dry the fucker off, but I’m not exactly in the mood to be accommodating.
He’s lucky he’s got somewhere dry to crash for the rest of the night, but come sunrise, he’s out on his fat arse. No one can know I caved and let him in.
I’m tired and irritated as I drag myself out of bed and head to the bathroom to take a piss and brush my teeth.
I intended to remove the cat before the girls woke but when I hear muffled voices coming from the laundry as I approach, I realise I’m already too late.
“Fucking great,” I mutter under my breath.
I’m not ready to face Emily yet, not after the way I ended things last night, and this is just another headache I don’t need first thing in the damn morning.
“Can Fat Cat sleep in my new bed?” I hear Lil’ Peach ask as I tilt my head towards the ceiling and groan.
I reach for the door handle, and three sets of eyes swing in my direction when I grumble, “No, he can’t.”
My gaze moves from the cat to my niece before settling on Emily’s baby blues that are haunting my fucking dreams. The moment our eyes meet, her cheeks flush a soft pink.
She quickly averts her gaze, like she’s trying to hide the storm of feelings I know are swirling behind it. My chest tightens at the sight. It’s just confirmation I’ve royally fucked things up.
I clear my throat as I rub the back of my neck. “It was raining last night, and the drenched cat was scratching at my window.”
Her eyes briefly dart back to mine before she shifts her attention to the cat. A small grin tugs at her lips as her fingertips brush over his fur, but from here, I can see the smile doesn’t reach her eyes.
The slump in her shoulders tells me I’ve hurt her. I know I have, and it hits harder than I expected. I have no clue how to right the wrong and fix the mess I’ve made.