Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
Skye
I stretch, luxuriating in the clean sheets and comfortable mattress.
The gentle breeze from the ceiling fan caresses my damp skin, creating a soothing rhythm that lulls me into that hazy, delicious space between wakefulness and sleep.
My muscles feel pleasantly relaxed, my mind drifting aimlessly as I sink deeper into the plush comfort beneath me.
The soft cotton sheets feel like a gentle embrace against my freshly showered skin.
I'm so comfortable I've almost surrendered completely to sleep when a knock on my door reverberates through the peaceful stillness of the room.
"Come in," I say automatically, my voice slightly muffled against the pillow, expecting Harper with one of her spontaneous fashion consultations.
The door opens with a soft creak. "Hey, I thought you could use some water."
Dom's deep, resonant voice fills the room like thunder in an empty valley, and I jump up with a startled gasp, clutching my towel against my chest as if it might somehow shield me from his intense gaze. "Shit!"
"Sorry. You said come in." His eyes widen slightly in surprise before darkening visibly as they sweep across my barely-covered form, lingering on the edges of the towel where it meets my skin. The intensity of his stare makes me feel both exposed and desired simultaneously. "I thought..."
I stutter helplessly, heat flooding my cheeks, "I thought it was Harper." My heart hammers against my ribs so forcefully I'm certain he must be able to see it.
With trembling legs, I stand and approach him, painfully conscious of each step, each breath.
I take the water with one hand while the other desperately clutches at my towel, my knuckles turning white with the effort.
"Thank you," I manage to whisper, acutely aware of the fact that I'm almost completely naked.
"You're welcome," he says, his voice dropping to a register that seems to vibrate through my entire body, but he makes no attempt to move or look away. His presence fills the doorway, commanding and unmovable.
I notice now that he's dressed impeccably in black slacks and a crisp white dress shirt, the top two buttons undone to reveal a tantalizing glimpse of tanned skin.
He looks so impossibly handsome—like something conjured from my most forbidden fantasies—that I can barely draw breath.
And fuck, he smells so good—some complex masculine scent with notes of sandalwood and something darker, richer that makes my head swim and my knees weaken.
The scent envelops me, making it impossible to think clearly.
"You're so fucking beautiful," he says in a low, deep voice that resonates through my entire being, awakening parts of me I didn't know existed.
The intensity of his gaze makes me feel as though I might do anything he asks, anything at all.
I'd drop to my knees and worship at his feet if he commanded it in that voice while looking this devastatingly perfect.
He must sense my thoughts—must see the surrender in my eyes—because the next words that leave his mouth carry the unmistakable weight of command: "Turn around."
I don't hesitate for even a heartbeat, doing exactly what I'm told, my body responding to his authority before my mind can even process the request.
"Drop the towel," he says, and it falls to the floor around my ankles with a soft whisper of fabric, leaving me completely exposed and vulnerable before him.
"Fuck," he groans, the sound primal and hungry, and I feel him pressing into me from behind, the expensive fabric of his slacks creating a delicious friction against my bare skin.
The contrast between his fully clothed body and my nakedness intensifies everything, making me acutely aware of every point where we touch.
I stand motionless, hyper-aware of every sensation—the cool air against my naked skin, the heat radiating from Dom's body behind me, the thundering of my heart. A strange cocktail of embarrassment, fear, and something far more primal floods through me.
"Don't move," Dom whispers, his breath hot against my ear, sending shivers down my spine. His large hands grip my waist, fingers digging into my flesh with exquisite pressure that borders between pain and pleasure.
"I want to take your ass too," he says, releasing my waist to palm my breasts. His hands are rough and warm, cupping the weight of each breast, thumbs brushing against my nipples which instantly harden at his touch.
A breathy moan escapes my lips, my head falling back against his chest. I've never felt so utterly possessed, so completely at someone's mercy. The thought should terrify me, but instead, it sends liquid heat pooling between my thighs.
"Touch yourself," he commands, voice thick with desire.
I hesitate for only a heartbeat before bringing my hand between my legs, letting my fingers slide between my pussy lips, shocked at how wet I am. How ready. For him. For this. For whatever he wants to do to me.
"God damn, you're such a good girl," he growls, and I whimper at the praise, something inside me unfurling like a flower seeking sunlight.
"You want to be a good girl for me?" he asks, squeezing my breasts harder.
I nod frantically, unable to form words. I want to be so good for him. I want to please him in ways I've never wanted to please anyone before.
"I want you to make yourself come," he says, pinching both nipples simultaneously.
I moan and rub my clit faster, my fingers slick with my own arousal. My legs tremble, threatening to give out beneath me.
"Okay?" he asks, a hint of genuine concern breaking through his dominant demeanor.
"Yes," I whisper, my voice small and breathless.
"Yes, sir," he corrects, giving my nipple a painful twist.
"Yes, sir," I repeat, the words feeling foreign yet right on my tongue.
He groans appreciatively, grinding his hard length against my ass. The fabric of his expensive slacks provides a tantalizing friction against my bare skin. I can feel how big he is, how hard, and I imagine what it would be like to take all of him inside me.
"Good, so perfect," he praises as I rub tight circles over my clit. My entire body feels like a live wire, electricity coursing through every nerve ending.
Then he brings one hand up between my breasts to my neck, raising my arm with the movement. I instinctively reach back, pushing my fingers into his hair, gripping the soft strands between my fingers just as he starts squeezing, cutting off my air.
"Keep going, baby. Make yourself come apart," he commands in a low voice as he chokes me and twists my nipple with his other hand.
Oh god, oh god, I chant in my head because I can't make a sound.
I'm climbing higher and higher, about to fall over the edge.
The pressure in my lungs and the restricted blood flow intensifies every sensation tenfold.
Colors burst behind my eyelids, and I feel myself approaching something I've never experienced before—something transcendent.
"Be a good girl and come for me," he growls in my ear.
Fuck, I scream in my head as my vision starts getting dark around the edges and I come apart at the seams. I dig my nails into his scalp as I twitch and convulse in his strong arms. The orgasm rips through me like a tidal wave, obliterating everything in its path.
I'm nothing but sensation, nothing but pleasure.
He loosens his grip on my throat and I gasp for air, each breath bringing another wave of pleasure crashing through me.
"Fuck, Dom," I moan as I ride out the wave, my body continuing to pulse and throb against my hand between my legs.
His arms encircle me completely now, supporting me as my legs give out. I collapse against him, utterly spent, my mind blissfully empty of all the worries and responsibilities that normally plague me.
For this moment, there's only Dom and the exquisite aftershocks of the most intense orgasm I've ever experienced.
My lungs still burn sweetly as I try to catch my breath. Every nerve ending in my body tingles with the afterglow of that mind-shattering release. I'm boneless in his arms, barely able to stand, my body still humming with pleasure I've never felt before.
"Let me taste," he says, his voice a dark caress against my ear as I slowly come down from the high, the words vibrating through me like a physical touch.
I bring my hand up, dazed, my movements languid and dreamlike, my fingers still slick with evidence of what he just did to me.
"God, you're soaked," he growls when he sees my glistening fingers.
Before I can respond, he grabs my wrist, bringing my hand to his mouth.
His lips wrap around my fingers—warm, wet, insistent—and he sucks every trace of my arousal from them.
The gentle suction and sweep of his tongue against my sensitive fingertips sends aftershocks racing through my body.
It's the hottest thing I've ever witnessed.
This powerful, commanding man devouring the evidence of my pleasure like it's the most delicious thing he's ever tasted.
My heart hammers against my ribs, and despite just coming harder than I ever have in my life, I feel desire stirring within me again, a relentless ache that refuses to be satisfied so easily.
When my hand is clean, he releases it slowly, making sure I feel the gentle scrape of his teeth against my sensitive skin, a promise of what else those teeth could do.
"Fuck, you taste like the sweetest fruit," he says, his voice thick with want.
Then he bends down behind me. I feel his breath against my bare skin, hot and tantalizing, but before I can process what's happening, there's a sharp sting on the curve of my ass that makes me yelp in surprise.
He bit me. He actually bit me, and god help me, I want him to do it again, to feel the exquisite blend of pain and pleasure only he seems able to create.
I feel him grabbing my discarded towel from the floor as he rises, his body sliding against mine in a deliberate tease, every point of contact between us igniting new fires beneath my skin.
"We're going to have so much fun," he promises, wrapping the towel around me and securing it with surprising tenderness.
His fingers brush against my skin as he adjusts the fabric, sending electric shivers racing across my flesh, goosebumps rising in their wake.
"Make sure you drink all of your water," he adds, backing away slowly, his eyes still devouring me with that same intense focus.
I turn around, clutching the towel to my chest as if it might shield me from the raw need coursing through me, and watch him smile at me. It's predatory and possessive, and it makes something primitive inside me respond, something I didn't even know existed until this moment.
He turns and leaves my room, closing the door quietly behind him, taking all the oxygen with him.
His absence hits me like a physical blow.
All I want is for him to come back and slip inside me, fill me up completely, claim me in the most basic way possible.
God, I want him more than I've ever wanted anything or anyone.
He just gave me the most intense orgasm of my life, and he barely did anything.
My mind spins with possibilities of what he might do when he actually gives me more, when those large hands explore every inch of me, when that mouth takes possession of mine.
Fuck. I'm so fucked. I'm completely at his mercy, and the scariest part is that I don't care.
I grab the water bottle from where I set it down and chug it greedily, my throat parched from my gasps and moans. The cool liquid slides down my throat, but does nothing to quench the heat still burning inside me, an inferno he's stoked and left to rage.
As I set the empty bottle down, my fingers still trembling slightly, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror.
My cheeks are flushed, my eyes wide and bright with lingering desire, my lips swollen from biting them.
The mark of his hand still faintly visible on my throat.
I look thoroughly ravished, and he's barely touched me.
What will I look like when he's done with me completely?
I need to get ready for dinner, but all I can think about is Dom—his hands on my body, his voice in my ear, his teeth on my skin.
How am I supposed to sit across from him at dinner and act normal after what just happened?
How do I pretend I'm not desperate for him to take me upstairs and finish what he started?
With shaky legs, I move to my suitcase to find something to wear, knowing that whatever I choose, all I really want is for him to take it off me again, preferably with his teeth.