Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
Isla
Dear God, no.
My pulse is a frantic drumbeat against my ribs as Dorian drags me away from the safety of the crowd, Brennan protectively on our heels. Protectively? I mentally scoff at the idea. More like threateningly. Anyone who comes close to Dorian might be torn limb from limb.
I was praying that I had hours, maybe a full day, to think this through, figure out a way to convince him not to touch me.
But I’m learning that Dorian isn’t a patient man.
“We can’t leave our guests,” I protest. Any excuse.
He doesn’t slow down. For all I know, he hasn’t even heard me.
The click of my tall heels is sharp on the marble floors, but even that doesn’t deter me. “Mr. Vale! Please, slow down.”
Finally he relents, but not by much.
“You can’t keep up?”
I scowl at him. “These shoes belonged to my sister. ”
At that, he shortens his strides.
“So this was a last-minute substitution.”
If he only knew…
He stops, and Brennan opens a door that’s just to our right, and he checks inside. “Give us the room,” he barks at the catering staff.
I squeeze my eyes shut, praying they’ll refuse. But they don’t. Within seconds, every person has scurried away.
“Clear,” Brennan tells Dorian, something I’ve only ever heard on cop shows before.
How has my life suddenly become so surreal?
My unwanted husband draws me inside the room. Then Brennan closes the door. Moments later, Dorian throws the lock.
The small room has a bank of windows overlooking magnificent pines and a live oak tree. In other circumstances, the view would take my breath away.
“Now…wife…”
He backs me against a wall and leans in close. For the first time ever, I experience the full weight of his gaze.
Assessing. Measuring. Deciding.
A predator with his prey cornered.
“I’m going to sample the wares.”
His voice is soft, almost thoughtful, and the words send an icy tremor through me.
I lift my chin, refusing to cower. “Is that what you do, Mr. Vale? Take what you want and damn the consequences?”
“You might want to be careful, little one.”
Steel warning is woven through his words, but I recklessly ignore it.
“Why is that? Because you’re a brute?” A tic is throbbing in his temple, another warning that I’m pushing this man that I barely know.
But I’m unable to stop myself. I might have been led like a lamb to slaughter, but there’s no way I can keep my mouth shut against this outrageous injustice.
“ You do realize that you’re so awful that Margaux risked everything to get away from you? ”
His eyes flash—brief, barely a flicker, but I see it. Annoyance. Irritation. Maybe a hint of anger. It pleases me, more than it should, to have broken through his calculated mask.
“If you hope your words will stop this—me—you’re wrong.”
His voice is lower now, rougher, laced with sinister determination.
He raises his hand, and for a breathless moment, I think he’ll touch my face.
Instead, his fingers tangle in the delicate veil still draped over my shoulders.
With a slow, intentional tug, he pulls it free, and the gossamer fabric slides down my arms to pool at my feet.
Then, before I can react, before I can even take my next breath, he leans forward.
Dorian crashes his mouth against mine, a storm of heat and fury.
His lips are firm, demanding, and I’m consumed by his taste—whiskey and sin, dark and intoxicating.
My mind spins, overwhelmed by the raw intensity.
I’ve never been kissed like this, never been kissed at all.
It’s terrifying, exhilarating, all-consuming.
Frantic to escape, I fight to bring up my hands between us, pressing my palms against his chest. His tuxedo is crisp under my fingertips, the expensive fabric no match for the hard muscle beneath. No matter how hard I push, my desperate attempts are futile.
His resolve and anger at the situation are evident in the bruising grip on my wrists as he pins them above my head.
His body presses against mine, a wall of hard muscle trapping me.
I’m small, helpless against his strength, and that realization sends a shiver of fear and unwanted excitement down my spine.
He lifts his head and gives me a small smile, and I know on some level he’s toying with me. “Resist all you want. ”
Gasping, I fight against his awful dominance, but his grip is unyielding.
He’s enjoying this.
“You can’t just—” I start, but his mouth silences me again, his kiss deepening, his tongue invading.
With everything I have inside me, I fight, trying to escape, but he leans in, and his hips pin me to the wall. His heat sears me as his hardness presses against my belly.
Because I’ve never experienced anything like this, I’m immobilized.
With his free hand, he traces the neckline of my dress.
No.
Wide-eyed, I stare at him.
There’s no way he can mean to do this.
“Oh, yes,” he whispers, as if I’d spoken aloud.
Very slowly, intentionally, he continues to outline the neckline of my gown.
I shake my head.
Watching me, cataloguing each reaction, he slips inside the loose fabric.
I shiver as he brushes against the lace of my bra, his touch sending electric shocks across my skin.
He pauses, but he doesn’t pull away, as he gives me a moment to protest.
But I’m caught in his gaze, like a deer in the headlights.
“So you hate what I do to you?”
I hate my reaction to you.
“I think you like it. At least a little.”
Without giving me another second to protest, he brushes his fingers against my breast, making me inhale sharply as my body tenses against the unfamiliar touch.
“So soft.” He fully cups my breast, squeezing gently. His thumb finds my nipple, circling, teasing, until it’s a hard, aching peak .
My God.
My body betrays me, and I release a soft moan.
He smiles in a cold, triumphant way that tells me he knows exactly what he’s doing to me.
Making me pay for my horrible words about him being a brute.
But I had no idea.
He’s much, much worse than I imagined.
“See?” he murmurs, his voice a low purr. “Your body knows its master.”
Absolutely not.
Thankfully he pulls his hand out from the bodice of my gown, but my breast now aches for his touch.
But he’s not done with me.
Dorian trails his fingers down my ribcage, then lower, his touch lingering on my hip. Deliberately he grabs the hem of my dress and lifts it slowly.
Frantically I try to wiggle, pushing my body off the wall behind me, hoping to use it as leverage.
I might as well try to move a mountain.
Cool air hits my legs, then thighs.
His hand cups my mound, possessive and sure. “All of this—every piece of you—belongs to me.” He’s insistent, his tone thick with desire and dominance.
My body betrays me further. Heat pools between my legs, and a throbbing ache begins to build. I can hear voices at the door, a woman, then the answering rumble of a man’s voice. Brennan, I guess.
But in here, it’s just me and Dorian, locked in this battle of wills, this dance of desire and defiance.
His fingers press against me, rubbing gently through the lace of my panties. I gasp, and my eyes go wide at the sensation. It’s too much, too intense. I’m drowning in him, in the feelings he’s forcing me to confront .
“Please,” I whisper, my voice barely audible. I don’t know what I’m asking for—for him to stop, to continue, to end this torment.
His lips find mine again, softer this time, coaxing rather than demanding. Suddenly it’s as if he’s found the first crack in my armor and intends to shatter me completely.
His tongue slips into my mouth, exploring, tasting. I moan, my body arching into his touch, my resolve crumbling. All the while, he has one hand between my legs.
Moments later, overwhelming me, he ends the kiss and moves his hand from my pussy.
Gently, he strokes his knuckles down the column of my throat.
He’s tender, but I’m reminded of how vulnerable I am. How much power he holds over me.
“You want this,” he growls against my lips, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through me. “Want me.”
“No.” Frantically, I turn my head away, but he cups my jaw, forcing me to face him.
“Your body is telling me your mouth is lying, little one.” His thumb brushes against my bottom lip, a surprisingly gentle touch that contrasts with his harsh words.
“I’m being honest.”
“Ah. You leave me no option but to prove myself right.”
Once more, he lifts my gown. But this time, instead of keeping his hand outside my panties, he eases his fingers inside the gusset of the tiny scrap of lace. Horror races through me.
“You were saying?” He slides between my folds.
Oh God. No one has ever touched me there. Done… that.
“Yes, little one,” he murmurs against my lips. “Give in to this. Give in to me.”
And in that moment, I fear that I might, that I will, despite everything .
Dorian allows his fingers to delve deeper, exploring my most intimate place with an expertise that leaves me gasping.
He knows exactly where to touch, how to touch, stroking and circling, sending shockwaves of pleasure through my body.
I try to fight it, to deny the sensations, but it’s futile.
My body is responding to him in ways I never imagined possible, in ways that terrify and thrill me simultaneously.
“You’re so wet for me, Isla.” His words are said in a dark, seductive whisper. “Your mouth says one thing, but your body can’t hide the truth.”
He moves his fingers in a rhythm that matches the wild pounding of my heart, stroking and teasing, building a tension inside me that’s almost unbearable. I squirm against his hand, a desperate attempt to escape the overwhelming sensations, but it only intensifies the pleasure.
“Please…” I manage to whisper, my voice a broken plea. I don’t know what I’m asking for—for him to continue or to stop and end the torment that’s consuming me.
“Please what, little one?” He stills, being a cruel tease, denying me the release my body craves. “Tell me what you want.”