Chapter 28 Dominic
DOMINIC
The ride to my penthouse passes in tense silence.
Cora stares out the window, jaw set, refusing to acknowledge me.
I focus on the road, fingers tightening on the steering wheel.
I know I pushed her hard back at the apartment—too hard, maybe—but this woman does something to me.
Breaks through my control in ways no one else ever has.
“We’re here.” My voice sounds rough even to my own ears.
She doesn’t respond, simply unbuckles her seatbelt and waits for me to come around and open her door. Even furious, all those years of political training show through.
As we walk through the garage toward the private elevator, I watch her profile.
Those high cheekbones, that stubborn chin.
I’ve been obsessed with her since the first time I saw her at a charity gala last year.
She wore blue that night, her smile practiced as she worked the room on her father’s behalf.
It was just after Pike tanked my waterfront development, costing me millions.
I should have hated everything about her.
Instead, I couldn’t look away.
The truth is, she’s always been my obsession.
From the first moment I saw her at that charity gala, something about Cora Pike got under my skin.
I watched her for months after that—the perfect smile that never quite reached her eyes, the way she stood in her father’s shadow while somehow managing to shine brighter than him.
When I overheard Mira at Purgatory that night, practically begging Xavier to allow her into the Hunt, something primal inside me roared to life. Xavier had refused her, of course, because they already had five prey, but I couldn’t let her slip away.
I never factored Liam and Ryder into the equation. The Hunt was supposed to encompass my revenge, my pleasure, and my conquest. Sharing her wasn’t part of the plan.
The elevator doors slide open to my penthouse, and immediately the rich aroma of garlic and herbs fills the air. Cora stiffens beside me, her eyes darting around the open-concept space.
Ryder stands at the kitchen island, sleeves rolled up past his tattooed forearms, chopping something like a pro. He looks up, flashes that disarming smile.
“Perfect timing. Dinner’s almost ready.”
Across the room, Liam lounges on my Italian leather sofa, one arm stretched along the back, a glass of red wine in his fingers.
His tie is loosened, his jacket discarded.
He looks like he belongs here, which should irritate me.
Instead, I find myself noting how the evening light catches in his brown hair.
“Welcome home,” he says, raising his glass in our direction. His eyes linger on Cora, assessing her state, before meeting mine with a raised eyebrow. “Looks like Dom already ate?” The innuendo hangs heavy in the air.
Ryder laughs from the kitchen, pointing a wooden spoon in our direction. “That’s not fair, having fun without us.” His eyes dance with mischief, but there’s a hint of genuine disappointment there, too.
I feel Cora tense beside me, her breath quickening slightly. The air around her practically vibrates with anxiety. She’s holding herself too stiffly, eyes darting between the three of us like a cornered animal calculating escape routes.
“Give her space,” I say, my tone leaving no room for argument. “Cora’s had enough for one day.”
I place my hand lightly on the small of her back, careful not to press too hard. “Come on. I’ll show you your room.”
Her shoulders relax marginally at this—the promise of a door she can close and a space that’s hers alone.
“You’re giving me my own room?” The question comes out small, uncertain.
“Of course.” I guide her down the hallway, away from Liam’s penetrating stare and Ryder’s curious eyes. “Everyone has their own space here. It’s a six-bedroom penthouse.”
We pass Liam’s door, already marked by a sleek leather briefcase propped against the wall outside. Further down is Ryder’s, identifiable by the jacket slung haphazardly over the doorknob.
I stop at the third door on the right. “This one’s yours. My room is at the end of the hall. You won’t be disturbed unless you want to be.”
I push the door open to reveal a spacious bedroom with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. The walls are a soft cream, the bedding simple but luxurious. Nothing too imposing or personal—a blank canvas for her.
I watch her admire the room, her fingers ghosting over the Egyptian cotton duvet. A small wrinkle forms between her brows as she notices the en-suite bathroom, the walk-in closet.
“You need to eat something,” I say. It’s been a grueling few days—the 72-hour Hunt, the claiming ceremony, even with the mandatory 24-hour rest period afterward.
I know she’s had takeout during that time, considering the containers littering her coffee table, but she still looks exhausted. “Ryder’s allegedly a decent cook.”
She doesn’t answer immediately, keeps her back to me, shoulders rigid beneath her blouse.
“You can join us at the table, or I can bring something here. Your choice.”
The silence stretches between us, loaded with everything unsaid. The humiliation at the feast. Her father’s face. The ways I’ve pushed her boundaries already today. I find myself holding my breath, waiting for her answer.
Finally, Cora turns. The wounded expression from earlier has been replaced by something harder, more determined. She straightens her spine, lifts her chin, and meets my gaze directly.
“I’ll eat with you.”
Four simple words. My cock hardens instantly despite having taken her roughly just hours ago. Her defiance always seems to have that effect on me.
She’s choosing to face all three of us together rather than hiding away. Not because she’s forgiven us, but because Cora Pike doesn’t cower.
“Good,” I manage. “Give me five minutes to shower and change.”
I need the cold water. Need to regain my control before joining the others. Because the way she’s looking at me now, like she could either kill me or fuck me and hasn’t quite decided which, is testing every ounce of my restraint.
I march out of her bedroom and head toward mine.
Closing the adjoining bathroom door behind me, Istrip off my clothes, dropping them carelessly on the marble floor.
The shower starts with a touch to the digital panel, water instantly cascading from the rainfall showerhead.
Steam fills the glass enclosure as I step inside, letting the scalding water pound against my tense muscles.
My cock is still hard, has been since the moment Cora looked at me with that defiant stare. I close my eyes, wrapping my hand around my length, stroking slowly as I picture her beneath me—her back arching, mouth open in a silent scream.
But as the water runs down my body, my mind betrays me, shifting to Ryder’s cocky smile. This Hunt was the first time I’d fucked a man. I’d never thought about it before, never wanted to. Yet I can’t stop remembering how it felt to fuck Liam’s ass.
“Fuck,” I growl, my hand moving faster.
I imagine Cora watching us, directing us like she did during that final night of the Hunt.
“I want to see you touch each other,” she’d whisper, eyes dark with desire as she lounges naked on my bed.
In my mind, I sink to my knees in front of Liam, taking him in my mouth while Ryder strokes himself behind me.
My breath catches, cock throbbing in my palm. This isn’t me. I don’t submit. I don’t take orders. I’m the one in control.
Yet the image morphs, and suddenly Ryder is behind me, his hands gripping my hips as I thrust into Cora. The taboo thought of him entering me while I’m inside her sends a jolt of electricity down my spine. My hand moves faster, precum mixing with the shower spray.
“Goddammit,” I hiss, bracing myself against the shower wall with my free hand, water streaming down my face as the fantasy overtakes me—Cora’s tight heat around my cock, Ryder filling me from behind, Liam’s taste on my tongue.
I come with violent intensity, my entire body shuddering as rope after rope of cum hits the glass wall, washing away with the water. My legs nearly buckle as the aftershocks roll through me.
I dry off quickly, pulling on fresh clothes and trying to push away the confusing thoughts that ambushed me in the shower.
What the fuck was that? The Hunt is one thing—a contained environment where normal rules don’t apply. But this is my home, my life. I don’t find men attractive. I never have.
Yet those images won’t fade.
When I enter the dining room, Ryder is placing a steaming dish of pasta in the center of the table. Liam is already seated, swirling wine in his glass. Cora sits across from my empty chair, her posture perfectly straight, face carefully blank.
“Look who finally decided to join us,” Liam raises his glass. “We were beginning to think you’d drowned.”
I ignore him and take my seat next to Ryder. The table feels too small, everyone too close. I can smell Ryder’s cologne—woodsy with hints of citrus. I’ve never noticed it before.
“Hope everyone likes carbonara,” Ryder says, reaching for the serving spoon. His bicep flexes as he dishes pasta onto Cora’s plate first. I find myself staring at the movement of muscle beneath his skin.
“You cook?” Cora asks.
Ryder grins. “One of my many talents.”
“He’s surprisingly domestic,” Liam adds. “Unlike our host here.”
My jaw tightens. “I can cook.”
“Making pancakes doesn’t count,” Ryder laughs, serving himself before passing the spoon my way.
As I reach for it, our fingers brush. The contact is brief—barely a touch—but electricity shoots up my arm. I jerk back so violently that my elbow knocks into my water glass, sending it toppling. Water splashes across the table.
“Shit,” I mutter, grabbing my napkin to mop up the spill.
Ryder stares at me, confusion plain on his face. “You okay, man?”
“Fine. Just... slipped.”
Liam’s eyes narrow. Cora’s watching too, her face unreadable but somehow knowing.
I force myself to breathe, to steady my hands as I clean up the water. What the hell is wrong with me? It was nothing. A casual touch. The kind that happens between people sharing a meal.
So why is my heart hammering against my ribs like I’ve been caught doing something forbidden?