Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
Scarlett
The car ride to Dax's building is quiet. Not uncomfortable, just weighted with everything unsaid between us. I stare out the window at the city lights blurring past, my mind turning over the dinner conversation.
The driver pulls up in front of a sleek high-rise in Tribeca. Dax's hand finds the small of my back as we exit the car.
The doorman greets us immediately.
"Good evening, Mr. Blackwell."
"Evening, Thomas."
Inside, the lobby is all marble and modern art. The concierge nods respectfully as we pass.
"Mr. Blackwell… Miss."
Dax guides me down a corridor to an area marked Private. There are only two elevator doors here, both requiring access.
He steps up to a panel, punching in a code before placing his hand on a scanner. The technology is sleek, high-end. The elevator doors slide open.
We step inside, and the doors close behind us.
Dax pulls me close, his hands wrapping around my waist. He leans in to kiss me, his mouth finding mine with familiar heat.
I kiss him back but pull away slightly.
"Do you always get what you want, Dax?"
He looks at me, his eyes dark in the low lighting.
"Yes. In fact, I do."
The elevator begins to slow. I shake my head. "So it is a game with you."
The doors open.
Dax holds his hand out toward the entrance. "After you."
I step out into his penthouse, and my breath catches.
The foyer opens into a massive living space with vaulted ceilings that soar three stories high. Floor-to-ceiling windows wrap around the entire space, offering views of Manhattan on one side and the Hudson River on the other. Across the water, lights twinkle in the distance.
The furniture is modern, chic, expensive.
A long credenza lines one wall, topped with sculptures and art pieces that probably cost more than my yearly salary.
The walls feature paintings I recognize from auction catalogs.
This isn't just wealth. This is dynasty. Miles lived modestly. He willingly gave up all of this for a simple life in Chicago writing for a small publication. It’s a completely different extreme.
"Can I get you anything to drink?" Dax asks from behind me, snapping me out of my thoughts.
I turn. "Nice place."
"Thank you."
He walks past me to a bar area tucked into an alcove. I follow slowly, my eyes still taking in every detail. As I turn the corner, I see the bar—all dark wood and crystal decanters, backlit shelves holding bottles that look older than I am.
I move to the windows, standing there looking out at the river. The Blackwell name carries weight I'm only beginning to understand. Power. Influence. The kind that shapes cities and industries. And I'm standing in the middle of it.
He appears beside me with two glasses of wine.
"1982 Chateau Margaux," he says, handing me one.
We look at each other as our glasses touch. I take a sip, and the wine is incredible—complex, smooth, everything expensive wine should be.
"It's really good," I say.
"Yes. A rare vintage."
We sip in silence for a moment. Then Dax takes my glass and sets both on the bar behind us.
"Scarlett." His voice is serious.
"To answer your question. You asked me what I wanted."
I wait.
"I thought it was obvious." He exhales, running a hand through his hair.
"Ever since the moment I saw you, Scarlett, you've been on my mind. Every day. The great lengths I went to to have you here in New York—I would have thought that would be a clue."
My breath catches. He steps closer.
"You asked if I was competing with my brother. Absolutely not. I just recognize how amazing you are."
The words hit me like a tidal wave.
"I see you talking to the other guys in the office," he continues, his eyes locked on mine.
"And I don't like it."
"They're my colleagues," I manage.
"I have to talk to them. They're part of the team."
He nods slowly, silently. Then: "I don't like it."
He closes the distance between us until we're breathing the same air, mere inches apart. His eyes search mine.
"You consume me completely," he says, his voice low and rough.
"I can't even remember the last time any woman has..." He trails off, shaking his head.
"When I said Miles is no good for you, Scarlett, it's simply because you deserve more."
He cups my face in his hands, his thumb brushing my cheek.
"And I want to give that to you."
He leans in and kisses me. Soft at first, then deeper.
When he pulls back, his forehead rests against mine.
"I don't have a label for this. I don't know what it is. But I know I can't stop. I can't stop wanting you. I can't stop needing you."
His thumb brushes my cheek again, his voice dropping lower.
I'm nearly fainting from the passion in his words, from the intensity of his gaze, from the way he's looking at me like I'm the only thing that matters in his world.
“Dax…” I start, my voice trembling.
He cuts me off, his lips crashing against mine in a kiss so fierce it steals the air from my lungs. His arms wrap around me, pulling me against him as if letting go isn’t an option. The heat between us ignites, consuming every doubt, every fear, every question.
Dax’s lips continue to claim mine in a searing kiss, his hands sliding into the plunging neckline of my dress.
His palms are rough and warm as they stroke my breasts, and my nipples harden beneath his touch.
He leans down, his lips brushing against my neck.
I tilt my head back, surrendering, my breathing shallow as his mouth moves, pressing wet, urgent kisses along my throat.
I let my hands slide over his chest, feeling the taut muscles beneath the fabric of his suit jacket.
I push it off his shoulders, and it falls to the floor with a soft thud.
My fingers fumble with the buttons of his shirt, frantic and needy, but Dax takes over, working them loose with a quickness that sends shivers down my spine.
He shrugs out of the shirt, letting it join the growing pile of clothes.
I reach for his belt, my hands trembling slightly as I unhook it. I attempt to pull the leather through the loops, but my fingers falter.
Without warning, Dax bends down, gripping the backs of my thighs as he hoists me over his shoulder like I weigh nothing. A squeal of surprise tumbles out of me as my hair spills forward, brushing against his back.
“Dax—”
“Patience,” he growls, his voice thick with need.
He strides to the bedroom, his movements determined. When he reaches the edge of the bed, he sets me down gently, his hands lingering on my waist. I’m seated, my legs dangling off the side as he towers over me. His gaze is molten, his pupils blown wide with lust.
I reach forward, unbuckling his belt fully now, then unzipping his pants. My hands tremble, not from nervousness but from the sheer hunger coursing through me.
Dax steps back just enough to pull down his pants and briefs in one swift motion, freeing his cock.
My breath hitches at the sight of him, large, thick and pulsing with arousal.
I can’t resist reaching out, wrapping my fingers around his shaft.
He’s heavy in my hand, the velvety skin hot beneath my touch.
I lean forward, the tip of my tongue darting out as I lick the pre-cum of the tip of his cock.
He groans, the sound guttural, as I take all of him into my mouth.
Slowly at first, teasing, letting my tongue circle his tip before sliding him deeper.
His hands tangle in my hair, tugging gently but firmly as I pick up the pace.
“Fuck, Scarlett,” he groans, his voice strained as I hollow my cheeks and suck harder. I feel his thighs tense beneath my hands as I use them for balance.
Dax grips my hair tighter, guiding me, thrusting slowly into my mouth.
His length fills me, brushing against the back of my throat, and I gag slightly, tears forming in the corners of my eyes.
But I don’t stop. I wrap both of my hands around his girth, as I jerk him up and down.
His moans spur me on, each sound vibrating through my core.
Suddenly, he pulls away, his breathing ragged.
“Not yet,” he mutters, his voice thick.
“I don’t want to come yet.”
He steps back, and I shift onto the bed. His hands are on me in an instant, spreading my legs wide as he settles between them. The cool air brushes against my heated skin for a brief moment before his mouth replaces it.
Dax’s tongue flicks over my clit, and I cry out, my back arching off the bed.
He alternates between sucking gently, his mouth warm as he sucks the bud of my clit.
He then tongue fucks my pussy, lapping me up with relentless precision.
He adds two fingers and begins pumping into me, curling just right, hitting a spot that has my entire body trembling.
I gasp, gripping the sheets beneath me as the sensation builds.
Before I can crest the wave, he pulls back, leaving me breathless and aching.
He grabs my legs, throwing them over his shoulders as he lines himself up.
His cock slides against my wetness, teasing, before he pushes inside with one firm stroke.
A gasp tears from my lips at the fullness, the stretch, as he buries himself deep inside my walls. He stills for a moment, his eyes meeting mine, and the intensity in his gaze nearly undoes me. Then he moves, pulling back before slamming into me again, his thrusts punishing and deliberate.
I moan, my nails digging into his arms as my orgasm hits like a tidal wave. My body clenches around him, my release soaking his cock as he drives into me harder, deeper.