Chapter 29 Bad Idea
Bad Idea
Now
Juliette had never imagined that she’d be willing to set foot in Dominic Hastings’s flat unless it was to murder him. Then again, she’d never imagined that she’d be begging him to sleep with her either, so today was full of surprises.
To his credit, Dominic didn’t look fazed; he was watching her closely, as if considering how serious her request was. His eyes were the color of starless skies, and his grip on her neck had tightened almost subconsciously. He wants me, Juliette realized, and her heart sped up.
“This is a bad idea,” Dominic murmured.
She shrugged. “I like bad ideas.”
Dominic rubbed at his tattoo. Juliette’s gaze lingered over the hard, swirling lines, the spray of lavender in front of stone. That was very Dominic, she thought; he wanted to tear beauty from the world and carry it around with him, like a crumpled tissue in his pocket.
“Is that a no?” she asked.
“Marchmont.” Dominic’s voice was a warning. “I didn’t ask you here for this.”
Her heart hammered. “Just this once.”
Dominic looked away. “You’re testing me.”
“To get it out of our systems.”
“We tried that,” Dominic murmured. “I can’t say it worked for me.”
“Tell me you don’t want this,” Juliette said, “and I’ll stop.” She was standing close enough that she could see the pulse jumping in his jaw. See the patch of stubble that he missed when shaving. “Say it.”
Dominic closed his eyes. “Marchmont…”
She cupped his face. “Say it.”
Dominic’s mouth tightened. “You are the most infuriating, most stubborn—” He made a noise at the back of his throat, and she could see the moment when his willpower finally snapped. “Fuck it. I can’t do this anymore.”
He shoved her backward onto the kitchen island.
Plastic tumblers toppled to the floor, and then he was kissing her, his mouth hungry and demanding and glorious.
Shock rippled through her, but it was chased away by heady desire, and Juliette wrapped her legs around his waist. He murmured her name against her lips and then he was kissing her again, his fingers threaded in her hair.
His hard frame pressed into her, and his muscles felt hot and coiled, something that reminded her of springs firing in an engine.
“I’ve thought about this for so long,” Dominic murmured. “You have no idea.”
Her nails dug into his arms. “You hid it well.”
“I had to,” Dominic said raggedly. “You’ve haunted my dreams for months, Marchmont. Ever since that night in the garage. I thought I’d lose my mind.”
Dominic nipped at her lip, and Juliette couldn’t stop the moan that escaped her.
“Dominic…”
He shuddered. “Say it again.”
“What?”
“My name.” Dominic’s mouth found her neck. “My real name.”
“Dominic.” The word was a plea. A prayer.
“Fuck,” Dominic growled.
He pushed her against the hard marble. More things crashed to the floor, but Juliette was too far gone, too pleasantly light-headed, to care. Every part of her brain had shrunk into a single, primitive thought: More, more, more.
“I thought you didn’t want me,” Juliette managed. “I thought—”
“Oh, I wanted you.” Dominic’s eyes were full of black humor. “Trust me.”
Juliette tipped her chin up. “Show me.”
Dominic obliged. There was something wild in his eyes, something that hinted at a war of self-control.
Yes, he was telling the truth, Juliette realized; he’d wanted her for a long time.
She could feel it in the way that he kissed her, as if he’d imagined this moment, ran through it like the layout of a track until he knew every twist and turn.
She was desperate to sink into his heat, to have him everywhere, to know him in ways that—
She gasped. “Hastings.”
Dominic was braced against the counter now, his mouth nipping at her inner thigh.
Her shirt was hitched up around her waist, and Juliette would have been embarrassed at the old cotton underwear that she was wearing if she could remember to think anything at all.
Dominic paused, his mouth hovering by her thigh.
“Is this okay?”
Was that a real question? “Yes.”
“Thank fuck,” Dominic growled, and then his mouth found her heat.
Juliette arched backward with a cry. White spots exploded behind her eyelids.
It was so much, she thought dizzily, too much: stubble scratching, swollen skin, a throbbing, liquid heat…
She felt that she might die, or sob, or something in between.
The pressure in her chest was building to an unbearable degree, and Juliette clung to his shoulder.
“Hastings.” Her voice was ragged. “I don’t—I can’t—”
“Good girl,” Dominic murmured. “Hold still for me.”
She shook her head. “It’s too much.”
Dominic’s grip tightened on her thigh. “I’ve got you.”
Juliette’s heart pounded. She didn’t say the obvious thing: You’ve always had me. That’s exactly the problem.
Dominic’s throat bobbed. “Losing you the first time…You destroyed me. Surely you know that.”
Juliette’s breath caught. He was looking up at her with dark fire in his eyes, so infuriatingly handsome that something snagged in her chest like cotton on a chain-link fence.
Oh, she thought dizzily, he really did love me.
The realization left her breathless. His mouth ghosted over her wet heat, and she shuddered.
“I’ve got you,” Dominic murmured. “Let go.”
He finished her off with a firm press of his tongue.
Her orgasm ripped through her. Juliette cried out, gripping Dominic’s shoulder. She felt as if she were unraveling, as if crucial parts of her were coming undone, things that could never be put back together in the same shape or form. Please, she thought desperately, don’t let this ruin me.
When Juliette caught her breath, Dominic was standing between her legs. There was something intent in his eyes. His mouth was swollen and wet, and the sight of it made her want to look away.
What was it he’d said?
You destroyed me.
Juliette looked down. Heat burned in her cheeks, and she suddenly felt very naked. Dominic seemed to be waiting for a response.
She swallowed.
Swallowed again.
Juliette hopped off the counter. “My turn.”
She sank to her knees. Surprise flitted across Dominic’s face, followed by wariness. “You don’t have to—”
“My turn,” Juliette repeated firmly.
She reached for his trousers. Dominic let out a hissed breath as her hand brushed the hard length of him.
Juliette worked at his buckle, and then paused as his length sprang free.
Her first thought was that even in her most ludicrous fantasies, she’d never pictured this.
Her second thought was that Dominic was going to be insufferable about this.
Juliette sat back on her heels. “Oh, fuck off, Hastings. You didn’t think to warn me?”
Dominic smirked. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
“Shut up,” Juliette muttered.
He was still smirking, the smug bastard. Juliette studied him with renewed determination. She’d always liked a challenge. More than that, she’d always liked proving Dominic Hastings wrong. She took Dominic in her hand, and he gritted his teeth.
“Marchmont—”
Juliette’s tongue flicked over the tip. The sound Dominic made was exquisite, a hiss of breath between clenched teeth, and his hand fisted in her hair almost reflexively.
Ridged veins strained in his neck, and he was so goddamn beautiful that it made something in her ache, like seeing a painting that was so lovely that you wanted to wrench it from the gallery wall with both hands and say, Mine.
“Do that again,” Dominic said hoarsely, “and I’m going to lose it.”
Juliette dragged her mouth farther down. “Show me.”
His eyes fluttered closed. “Marchmont…”
Juliette cupped him at the base, sliding her mouth to meet both hands. Dominic’s groan was almost inhuman, and she would have laughed if her heart wasn’t pumping so fast. His eyes were so dark that they looked like ink.
“You have no idea,” Dominic said, his voice ragged, “how long I’ve been imagining this. Seeing you like this now…” His grip tightened on the back of her neck. “I mean it, Marchmont. Stop. Or I won’t be able to control myself.”
“Show me,” Juliette repeated.
She sucked him properly. Mercilessly. There was power in this, Juliette realized, her heart racing; with every buck of his hips, she felt stronger.
More in control. She couldn’t take the length of him, but it didn’t seem to matter; Dominic let out a string of filthy curses.
The tendons in his neck stood out, raised against his flushed skin, and Juliette had the oddest urge to taste each one, to run her tongue over the ridged skin.
Dominic’s breath was fast and ragged. “Don’t—I’m going to—”
Juliette took him as deep as she could.
Dominic came apart with a shudder, his hand fisting her hair.
Salt exploded in her mouth. His eyes were wild, and he drank her in greedily, as if he were memorizing her, searing the image into his brain.
His hips bucked with each thrust, but he was still in control, Juliette realized, her heart pounding.
Even half-unraveled, Dominic refused to relinquish it.
Damn him.
Juliette waited until Dominic stilled. He was breathing hard, and there was color in his cheeks.
She wiped at her mouth. Something heavy settled in her chest; not embarrassment, exactly, but something closer to dread.
What had she been thinking? After Paris—after everything he’d said to her…
And then there was the seat to think about. A dull weight settled in her chest.
Dominic might kiss her like she was the only person in the world, but that was where practice got you. She wasn’t special. He’d made that clear enough in Paris.
Dominic cleared his throat. “What I said before—”
“Don’t worry.” Juliette rose. “You said it in the heat of the moment. I won’t take it to heart.”
Dominic’s gaze was weighted. “I see.”
Juliette adjusted her fallen bra strap. Moonlight filtered into the flat, settling on Dominic’s dark curls like a crown of stars. There was something noble about his face, something haughty about the high cheekbones and jawline. The Prince of Racing. How right the newspapers were.
“Anyway,” Juliette said, “this was just a one-time thing.” She pulled the shirt farther down her naked thighs. “That’s what we agreed.”
Dominic’s jaw tightened. “Right.”
“We don’t even like each other.”
“No,” Dominic said coolly. “I suppose we don’t.”
Silence descended. A breeze ruffled the curtains. Juliette placed a hand on the counter; the marble was cold under her hot palm.
She forced herself to say the words. “What you did to me in that art gallery…I can never forgive you for that. This”—she gestured between them—“means nothing. It’s just physical. You understand that, don’t you?”
“Oh, I understand.” Dominic’s smile was hard. “You want to use my body, but you find my personality abhorrent. I’ve got it. Loud and clear.”
It took a great deal of effort not to flinch. “You’re doing exactly the same thing.”
“No,” Dominic said in a low voice. “See, the difference is, Marchmont, that I don’t actually hate you. I want to hate you.” An odd light burned in his eyes. “But mostly I just despise myself for wanting you.”
Juliette felt the words like a physical blow.
Ranya’s words came back to her: Nobody is worth giving up the trophy for.
Nobody. And looking at Dominic now, his eyes like chipped black gems…
Her heart tightened into a fist. God, she wanted to believe him, but he’d done this once before.
And what if this was a tactic just to distract her from the championship?
Her phone buzzed in the bowl of rice. Juliette glanced down.
“That’s Cap. He’s in a cab outside.”
Dominic’s expression was unreadable. “I see.”
Juliette grabbed her handbag. “I should go.”
“Well,” Dominic said, leaning against the counter, “you know where to find the door.” He gave her a lazy smile. “You can keep the shirt if you like. Consider it a consolation prize for when I win the championship.”
The amused glint in Dominic’s eyes was the flash of steel. Something wedged under Juliette’s rib cage like a hot coal, and she had the oddest urge to throttle him, to kiss him, to do something—anything—to wipe that terrible look off his face.
Instead, Juliette turned for the door. “I’ll see you in Monza.”