Chapter 13
DOMINIC
I’ve been trying to give Aoife a head start at bedtime so that’s she’s asleep by the time I creep up to our room. For the first five nights, it worked. Tonight, however, when I gently nudge our bedroom door open, she’s wide awake, staring at the ceiling, her book face down beside her.
The covers are hitched around her waist, her arms slung above her head. The urge to crawl up the bed, pin them there, and take her slams into me like a train.
That’s my favourite way to fuck—on top—with my submissive restrained.
My cock stirs in my suit pants. ‘Sorry,’ I raise my hand, backing away. ‘I’ll come back up later.’
‘It’s okay,’ she says, rocking into a sitting position. ‘Don’t let me stop you from getting some sleep. It’s bad enough you’re taking the sofa every night.’ Her tank top clings to her curves, and I can see the clear outline of her peaked nipples. Not fucking helpful.
I force my eyes closed. It’s only been a few days and my back is in bits.
What I wouldn’t give to sleep in a bed, but Sheila’s probably already checking the sheets every damn day, and I can’t give her, or anyone else, a reason to believe this isn’t real.
When it comes out that Aoife was betrothed to Rory Kavanagh, it will raise too many questions to take the risk.
‘It’s fine.’ I stride towards the couch, unbuttoning my shirt as I cross the room. I shrug it off and toss it in the laundry basket.
When I turn around, my fiancée is staring at me with a mixture of horror and pure, primal longing.
If we had sex, would it take the edge off the raw, animalistic attraction that permanently pulses between us?
Would it stop her staring at me like she’s not sure if she wants to fight me or fuck me?
I’d give my right arm to find out. She radiates a rare sexuality that draws me, begs me to defile her, and drives me to the brink of damned distraction.
Our eyes meet. Electricity crackles through the moonlight. Her head whips towards the window hard enough to cause whiplash. She blows out a big breath, her fingers toying with the edge of the covers.
The urge to laugh presses against my sternum. I shouldn’t tease her, but it’s too tempting. ‘Are you okay, Aoife?’
‘Fine,’ she lies, keeping her eyes firmly trained on the window.
She doesn’t want to want me.
But she does.
I unbutton my suit pants, slide them off and grab the blanket from the back of the couch. I might have lost my bed, but she’s lost her life as she knew it. ‘Are you… happy here? Do you have everything you need?’
She pauses for a long beat before answering. ‘More than I expected to be,’ she finally admits. ‘Though I feel a bit useless. I’m not used to having people cook for me and clean up after me. I’ve always worked.’
‘Your work now is to convince the staff, my family, and the entire city that you’re mine.’
Slowly, cautiously, with her eyes half closed, she twists her head back to face me. Her hands fly to her eyes when she sees me standing in just a pair of black boxer briefs. ‘Dominic!’
‘What? It’s no different from if I were using the pool.’ I shrug.
I’m pushing her again. Teasing her. Testing her boundaries. I can’t help it. That’s just what I do.
That’s why I joined Reveal.
That’s why I’m a dom.
She gnaws on her lower lip, dragging her hand slowly over her face until our eyes lock again. ‘I told you, you’re going to have to get comfortable around me if we’re going to pull this off, sweetheart. Our lives depend on it.’
Her eyes dip to my torso. To my tattoo. She drinks it in slowly. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips, and blood rushes to my cock. I drop onto the couch before I terrify her with my raging boner, grab two cushions, and shove them behind my head. Italian leather or not, it’s fucking uncomfortable.
Silence descends.
I stare at the ceiling as the minutes morph into hours.
At one a.m., there’s still no sign of sleep coming. Aoife’s awake too. I can tell from her breathing. I turn onto my side. Then the other side. Then huff out a breath. ‘You know, that bed is big enough to fit four,’ I mutter. ‘Not that I’ve tested that theory.’
‘What exactly are you suggesting?’ she whispers through the darkness.
‘We could put some pillows between us.’ I drag myself to a sitting position, raking my hand through my hair.
She contemplates it quietly for a long beat. I hold my breath. ‘Fine.’ Her tone is resigned. ‘But no funny business.’
‘Thank fuck. It would be a long year sleeping on this couch.’ I readjust my dick in my boxers before standing and stalking towards her. She shuffles over to the side of the bed, eyeing me cautiously. I grab two pillows, place them in the middle of the mattress, and climb in.
‘Ahh.’ I can’t help the sigh that slips out. ‘That’s better than sex.’
‘Dominic,’ her tone is weighted with warning.
‘Relax. I’m just joking.’ I flash her a grin. ‘It doesn’t come close.’
She shakes her head, flops back on her pillows, and turns her back to me. We lie there in silence for several minutes before she speaks.
‘Are you sure about this?’
‘About what?’
‘Us getting married.’
‘I’ve never been more sure about anything.
It’s the best way to solve both our problems.’ I answer truthfully.
‘Relax, sweetheart. Stop worrying. Trust me when I say I’ve got this.
I’ve got you.’ I reach across the pillows to touch her arm.
It’s not a sexual gesture. It’s intended to be soothing. She flinches, and I pull back.
But then she grabs my hand, places it back on her bicep and positions her own hand over the top of it. Within minutes, her breathing settles into a deep, even rhythm—a rhythm that stirs something deep in the soul that I assumed the devil stole a long time ago.