Chapter 17
DOMINIC
I’ve been imagining this scenario since the first second Aoife stepped into this kitchen. I shouldn’t be doing this. She’s too valuable to my cause to terrify her with my kinks, but now it’s happening, I’m helpless to stop it.
And I don’t want to.
I won’t fuck her.
But I will make her come so hard she’ll see stars, the sun and the entire fucking galaxy.
I nudge my hips between her legs, trailing my fingers up the inside of her inner thigh. She moans into my mouth again, and satisfaction surges through my bloodstream. Her tongue thrusts urgently against mine as she writhes on the worktop.
My fiancée clearly doesn’t have any patience.
If we were in the sex club instead of my kitchen, I’d teach her some. But now she’s finally cracked, the need to watch her come on my hand is all-consuming.
Our tongues continue to dance as her hands palm my shoulders, then drop to my pecs. Greedy fingers knead and squeeze as my fingers blaze higher to meet the lace scrap covering the junction between her legs. She’s soaked for me. My cock thickens in my suit pants, pressing furiously against the zip.
I skim my fingers along the edge of her lingerie. Her eyes fly open, but she doesn’t stop kissing me. She needs this. Even if she doesn’t want it.
I snatch my hand away and she whimpers into my mouth, then reaches for my crotch. I swat it away. That’s not what this is about. This is about me demonstrating exactly how much pleasure I’m capable of delivering.
She pouts, and I bite back a chuckle, palming the back of her dress until I find the zip. I yank it down as she wriggles her arms out. The material pools around her waist, and I thank every god I don’t believe in that she’s not wearing a bra.
Her chest heaves as I drink her in, committing every inch of her frankly fucking perfect tits to memory. I dip my face to her nipple and suck—and she screams, fingers threading through my hair as I tease her with my tongue.
‘Fuck,’ she spits, and I laugh, popping my lips from her taut rosy bud.
‘No, not tonight, sweetheart.’ I raise my face to hers and trail my tongue over her lower lip before sucking it into my mouth, hard enough to break the skin.
The sharp metallic taste of blood hits my tongue.
Our eyes lock; hers swim with heat and hunger.
‘But you will come on my hand like a good girl.’
Her pupils dilate to saucers.
When she doesn’t protest, I dip my hand between her legs again. Her eyes roll skyward. ‘Watch me while I make you come.’
Wide, wild pupils flick to mine as her fingers dig into my shoulders. I pin her bare thigh to the kitchen counter with one hand and rip the lace from between her legs with the other. She gasps, watching as I stuff her shredded lingerie into my pocket.
‘You’re one of those kinky fuckers, aren’t you?’ Her voice is weighted with want.
My fingers glide up her thigh and slowly slide over her sex. She’s fucking saturated. ‘If you’re a good girl, you’ll find out.’
‘Do I have to call you sir?’ she whispers.
I tease her entrance with my fingers, and she rewards me with a fresh trickle of slick arousal. I smear it through her slippery folds, stroking her up and down from her slit to her clit. ‘If you were my submissive, you would.’
‘I knew you were dangerous, Dominic Kincaid,’ she murmurs tilting her head down to watch my hand disappearing beneath her dress. ‘Now, I’m beginning to think you’re deadly.’
‘I’ll never hurt you, sweetheart.’ My lips land on hers again, and I fuck her mouth with my tongue in the same slow, decadent rhythm that I fuck her slippery seam with my fingers, using my free hand to tease her nipples. She’s so tight. So wet. So fucking perfect.
Her blue eyes blaze into mine as I defile her slowly, thoroughly. Within seconds, her thighs tense around my hips.
She’s close.
So fucking close.
I brush my thumb over her clit and her core clenches around my fingers, squeezing and pulsing as her orgasm rips through her.
‘Dom,’ she screams, riding my hand like a fucking expert. The woman is so damn responsive. I swallow her moans as she bucks and grinds through her release.
When she finally stills, I slip my fingers out of her and bring them to my mouth. She watches, wide-eyed, as I lick each of them in turn, slowly savouring her sweetness.
‘What a fucking starter,’ I blow out a breath, place one hand on her thigh again, and lift her dress up to survey her slick, glistening cunt. Stunning.
I tear my eyes away from the pink perfection to meet hers.
Shit.
Now that the tension has eased, regret creeps into her big blue eyes.
Regret and shame.
I can read her like an open book.
I sigh, smoothing her dress back down over her thighs, but I can’t bring myself to pull the material up over her transcendent tits. They should be out at all times. It’s a crime to have them covered.
‘Dom,’ she whispers. It’s the second time she’s shortened my name, and I love how it sounds on her lips. Dom by name, Dom by nature. ‘Fuck.’ She pinches the bridge of her nose. ‘That wasn’t part of our arrangement. It shouldn’t have happened.’ She pauses. ‘It can’t happen again.’
‘If you say so, darling.’ I shrug, pulling back a few inches.
I’ve never made a secret of wanting her.
But now I’ve tasted how sweet she is, now I’ve felt how wet she is for me, heard my name from her lips as she came on my hand, I’m like an addict following their first hit—I need more.
‘I’m sorry.’ She shakes her head.
‘I’m not. I got carried away, but that’s just what I do.’
Her eyes bore into mine, swimming with unshed tears, and fuck, I feel like the monster we both know I am. I’ve never hugged a woman in my life—other than my mother that is, but the urge to comfort her claws at my heart.
‘Don’t cry, sweetheart, please don’t cry.’ I take her into my arms, wrapping them tightly around her. She flinches, but doesn’t pull away. Finally, she surrenders to my embrace and slumps into my chest. I hold her silently like that for several minutes, then the front door slams.
‘Yoohoo, lovebirds,’ Sheila calls a split second before barging into the kitchen, ‘I heard about Miranda, I came to make you…’ she trails off as she takes in the sight in front of her—Aoife spread legged on the kitchen counter, dress around her waist and my hips between her legs, albeit not how I’d like to be, but, nevertheless, it looks the same.
Sheila’s hands fly to her face, but not before I see her grin. ‘Sorry, sorry, clearly you guys have your own dinner plans tonight.’ She backs out the doorway. ‘I’ll come back tomorrow.’ The front door slams again.
Aoife yanks her dress up, shoves me aside, and hops off the counter. ‘I need some space.’ She rushes out of the room, and I hear her feet pounding up the stairs.
I pour myself a whiskey and stare out over the pool, contemplating.
I pushed too hard. Too fast.
But the worst thing—that was me taking it slowly.
Though the way her hips slammed on me. The way she bucked against my hand. Her body begged for mine. She wants my hands, my mouth, and my cock.
What she doesn’t want is me. What I am. What I represent. Dominic Kincaid, leader of The Syndicate. She told me herself that her dream was to carve out a wholesome life. And I am far from wholesome.
Half an hour later, she saunters back into the kitchen in a hoody and a pair of leggings. Her flawless face is devoid of make-up. Her hair is shoved up on top of her head. But she’s every bit as beautiful as she was in the dress. More even.
She heads straight to the cooker. ‘You hungry?’
Looks like we’re playing the ‘let’s pretend that didn’t happen’ game.
I guess it’s better than her ignoring me completely.
‘Ravenous.’ Relief rips through me, because while she’s not actively avoiding me, we still have some hope of pulling our arrangement off.
While I want her more than I’ve wanted any woman, the reason she’s here isn’t for my pleasure, or hers.
It’s to provoke Kavanagh.
And it’s imperative I remember that.