Chapter 24
~Dominic~
Elle is right.
No matter how much I try to deny it, I can’t be with her twenty-four hours a day.
God forbid, she falls into the arms of our enemy again—she’ll need to defend herself.
To at least be capable of incapacitating her attacker to get away.
Her petite frame will put her at a disadvantage.
Being outweighed, she’ll need to be able to surprise an assailant.
After coercing her into agreeing to this marriage, I’ve been keeping Elle at an emotional distance.
Yes, I want her more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life, but it scares the hell out of me.
After the way my father treated my mother, I’m afraid that I would be a shitty husband like him.
All I ever learnt from him is what I shouldn’t do as a husband.
Salvatore is still evading me. Who knew that the fucker would be smart enough to stay hidden. Dario’s team is still trying to get a lock on his location. Frustrated, I slam my hands on the steering wheel after I park my Porsche in front of the mansion.
Jimmy is waiting for me in the driveway when I open the door. I feel guilty for going bat shit crazy on him yesterday. The visible bruises on his neck peaking from the top of his dress shirt—reminds me that my feelings for Elle are out of control.
“We’re good, Boss?” He asks cautiously. I soften my expression, slap his shoulder and press the car keys into his palm. “Yeah, we’re good. Now—where is she? I promised to teach her how to defend herself.
“She’s been in her bedroom since lunch,” Jimmy says. I gave a curt nod and headed inside. Jimmy lingers outside, striking up a conversation with the bodyguards who trailed behind me in another vehicle.
Their constant shadow irked me. I wasn’t a child who needed babysitting. But until Salvatore is out of the picture for good, I have no choice but to endure their constant hovering.
I remove my jacket as I take the stairs two at a time. I was looking forward to seeing her again—more than I cared to admit. Each step up the staircase carried me closer. There's faint music in the background of the echo my footsteps—becoming louder the closer I get.
Once outside Elle’s room, my knock is unanswered. When I try the door it becomes slightly ajar.
I freeze, mesmerized by what I see.
Salsa music is blasting from her phone. The melody drifts out like smoke, curling through the space. For a moment, I forgot the bodyguards, the mansion, even Salvatore. The world narrowed to her, to the rhythm that seemed to pulse from her very being.
Elle is dressed in black yoga pants and a sports bra.
I’m mesmerized. Her hips sway to the rhythm, smoothly forward, backward, and to the sides.
It forms a figure eight—coordinating with the movement of her legs.
Shoulders are rolling and her chest circles to create a rhythmic sensual flow to her body.
The ponytail swings from side to side, exposing her long, elegant neck.
The seductive movement of her body makes me hard, causing the front of my pants to become tighter. Lord, this woman is going to be the death of me. She faced away from the door, her body swaying in sultry rhythm, utterly consumed by the music’s pull.
Elle’s eyes followed the sway of her body in the dresser mirror, as if mesmerized by her own reflection.
With the door tucked away at the far end of the room, she remained unaware of my presence.
Unable to resist—I drop my jacket onto the chair just inside the room. At the wrist, I unbutton the cuffs and roll up my sleeves.
I slip into the room at her side, my feet silent on the thick rug. Elle startles, her eyes widened. For a heartbeat she falters in mid-motion. Suspended between surprise and continuation. Her face glows, flushed from exertion, a fine sheen of sweat tracing her skin.
“No, don’t stop. Dance with me.” I find myself saying.
She falters, self-conscious, unprepared for an audience to witness her private rhythm.
I take her hand and draw her close, guiding her to face me.
She yields, taking the lead. I guide and she follows.
We mirror each other’s movements. Synchronized hip swaying, and shoulders rolling.
Then I pull Elle into a double pivot. Towards, then away from me, the music binding us in perfect motion.
As we continue to move to the sound of the music, our gazes lock, filled with intimacy and promise.
Tension builds as our bodies brush against each other.
As the final notes fade, I lean forward, bending Elle over one arm.
Her right leg curls at the knee. My left hand hooked around her thigh, holding it against my hip, as the dance ended in perfect stillness.
The room falls silent, the music gone—only our ragged breaths filling the charged air.
We stare into each other's eyes for what seems like forever.
Then, unable to resist any longer, I crushed my mouth to hers.
My hand slides up her right thigh grabbing onto her ass.
I bring her torso up and her body flush against me.
Elle groans. The hard evidence of my arousal now obvious as she wrapped her legs around my waist.
She emits mewling sounds, as her pelvis rocks into mine. My angel increases the momentum. Gripping her hips, my movement mimics hers. Tension culminates between us and crescendos as she is overwhelmed, climaxing from the friction. Screaming against my lips.
She slides down my body, landing lightly on her feet, her hands still gripping my shoulders as if she doesn’t want to let go. I lower my forehead to hers, breathing her in, my voice a whisper against her lips. “You’re full of surprises, Angel.”
Her cheeks flush, a delicate pink that betrays her shyness even after the way she moved.
Who would have imagined she could dance like that—so fluid, so intoxicating?
A thought flickers: when this is all over, maybe I’ll take her to one of my clubs, let her lose herself in the music again.
But, do I really want other men to see my woman move so sensuously?
No. It’s only meant for me. I’ve never before been possessive of a woman before, I never cared enough to be.
Elle removes her hands from around my shoulders and steps back. Her eyes are avoiding mine. Obviously embarrassed from bringing herself to an orgasm by grinding against my hardness—still straining painfully for release.
“Why are you here Dominic?” She breaks the silence. “Ah, I promise to show you some defensive moves. I thought that we should get started before dinner.” She shrugs. “Sure, no problem.” She says with barely any emotion and she follows me out of her room to my gym.
It seems I’m a sucker for punishment. I’m already battling with self-restraint. And here I am volunteering for more time in close proximity to my obsession. The reason for my almost constant blue balls—I foresee another cold shower in the near future.
Elle’s innocence is blatantly obvious. The look of awe when she orgasmed and her obvious embarrassment afterwards is evidence enough.