Chapter 7
HAZEL
I wake up in a bed that’s not mine. A bed that costs more than most people’s yearly salary.
How do I know this? Well, because the sheets feel like warm water. Not cotton or linen or even silk. It’s like lying in the bath and just drifting off into heaven.
I roll over and bury my face in the pillow and make a sound that sounds like a kitten purring. Then I feel the soreness between my legs, and everything from last night comes flooding back.
His hands, the couch, the incredible stretch when he pushed inside me for the first time…
…so thick. Relentless. Splitting me open while I begged for more.
The way he called me angel…
I squish my thighs together, relishing the delicious ache.
Dominic’s side of the bed is empty but still warm. The sheets smell just like him. I close my eyes and inhale.
God, I could live in this smell.
I sit up. His penthouse is enormous. Floor-to-ceiling windows look out at the skyline. Morning sunlight cuts across the hardwood floors. Everything is minimalist and expensive but not in that sterile kind of way. The kind that feels clean and precise. The kind I could see myself calling home.
There’s a coffee cup on the nightstand. I pick it up, cradling the warmth in my hands. On the sleeve, in blocky, man’s handwriting, is a smiley face.
My heart twitches. I smile.
Yep, the most powerful man I’ve ever known got up early and got me a coffee, then drew a lopsided smiley face on it because I drew one on his.
I see his dress shirt hanging off a chair and slide it on. There it is again—that manly scent that I can’t get enough of. The shirt hangs to my knees and feels like he’s holding me when he’s not even in the room.
Carrying the coffee, I go downstairs to the kitchen. It’s pristine, with stone countertops and appliances that look unused. This place could be the cover of a magazine.
There’s a plate of food on the island. Eggs, toast, bacon, and a side of mixed berries. Beside it is a note on a piece of Blackwood Capital stationery. One word: Eat.
One word. One command. My stomach flutters, and I obey. Something about being told what to do by him hits me just right.
I pace while I eat, exploring the rest of the house. I start with the living room. I may have been here last night, but I sure wasn’t looking at anything but him.
Well…maybe the ceiling too.
There’s the couch—I remember that. No throw pillows or blankets of course, a massive television mounted on the wall, a bookshelf filled with financial texts and books on investing. No fiction. No photos.
Except one.
It’s on the top shelf, turned slightly toward the wall as if he doesn’t want other people to see it, but he also doesn’t want to put it away.
It’s a woman in her thirties with dark hair and Dominic’s jaw. She’s laughing and waving her hand at whoever is holding the camera. She’s gorgeous.
It’s his mother. It has to be. The resemblance is just too strong.
Good genes.
I reach out and touch the frame. It’s the only object I’ve seen that has fingerprints on it.
Something moves in my belly. This man is a massive success, but he’s been alone his entire life. Not alone the way that I’ve been alone—overlooked and passed by—but alone in the way a king is alone. Living high up in his castle with strong walls built to keep everyone else out.
But he let me in.
I readjust the photo the way it was and finish my meal.
Dominic returns at noon with shopping bags. Lots of them.
He walks through the door carrying enough designer labels to fill a mall. He sets them in the kitchen with a devilish smile and looks at me. “Get dressed. We’re going out tonight.”
I stare at the heaps of bags, trying to calculate just how much money he’s spent. “Dominic, I can’t let you spend—”
“Let me? You’re not letting me do anything,” he says firmly, pulling a black dress from one of the bags. It oozes quality and expense. “I’m telling you what’s happening. You’ll wear a gorgeous dress with gorgeous heels, and I’ll take you out so every person in the place knows you belong to me.”
My mouth drops open, but my voice freezes in my throat.
He lays the dress out on the counter and opens another bag. Black lace lingerie. A bra so sheer it’s barely there and a matching thong that’s more like a piece of silk string than fabric. He holds them up.
“Put these on.” He eyes his shirt draped over me like a robe and smiles. “But take off my shirt first.”
My chest is tingling as I look back at him. Last night, Dominic claimed me. But right now, I’m starting to feel fully owned. “Yes, sir.”
My fingers are tingling as I take the lingerie from his hands. His pupils dilate as he watches me. I can feel his gaze like a physical touch as I strip out of his shirt.
It feels empowering to get this reaction from such a man.
The lingerie fits like he measured me in my sleep—which honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if he did.
The bra lifts my breasts but hides nothing from him. The thong is barely a whisper between my legs. It’s like he wants to remind me that I’m wearing what he chose for me. The fabric touching my most sensitive area was selected by him.
The dress fits perfectly, hugging every inch of me like a second skin. Normally, I’d be embarrassed to wear this sort of thing. But just knowing Dominic bought it for me infuses me with a confidence I’ve never known.
I look in the living room mirror and barely recognize myself. And it’s not just because of the clothes. It’s my eyes. They’re bright and alive, like I’ve become a new woman.
“I have to text a pic to Cassi,” I giggle. “Is that okay?”
Dominic smirks and takes my phone from me. “Only if you let me take it.” I try not to blush as I pose for him. “Tilt your hip. That’s it.”
The camera snaps, and he taps the screen.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Sending a copy to myself first so I can start my collection.”
Yeah, now I’m blushing. I text the pic to Cassi, and she instantly writes back: What!? How much did that cost? Who bought that for you?
Laughing, I write back.
You know who ;)
Dominic takes me to a restaurant that looks like something out of a movie. There’s no sign on the door and the ma?tre d’ calls him Mr. Blackwood as he leads us to a private table in the back.
Low candles glow over white tablecloths. The menu doesn’t even have prices on it. I guess if you have to ask, you don’t deserve to be here.
I could never afford this. But the man I’m with? He could buy the building.
He orders for both of us. Food I can’t pronounce and wine I’ve never heard of. I was nervous about that, but the waiter doesn’t even act like he’s going to card me.
Dominic rests his hand on my thigh beneath the table, heavy and tough, like I’m an extension of him. The warmth from his palm radiates up my leg and through the tiny line of silk between my legs.
Halfway through our appetizer, his fingers start moving…
Not quickly, not dramatically. Just slowly creeping up the inside of my thigh, exciting the sensitive skin, lifting the hem of my dress higher and higher, one centimeter at a time.
He’s teasing me. On purpose.
I take a sip of my wine and try to keep my face calm.
When his hand reaches the top of my thigh, his pinkie brushes against the thong he bought me, and I almost choke.
“How’s the wine?” he asks, his voice conversational, like he’s intentionally baiting me.
“It’s good,” I manage to say. “Yeah…good.”
It’s probably one of the best wines in the world and deserves a much better description. But I can barely think right now.
Not about anything other than what his fingers are doing.
There are people in this restaurant. And unlike at Dominic’s office, they can see us. There’s no smart glass here. It’s just me and him, sitting at a table.
“Dominic—” I start to say.
“Sir,” he corrects, his voice low enough that only I can hear. His fingertip traces the seam of my thong, caressing my sex through the damp lace. I realize just how wet I am as he moves up.
“Yes, sir,” I breathe. “We’re–in public.”
“Oh, I am aware,” he replies, his lips twisting into that arrogant, I-own-the-world smirk that I love so much.
He pulls the thong aside and slips two fingers through my wetness, parting my lips with such a skillful touch that I nearly scream. Golden electricity sweeps through me, igniting my nerve endings, causing my back to stiffen.
His thumb finds my clit—that sensitive nub he introduced me to—and applies pressure. Slow circles, precise accuracy, doing exactly what he knows I need.
My eyes are starting to close when a waiter approaches. “Is everything to your liking, Mr. Blackwood?”
I lift my napkin to my mouth, trying to hide behind it. But Dominic just looks up and smiles, his fingers still moving. “Just fine, thank you. We’ll take our time with the main course.”
“Excellent.”
The waiter leaves, and Dominic increases the pressure. His fingers are inside me while his thumb works my clit. I grip the arms of my chair with both hands as my thighs begin to tremble.
“You’re dripping on my hand, angel,” he whispers, his mouth close to my ear now. “Your pretty little cunt is making a mess of this lingerie I bought you. Know what that tells me?”
I shake my head, unable to speak.
“It tells me you like being owned.” His fingers slide out of me, and I gasp at the loss. I watch as he raises them to his mouth, glistening with my slick, and licks them both clean. “Yum. Better than anything they serve here.”
Oh my God…
My vision blurs. The candlelight flickers as my eyes begin to water. I’m losing it.
He reaches back between my legs and slides his fingers to where I need them. They curl inside me, finding that second inside spot that sends me to the moon.
“You like sitting in public in a room full of strangers with your boss’s fingers in your tight little pussy,” he growls. “Because you know you’re mine. And you want everyone here to know, even if they can’t see what I’m doing to you.”
He’s right. God, it’s like he can read my mind.
I like the thrill of what he’s doing—the naughty obscenity of what’s going on in this beautiful, civilized, elite place. It’s sending me spiraling. My hips are rocking in my chair against his hand. The tablecloth hides it all. No one else can see it. But I can feel it.
His fingers pump in perfect rhythm, and his thumb grinds on my divine spot. The wet sounds from between my thighs are drowned out by the ambient music.
“Be a good girl, Hazel. And come for me.”
There’s no holding back.
I come so hard my eyes clamp shut. My back arches, and I have to fight with every bone in my body not to scream his name at the top of my lungs.
My sex spasms, contracts around his fingers, sending more wetness into his palm. He strokes me through every wave of my blissful release, sitting stoic beside me like a god.
“That’s it, angel,” he whispers. “Good girl. Good girl.”
When it subsides, he slips his hand back and again licks his fingers clean. Then, ever so casually, he picks up his fork and goes back to his meal.
I sit there buzzing, on the brink of collapse, blushing from my breasts to my hairline, trying to remember how a knife and fork actually work.
The meal is the best thing I’ve ever eaten but can’t compare to what Dominic just did to me. If I had to choose between the food and him, I’d let myself starve.
In his luxury car after dinner, I lean my head against his chest. He wraps an arm around me.
“This isn’t a temporary thing, Hazel,” he says. I lift my head and look up at him—his taut face illuminated by the passing city lights. “I’m keeping you forever.”
He’s not asking me. He’s telling me.
And the certainty in his voice doesn’t scare me like it should. He’s never scared me, even though he should have. Listening to him now, it feels like the first time anyone has promised something to me and truly meant it.
“Good,” I whisper, nodding obediently. “Good.”
Later, back at the penthouse, I go to the bathroom and call Cassi. She picks up on the first ring. “Okay, what is going on, dude? Dominic is buying you dresses now?”
I bite my lower lip and giggle. “He’s doing a lot more than that.”
I shouldn’t have said that. It’s not my place to talk about our relationship. But I just can’t help myself.
“Oh my God!” she gasps. “Hazel Briggs. You are sleeping with your boss!?”
I laugh, my chest filled with what feels like countless flowers blossoming at once. “Um, maybe?”
I hang up quickly and lean back against the door. I can hear Dominic moving throughout the penthouse, getting ready for bed.
He’s waiting for me. A man with a castle filled with empty rooms and a single photograph of a woman who used to love him.
But there’s so much more now. Now there are two of us.