Chapter 14
14
DOMINIC
I stride out of Shiloh's little house like a wild animal on a rampage, my jaw clenched tight enough to break bone. My cock is still half-hard, straining against my zipper like it's trying to drag me back inside.
Fuck.
I've never been thrown out of a woman’s home before. Especially not after fucking her brains out. The bitter taste of it clashes with the lingering flavor of Shiloh still on my tongue. I want to march right back in there and show her exactly who she’s rejecting. I want to bend her over that ratty couch and fuck her again and again, until she can't remember her own name, let alone why she thought pushing me away was the right call.
But I don't. Because apparently, I'm a goddamn gentleman now.
The walk back to my B&B passes in an uncomfortable storm of frustration and arousal. I barely notice where I’m headed, trusting my feet to remember the route while my mind is a million miles away. A few locals are still out and about, calling cheerful greetings that I pointedly ignore. Let them think I'm the asshole from the big city who can't be bothered with small town pleasantries. It's the truth.
When I finally make it back, I slam the door of my room behind me, already yanking at my tie. The rest of my rumpled clothes hit the floor in a haphazard trail as I make my way into the bathroom. I step straight into the shower, hissing as the too-hot water hits my skin.
Closing my eyes, I'm immediately assaulted by vivid images of Shiloh. The way her lips parted on a gasp when I backed her against that wall. The curve of her back as she arched into my touch. The breathy little sounds she made when I entered her tight little cunt…
My hand drifts lower of its own accord, wrapping around my cock. I'm fully hard again, aching with the need to relive every second of what we just did. It would be so easy to jerk off right here, replaying the scene until my balls are completely empty.
But I’m too angry. Too conflicted about the uneasy feeling that settled like lead in my gut when Shiloh forced me out of her house.
With a snarl of frustration, I wrench my hand away. I scrub myself clean with harsh, efficient movements, refusing to linger on any part of my body that still longs for her touch.
I dry off quickly, the scrape of the cheap towel souring my dark mood even further. After pulling on a pair of clean boxers, I retrieve Shiloh's journal from its pride of place on my nightstand. Soon, I’ll have to slip back into her house and switch it out for the next one, having made it through most of this year’s scribblings. Settling into the creaky bed, I flip it open to the latest entries that I haven’t yet studied.
September 5th, 2009
Dom called me shy girl outside school today, and now the nickname is spreading through my class. Why would he do that to me? I don’t know what I did to make him hate me so much. I wish Vivienne had never brought him here.
The words hit me like a punch to the gut. I'd forgotten how much of a little shit I was back then, to an eleven-year-old girl who didn’t deserve it. Shiloh's messy handwriting continues, detailing every slight and prank with painful clarity.
September 15th, 2009
Dom put a carving knife in my backpack today. I screamed when I opened it in class, and everyone laughed. Miss Johnson made me stand out in the hall until I calmed down. I cried the whole time. Dom acted like he had nothing to do with it when I got home and told Dad. I don't understand why he has to be so scary. I could have really hurt myself on that thing.
I let my head drop back against the wall, suddenly reluctant to read any more. The guilt stirring in my chest is an unfamiliar sensation. I'm not used to caring about the consequences of my actions, especially not ones from over a decade ago. But seeing it all laid out in Shiloh's childish scrawl... fuck .
Maybe I was too hard on her.
Another cruel incident flashes through my mind. Shiloh, soaking wet and near tears after I'd pushed her into the creek by our house just when we were heading to school. I'd laughed so hard then, reveling in my power over her. In how much weaker she was than me. Now, the memory just makes me feel sick.
I toss the diary aside, scrubbing a hand over my face. This isn't me. I don't do guilt or regret or any of that touchy-feely bullshit. I'm Dominic fucking Blackwood. I take what I want, and I don't apologize for it.
But Shiloh...
She's always been different. Even back then, when I was doing my damnedest to make her life hell, there was something about her that got under my skin. Something that made me want to push harder, to see how far I could go before she broke completely.
And now? That sick obsession is back with a vengeance. I want to shatter her apart with pleasure and pain. I want to hear my name on her lips as she comes undone beneath me, just like she did bent over that couch.
I groan, pressing the heels of my hands against my eyes. It seems incredibly unlikely I’ll get the chance, after the way she freaked out while my cock was still buried inside her. But as I lie there in the darkness, all I can think about is the taste of her lips and the soft curves of her body pressed against mine. And I know I’ll do whatever I can to bring her around.
The shrill ring of my phone cuts through the silence, startling me out of my Shiloh-induced daze. I glance at the screen, my father's name flashing like a damn nuclear missile warning. For a moment, I consider ignoring it. But that would only delay the inevitable.
"What?" I bark into the mic.
"Dominic." My father's voice is sharp, all business. "Get back to New York. Now ."
I scoff, settling back against the pillows for what will no doubt be a jolly little chat. "I'm on vacation, old man. Remember?"
"Vacation's over. We're pushing through the Hartley deal, and I need your...particular expertise."
"I made sure they understood the consequences of getting too ambitious in their negotiations," I remind him, flexing my fist at the memory. The satisfying crunch of bone beneath my knuckles and the way that pompous prick had whimpered and begged come flooding back to mind. "What more do you want from me?"
"I want you to do your job," he snaps. "Or have you forgotten your responsibilities while you've been off playing tourist?"
I roll my eyes, though I know he can't see it. "I haven't forgotten anything. But I'm not done here yet. I’ve more than earned this break and you fucking know it."
"Done with what, exactly? What could possibly be more important than the future of this company?"
The image of Shiloh, flushed and writhing beneath me, flashes through my mind unbidden.
"That's none of your business," I answer curtly, forcing my brain to stay on track. "I'll be back when I'm good and ready. The Hartley deal will go through just fine without any more input from me."
"Dammit, Dominic!" Dante Blackwood’s infamous composure finally cracks. "Do you have any idea how much work I've put into this? How many years I’ve spent planning this takeover? And you're disappearing at the last hurdle for what? Some backwater fling? Have you been pussy whipped by a fucking skunk? Or is it drugs? Whatever you’re shoving up your nose, save it until the deal of the decade is fucking sealed."
I bristle at his harsh accusations, anger coiling hot in my gut. "Watch your mouth, Dante. You might be my father, but don't forget who really keeps this company afloat. Also,” I spat, “I really don’t think you can talk much about snorting illegal substances."
"Is that a threat?" He laughs, but there's no humor in it, just biting disdain. "You ungrateful little shit. After everything I've done for you–”
I hang up the phone.
For a moment, I consider hurling it across the room. But that would mean he’d gotten to me. So instead, I set it on my nightstand with exaggerated care, my movements slow and deliberate as I try to rein in my overboiling temper.
I don't need his shit. I've spent my entire life trying to live up to his impossible standards, and for what? To be called a disappointment? To be reminded, yet again, that I'll never be good enough in his eyes?
Fuck that. Fuck him. If the deal tanks, he’ll finally have to admit that I’m the one in charge. Blackwood Enterprises would fall apart without me. Hell, maybe it already is. I’m struggling to find a fuck to give.
My gaze lands on Shiloh's journal, still lying open on the bed beside me, a glaring reminder of the miserable little demon my father bred me to be. I find myself picking it up again, flipping through the pages until I find the entry for a particular date I’m curious to read her thoughts on.
December 25th, 2009
I can't believe it. Dom actually got me a Christmas present! It's just a mood ring from the dollar store, but still. He even tried to pretend it was from Santa, but I saw him sneak it under the tree last night. Maybe he's not so bad after all.
I can’t help but chuckle to myself at little Shiloh’s stunned excitement. I remember that ring. I'd stolen it, actually, from a girl in my class who'd been stupid enough to leave it on her desk during chem lab. But I'd given it to Shiloh because… why?
Maybe because I'd seen how sad she looked when she thought no one was paying attention? Maybe because even then, some part of me had wanted to make her smile? Even when I was usually the one making her cry in the first place.
She was a toy to me. A puppet I knew how to make dance. I was more of a chip off the old Blackwood block than I realized.
The memory of her face lighting up when she'd opened that cheap little trinket sends an odd warmth spreading through my veins. It's quickly doused by a wave of shame when I recall how I'd ruined the moment by telling her that Santa was an old creep who probably touched little kids.
I'd been so determined to push her away, to prove that I didn't care. That I didn't need anyone. But maybe…
Maybe I'd just been as screwed up and miserable as she was.
God knows our parents didn’t care enough to do anything about it.
The realization is uncomfortable, to say the least. I'm not used to questioning myself like this. I'm not used to feeling...anything, really. Beyond anger and lust and the cold satisfaction of getting what I want.
But Shiloh makes me feel things I can't even name–things I'm not sure I want to examine too closely.
I banish the thought, focusing instead on reliving the twisted victory I achieved today. The softness of her flesh in my hands. The way her body fit against mine, like we were two pieces of the same broken puzzle. The taste of her blushed lips after she’d nervously gulped that shitty wine.
Fuck , her lips. I close my eyes again, losing myself in the memory of our kiss. The second one. The one she let herself actually enjoy. I remember the tentative press of her mouth against mine that quickly gave way to heated passion. The little gasp she'd let slip when I'd dragged my teeth down her earlobe. The way her fingers had fisted in my shirt, pulling me closer like she couldn’t get enough of me.
I want more. I want to explore every inch of her body with my hands, my mouth. I want to hear her cry out my name as I bury myself inside her. I want...
I want her . All of her. In a way I've never wanted anyone before.