Chapter 16
16
DOMINIC
Despite my perfectly nice invitation, Shiloh doesn’t immediately move to climb into my passenger seat. Instead, she remains stubbornly in place, arms crossed tightly over her chest.
“Is this standoff going to last much longer? I’m bored already,” I sigh, folding my own arms to imitate her defensive posture.
Her eyes narrow to thin slits, “I’m just deciding whether standing out here all night would actually be preferable to going anywhere with you.”
I roll my eyes. I can’t help it. The sooner she realizes she’s just as obsessed with me as I am with her, the sooner we can be done with this false reluctance. “By all means take your time…What’s up with the car anyway?”
“I haven’t got a damn clue,” she bites out. “The stupid thing won’t start.”
“Why don’t I take a look at it, while you decide whether or not to sleep here tonight?” I saunter over, relishing every step that brings us closer. As if reading my mind, she instantly moves away, rounding her dead vehicle so that she can pop the hood. While a disappointment, it’s fine.
I’ve already got you closer than you know, Shy Girl.
“Hmm.” I make a brief show of examining the engine. All I have to do is tinker with a few things and it’s easy enough to convince a clueless Shiloh that I’m conducting a thorough investigation.
“Alright,” she huffs. “Professor Gadget, do you know what the problem is or not?”
“Looks to me like your battery is dead.” I have to dip my head low to conceal my smirk as I reconnect the cable to her alternator that I may or may not have disconnected earlier today. “How old is this thing?” The false innocence in my voice is possibly my best performance to date.
Shiloh’s cheeks color slightly as she shifts her weight from foot to foot, avoiding eye contact. “I don’t know,” she mumbles. “Probably pretty old.”
I straighten up, wiping my hands on a handkerchief I’ve pulled from my pocket. “Well, there’s your problem. These things don’t last forever, you know.”
“Yes, thank you for that invaluable insight, Dominic. I’ll be sure to leave you a glowing Yelp review.”
It’s incredibly hard not to chuckle at her embarrassed snapping, but I manage to hold it back. “Chill, Shy, I wasn’t judging. I’ll call someone to come out and pick it up.”
“No, I can do tha–”
I silence her with a wave of my hand, already holding my phone up to my ear. She simply stands there and scowls while I arrange for a wrecker to come and tow the hunk of shit to their lot for safe keeping. Shiloh watches me the whole time, chewing on her lip again. I grow hard immediately, that enticing habit making me imagine the things we could do.
Right here. Right now.
But I brush it off–being the good brother I am. “Done,” I announce once I’ve hung up the phone. “Now, get in the car, Shiloh. I’m taking you home.”
She stews for a few more seconds, and I can almost see the gears turning in her head. Part of me wonders if she’s going to wait for the tow truck, but really, I already know she’s going to say yes. She can’t resist when I toss her a direct command. That fire in her eyes makes it obvious.
“Fine,” she grouses, giving me a wide berth as she pads towards my passenger door. This time the chuckle that rumbles in my chest is unavoidable. Her insistence on keeping as much space between us as possible is all too ironic as she climbs into my passenger seat.
Shiloh stares pointedly out of her window, her knees pressed tightly together and angled away from me as far as the confines of the car will allow. It doesn’t bother me one bit. I succeeded in bringing us together again, and close enough that I can smell her berry shampoo.
Were the means a little questionable?
Maybe. But the end result is worth it.
A couple of miles flit by as we sit in the wordless tension. No doubt Shiloh wants to pretend she’s successfully icing me out, but personally, I find the whole thing hot as fuck. I’m still mulling over my options for how to shatter that harsh exterior of hers and worm my way back in, when her phone starts buzzing loudly in her purse.
Out of the corner of my eye I watch her fumble with it, her face noticeably paling as she spots the caller ID.
“Shit,” she mutters, immediately swiping to answer. “Yeah? Melanie, hi. I know, I'm so sorry, I completely–”
Even without the call on speaker, I can hear the shrill tones of Melanie's voice as if she were in the car with us. Shiloh winces, holding the phone away from her ear like she’s nervous about hearing damage.
“Yes, of course… No, I'm on my way now. My car broke down, but I'll be there soon…I’m so–” Shiloh drops the phone into her lap as the line goes dead. She then lets her head fall back with a loud groan. “Fuck, fuck, fuck . I forgot about the committee meeting this afternoon at Fairchild Manor. Do you think you could…” Her voice trails off as we finally make eye contact.
“Change course? Why, of course.” I finish, already signaling to turn. “Can’t let Melanie think we’re slackers, can we?”
Shiloh eyes me suspiciously as we roll to a stop at a red light. “You're being awfully accommodating today.”
I keep my eyes on the road, my expression carefully neutral. “What can I say? You’ve caught me in a good mood.”
She snorts, clearly unconvinced, but doesn't pursue the subject further. I wish she would. I wish she’d give me the opportunity to say that being in the same space as her would be enough to improve even my blackest moods–that what we did last night still has me riding a high I’ve never felt before.
Maybe someday, I can get it through her thick fucking skull.
As we pull up to Fairchild Manor, I can't help but admire the towering structure that used to intrigue me as a teenager. It's the perfect setting for the dark fantasies already forming in my mind. Of course, they all involve a certain little toy with chaotic blonde hair and the most fuckable plump lips…
Who practically leaps from my car like it’s on fire.
I watch her rush toward the front door, her hurried steps a stark contrast to the eerie stillness of the manor grounds. The bounce of her tempting ass as she runs is almost hypnotic, and I allow myself a moment to imagine chasing her through the winding halls of the old house. It’s been too long since we played our addictive game.
Finally, I climb out myself and follow at a more leisurely pace, drinking in the atmosphere and trying not to be too irritated that our trip back to Shiloh’s house was interrupted. The crunch of gravel under my feet, the whisper of wind through ancient trees, the faint scent of decay that seems to cling to the entire place–it all adds to this hunger building within me. I’m sure while we’re here I could find the opportunity to have some fun.
Inside, the committee meeting is already in full swing. Melanie's grating voice echoes through the cavernous foyer, leading us through to the dining room that’s been fashioned for the occasion. Shiloh slips in silently, no doubt trying to blend into the background, but Melanie's hawkish gaze narrows on her immediately.
“So nice of you to finally join us, Shiloh,” she simpers, her close-lipped smile making me wonder if she’s concealing fangs.
But the moment I step into the room behind my nervous little sister, the atmosphere shifts completely. Melanie's expression morphs from mocking irritation to fawning admiration so quickly I’m surprised she doesn’t get whiplash.
“Dominic! I didn't realize you'd be joining us today. How lucky for us all. I can’t wait to hear your insights.”
My nod is non-committal as I take a seat at the far end of the table. From here, I have a perfect view of Shiloh as she fishes out her notebook and a pen. She's clearly flustered, a light sheen of sweat visible on her chest that makes me want to pin her down and lick it off.
The meeting recommences after our brief interruption and I tune out Melanie's jabbering about ticket sales, focusing instead on Shiloh's subtle reactions. I notice the way she bites her bottom lip when she's thinking hard, the slight furrow of her brow when she disagrees with something but is too polite–or too terrified–to speak up, and of course, the barely perceptible sag in her shoulders when Melanie shoots down yet another of her ideas.
I read her like an open book, and I have to admit, it’s one I want to write my name in over and over again until she’s unrecognizable as anything but mine. I want her to be branded with me, so that the whole fucking world knows it, too.
What an upheaval I’d be willing to make for you, Shy Girl.
If Shy notices me staring, she doesn’t react. Instead, she looks as if she’s trying to muster the courage to speak up again, her mouth opening and closing several times as she fails to find a gap in Melanie’s latest monologue.
“If it will help Peter with designing new posters, I’d be happy to share my thoughts on the decorations,” she finally pipes up, clearing her throat when her words come out a little raspy. “I was thinking we could tie some witchy elements in with the masked theme. You know, to really play up the history of the Manor grounds. I mean, what could be more macabre than our very own stories of witch burnings and black magic?”
As Shiloh elaborates on her vision to a rapt audience, I can’t help but let my mind wander. I picture her in a flowing black gown that hugs her waist, and an intricate mask obscuring half her face as she glances back over her shoulder. She's running from me through the dimly lit halls of this house, her breath coming in quick pants. But she’ll never escape me, I'm right behind her, heady adrenaline coursing through my veins as I chase her down.
In my fantasy, I eventually catch her at the end of a long, dark corridor with no exits. She struggles against my hold, but it's half hearted at best. We’ve played this game too many times for her to convince me she actually wants to escape. I crowd her against the wall, my body pressed flush to hers as I pin her wrists to the peeling wallpaper above her head. I can almost feel the heat of her skin, and taste the fear and excitement on her lips as I claim them with my own.
“Oh, I love it!” someone suddenly exclaims, interrupting my daydream. I quickly refocus my eyes to catch sight of the librarian, Jemma, I think, clapping an encouraging hand on Shiloh’s shoulder. Her enthusiasm is a stark contrast to Melanie's barely concealed disdain. “I actually have some catering ideas that would fit perfectly with Shiloh's plan.”
I lean back in my chair, content to watch this dynamic unfold as Shiloh’s spirits visibly lift right in front of me. Before Melanie can interject, Jemma quickly launches into a detailed description of her own proposal, which seems to revolve around traditional New England fare with a Halloween twist.
“And for the pièce de résistance,” she announces, grinning with obvious excitement, “I thought we could roast a whole hog on a spit outside. It would add this awesome fire element to the event, and really play up the witch hunt angle.”
As the debate picks up around the table, my imagination takes off once again. This time, I picture Shiloh trussed up before me, suspended and helpless. In my mind, I circle her slowly, drinking in every inch of her exposed flesh, completely vulnerable to me. I can almost hear her whimpers, see the fear and arousal in her glistening eyes as I decide exactly what to do with her.
The vision is so vivid I have to shift in my seat, grateful for the large table hiding my rapidly hardening cock. I force myself to pay attention to the conversation, pushing the fantasy to the back of my mind.
For now.
Melanie looks like she's chewing on a lemon, her lips pursed in obvious displeasure at the direction the meeting has taken. She turns to me, plastering a saccharine smile on her face.
“Well, Dominic,” she simpers, “what are your thoughts? I'm sure you must have some concerns about the... theatrical nature of these suggestions.”
I can see Shiloh tense up out of the corner of my eye, clearly expecting me to tear apart her ideas in front of the entire group…
But I have a different game in mind.
“Actually,” I drawl, affecting a tone of bored indifference, “I think these two have come up with some rather interesting concepts. It's refreshing to see people thinking outside the box. Lord knows dull masquerade themes have been done to death.”
Melanie's jaw drops slightly before she catches herself. Shiloh looks equally shocked, her eyebrows shooting up towards her hairline.
“It’s a good thing you have me as your sponsor,” I continue, “pulling off something this ambitious will require a significant budget. And seeing as we’re representing Blackwood Enterprises, I want this to be an event people talk about for years to come.”
Excited murmurs ripple around the table. Melanie looks hilariously pained, like she's trying to shove those fangs back up into her gums through sheer willpower. Meanwhile, Jemma is practically bouncing out of her seat–but, of course, it's Shiloh's reaction that interests me most.
She's watching me warily, her eyes narrowed in clear suspicion. I gladly return her gaze, allowing a satisfied smirk to play at the corner of my mouth while I pour every ounce of my desire, my dark intentions, into that look. I want her to feel it, to understand on a primal level that she's well and truly trapped within my sights.
Shiloh's eyes widen almost imperceptibly, a pink flush creeping up her face before she quickly looks away. But it's enough. I've seen it. That flicker of realization…of intrigue.
A wider, teeth-baring grin spreads across my face as Melanie grudgingly brings the meeting to a close and I slowly rise from my seat. The game is on, and Shiloh is well aware just how much I love to win.