19. Lena #3
His lips skim my neck, the slope of my shoulder, brushing against the sensitive line of my jaw, his breath rough and hungry.
I lean in for a kiss, but he pauses, his eyes burning into mine with a teasing kind of authority.
He shrugs off his jacket and pulls me closer.
Close enough that I feel the firm heat of his chest against mine, the solid thud of his heartbeat.
His fingers thread slowly through my hair, undoing the tie, then sliding down until the strands slip like silk through his knuckles.
He lifts a section to his face and breathes me in, like he can’t help himself. Then he brushes the hair aside, baring my neck, his lips hovering above my skin.
I shiver. This isn’t just a touch, it’s reverence, pure want laced with restraint.
He doesn’t need to hold me in place. I’m already his.
Waiting for his mouth. When his finger grazes my lips to quiet me, I flinch.
A tremor of anticipation I can’t hide. And then he kisses me with a hunger that steals the air from my lungs.
It’s intense. A kiss that seals the promise in his eyes.
His mouth moves lower. The moment blurs—then his mouth is on me, at my breasts, his lips closing over one nipple, then the other. His tongue teases, then claims, alternating between slow, reverent caresses and sharp, possessive pulls that make my core clench in anticipation.
I arch into him, moaning, grinding instinctively against the solid pressure of his thigh between my legs. “Dominic…” I plead, broken and desperate.
He hushes me again, tracing a delicate path down my stomach. Then his fingers slip between the edge of my panties. One rough tug, and they’re gone. His touch is urgent, impatient, like he can’t wait a second longer to have all of me.
He slides his fingers between my thighs, parting me, finding that throbbing, sensitive place he already owns. He strokes me once, twice, then pushes two fingers inside, filling me completely.
I cry out, hips jerking forward. He holds me there, still and open, his fingers buried inside me, his gaze locked on mine. His other hand lifts to my face, his thumb brushing softly over my parted lips, as if to say breathe, I’ve got you.
“I wish you could see yourself right now,” he murmurs, fingers deep inside. “You’d understand why I can’t stop.”
His voice trembles, not from weakness, but restraint. The kind that makes my whole body tighten in response.
“Do you feel that?” His voice drops lower, almost a growl. “That’s me, already inside you. Ruining you for anything else.”
I can barely nod. The only sound I manage is a helpless moan.
“You’re going to feel me even deeper,” he promises, his lips grazing mine. “Once we’re in the bedroom, once you’re under me… I’m going to take you, Lena. Completely.”
He leans in and presses a kiss to the hollow of my neck.
“This spot? Mine.” His mouth moves to my clavicle. “This, too.” Then lower, between my breasts. “All mine.”
His words brand me more than his touch. I tremble beneath them.
Then he really kisses me, slow and intent.
Like I’m already his. I melt into him, wrapped in the fire of it.
As our mouths part, his fingers press, curling just right.
My head falls back as another wave of pleasure threatens to take me under.
“I’m your man,” he whispers against the corner of my mouth. “Only yours. And I’m going to make damn sure you never want another. That your body remembers only mine. That you’ll crave this—crave me—even in your sleep.”
His words make my whole body tighten. I feel claimed, worshiped, and undone, all at once.
“Do you think I’m done with you on this counter?” he whispers. “That was just the beginning.”
He curls his fingers again, wringing another moan from my lips, then scoops me up like I weigh nothing.
“Now I’m taking you where you’ll never forget me,” he murmurs. “In our bed. Where you’ll learn what it means to be mine.”
Filled by his fingers, I cling to him as he carries me. Every step makes those fingers shift and move, sending maddening shocks of pleasure through me. I cling to him, breathless, his scent filling my senses, his skin against mine.
He lays me down gently on the bed, his eyes never leaving mine.
“Don’t move,” he says, low and firm. I obey.
He moves around the room and turns on the soft bedside lamps, casting us in a warm golden light.
Then he tosses a condom onto the bed—but leaves it untouched for now.
Instead, he undresses in no rush, his eyes never leaving mine, like I’m the only thing that matters.
When he removes his pants, his cock springs free—thick, hard, already glistening. Heat floods my chest.
“Touch yourself,” he says, his voice hoarse.
With trembling hands, I slide my fingers down and slip between my thighs, finding that pulsing ache at my center. I circle it gently, gasping as pleasure spikes through me.
He watches me, completely still, his expression both reverent and possessive. Then he steps forward, his cock heavy against his thigh. “Now touch me.”
I sit up, my knees weak, and reach for him. My hand wraps around his shaft. He groans, low and deep, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment. I lean in, press a soft kiss to the tip, then lick slowly, tasting the salt of him.
“Enough,” he breathes, voice strained. “I need to be inside you.”
With shaking hands, he rolls the condom down his length, then pushes me back into the pillows. He settles between my legs, lining himself up, but doesn't move. He holds himself there, at my entrance, eyes locked on mine.
“I want you to feel every second of this. Not just in your body. In your heart. In your soul.”
His gaze burns into mine as he enters me in one deep thrust. He begins to move, his eyes never leaving mine. I cry out. He’s perfect. Full.
His pace starts slow, controlled, but every stroke hits just right.
I cling to his shoulders, holding on as he moves inside me, powerful, relentless.
He watches me with that look that always turns my insides to fire.
A claim. A promise that no one else will ever touch me like this.
I wrap my legs around his waist, letting him in completely.
“You’re mine, Lena,” he growls low into my neck. “All mine.”
His words make me tighten around him, pleasure spiraling fast. He knows exactly how to move, how to draw out every broken sound from my throat. I fall apart around him, my body quivering, my core gripping him hard.
“Dominic—” I sob.
His jaw clenches. He thrusts deeper, harder, completely lost in me. “Come for me, baby. Only for me.”
That voice. That body. That promise.
I shatter again, crying out his name as my orgasm rips through me, leaving me trembling. He follows with a low, broken groan, his release shaking through him as he pulses inside me, one final thrust—then stillness.
We collapse into each other, bodies tangled, breaths ragged. He stays buried inside me, arms wrapped around my waist, like letting go might break the spell.
“No one else will ever have this,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “Not your touch. Not your sounds. Not this look on your face.”
He presses a soft, lingering kiss to my temple. “Only me. Always me.”
***
The silence stretches, dense and close, like it’s part of the air.
Dominic lies beside me, one arm slung over my waist. I watch him in secret, drawn in by the calm that settles over him now, after the storm that tore through us.
My body still hums in sync with his, like it remembers every second.
We stay like that—silent, half-asleep—for what feels like forever, suspended in something soft and weightless.
When I feel him shift, I open my eyes slowly.
He sits up, his fingers grazing my bare hip in a slow, lazy stroke, like he’s marking me with the memory of his touch.
I watch him as he walks to the bathroom, his body half-lit by the warm spill of light across the bed.
A moment later, I hear the water running.
Ten minutes pass. Then he reappears. Still naked, still dripping.
His skin catching the light in a way that makes every line of him look sculpted and unfairly perfect, water trailing from his hair down his shoulders, his chest, his abs.
My gaze dips lower, to that impossible V that always makes me ache a little, to the unapologetic way his cock hangs, heavy and proud.
He turns toward the dressing room, and I get a full view of his ass, so tight, so perfect, so maddening. My fingers twitch, aching to reach out and drag him back to bed. He glances over his shoulder and catches me staring. That slow, wicked half-smile curves his mouth. He says nothing.
I drop my hand, cheeks burning, as he disappears into the dressing room, leaving behind the scent of him and a slow-burning ache that clings to my skin. I watch from the bed as he throws on a shirt and starts getting dressed.
“What are you doing?” I ask, sitting up and pulling the sheet over my chest.
“It’s the weekend. I have to stop by the club for a bit. I didn’t get the chance to check in with Leo tonight, and there are some out-of-town guests I should meet.”
“How long?”
“A few hours. Don’t wait up. I’ll come to bed without waking you. We’ll talk in the morning.”
I watch him move between the dressing room and bathroom a few times, shirt hanging open, fingers raking through damp hair, until he’s fully dressed and ready to leave. Right before reaching the door, he stops, like something tugs at him.
Then he turns back, leans down, and kisses me with that lazy kind of claim that makes my toes curl. His hand slides across my bare back, down the curve of my spine, settling on my ass. His fingers press in just enough to make me gasp.
I melt into him, dizzy, lost in the warm crush of his mouth. Everything else disappears. As he steps into the hallway, he throws over his shoulder, “And no walking around naked while I’m gone. I’m sending someone to dismantle the bed in the other room.”
“Don’t you dare!” I yell after him.
“With you, there are always surprises. Sleeping in my bed is non-negotiable.”
“I said I’d stay!”
“No, Lena. You dodged the question with some vague philosophical deflection. But the way you gave yourself to me?” He pauses, grinning. “Your body already knows what it wants. Your mind’s just taking longer to catch up. So I’m making things easier for you.”
He smirks. “The contract gives me one discretionary clause in the first thirty days.”
I narrow my eyes. “I don’t believe you.”
“Are you sure you read the whole thing?” he asks, grinning like the devil.
No , honestly , those ridiculous numbers scrambled my brain.
“And what exactly are you planning to add?”
“A clause about sharing a bed. Every night. I want you in mine every time I come home. No exceptions.”
I glare. He’s enjoying this way too much.
“Or… we could make it a sex clause. Three times a week. Minimum. With at least three orgasms per session. All delivered by me, of course.”
I choke on air. “You’re actually insane.”
He shrugs, smug. “So, what’s it going to be, wifey ?” he asks, watching me like we’re in some kind of showdown at sunset.
We stare each other down, neither one flinching.
“Fine,” I mutter. “I’ll sleep here. Every night. Just… don’t touch the other bed.”
“You’re in no position to negotiate. But fine. Do I have your word?” he presses, clearly enjoying himself.
I scowl. “Yes.”
He lets out a satisfied sound, somewhere between a chuckle and something primal.
I narrow my eyes. “You really gave up sex to have me sleep next to you?”
He tilts his head, that wicked grin curving at his mouth—the one that makes my knees betray me.
“Who said anything about giving up sex?”
I grab a pillow and hurl it at him. He catches it one-handed and tosses it right back on the bed.
“Sleep well, my love,” he purrs, his voice dragging with promise as he walks out.
I wait a moment. Then another. Long enough to know he’s really gone.
Then I throw back the covers, climb out—naked—and tiptoe straight to the spare room to find the contract.
I dig through the drawer, pull out the contract folder, and start flipping through the pages fast, scanning for anything suspicious.
Nothing stands out. I go back to the first page, to be sure.
“Hmm.” His voice slides in from the doorway. Dominic leans against the frame, arms crossed, grinning widely. His eyes drag slowly over my naked body, the kind of look that feels like hands. Like heat.
“I told you not to walk around naked, baby,” he says, voice low and thick with want. “But honestly… not complaining.”
I turn bright red and snap the folder shut. He starts walking toward me like he already knows how this ends.
“There’s nothing in the contract, is there?” he asks, smug.
I shake my head, defeated. “You tricked me.”
“No, baby. I negotiated. And now I have your word.”
He scoops me effortlessly and carries me back to the bedroom.
“So, Mrs. Monti,” he says with mock solemnity, “back to the marital bed.”
He lays me down gently, then trails a finger from the dip of my neck, between my breasts, down the center of my stomach. Slow, reverent. I shiver under his touch. His voice drops, rough and teasing, but there’s something raw underneath.
“Jesus… You’re here. Naked. In my bed. My wife on paper, and I still have to fight like hell to keep you close.”
He leans in and presses a kiss right where my stomach dips. “Tell me again how this isn’t punishment.”
And just before I can fire back, he flashes me that infuriating smile, plants a final kiss on my inner thigh, and walks off like the smug bastard he is, looking way too pleased with himself.