Chapter 10 The Velvet Confessional
Dom’s fingers skim across my waist as a slow, mournful melody threads through the air. His touch burns with familiar heat, but even that is too much after tonight.
“I’ve missed this dance of ours, darling.” His breath ghosts over my ear, coaxing a shiver I don’t have the patience to suppress. “You, playing the temptress.” His hand drifts lower. “Me, waiting to remind you who you belong to.”
I try to focus on the steps, on anything but the ghost of Rowe’s gentle touch still burning against my skin. “There is no game tonight, Dom.”
Something flickers across his face, so slight most would miss it, but I’ve spent years learning the tells that give Dominic Blackwood away. He laughs, but the sound is thin, off-kilter. His fingers tap an uneven rhythm against my spine, betraying the storm beneath his practiced veneer.
“Sweet, honorable Rowe. With his careful hands and trembling heart. The way you looked at him when he—”
“Stop.”
For a heartbeat, his beautiful nightmare of a face freezes. Then panic floods his eyes before he can catch it. “Aria—”
“I need to go.” I move, but his hand closes around my wrist. His pulse races beneath my fingers, matching the frantic cadence of my own.
“Wait.” The playfulness is gone, replaced by desperation.
“I’m sorry.” The words sound foreign on his tongue, like he’s excavating them from some long-buried place inside himself.
“That night you came to me, when the grief was eating you alive . . . I should have known how to help. Instead, I just . . .” His jaw clenches.
“I tried to fix it the only way I knew how. I thought if I could pull you closer, distract you, protect you, something, it’d stop the way you were breaking.
But I wasn’t what you needed and that scared the shit out of me. ”
“You saw me falling apart and you just froze.” I don’t sugarcoat it.
“I know.” His eyes dart around the room, checking for witnesses to this unprecedented display of vulnerability. A muscle pulses in his jaw, and something about the way he holds himself reminds me of a cornered animal, dangerous but terrified. “Come with me.”
“What are you—”
“Trust me.” A reckless request, coming from a man who ruins things so beautifully. “Please.”
Dom guides me through a hidden door into what appears to be a coat room, though it’s more like stepping into another world entirely.
Crystal sconces flare to life at our presence, their enchanted flames casting shadows that writhe across antique mirrors and blood-red velvet walls.
The space resembles a confessional booth crafted by demons—claustrophobic, dangerous, designed to hold sins that leave permanent marks on your soul.
“If you think we’re having some dramatic reconciliation against these walls—” I start, but the words die the moment I see his face. There’s an edge to him, like he’s fighting some internal war I can’t begin to understand.
His laugh cuts through the charged silence. “Please. We both know it’d take more than a coat room to absolve me.”
The blood ruby on his ring throbs erratically, matching what I suspect is the frantic beat of his heart. There’s something almost frenzied in the way he moves toward me, like a man who’s been drowning and finally found air.
He crowds me against the velvet wall until my world narrows to nothing but him. His intoxicating scent of smoke and spice, the scorching heat of his body, the dangerous curve of that mouth that’s both blessed and cursed me.
“Two months.” The words drag from him, frayed to the bone.
“Do you have any idea what that did to me?” His fingers brush my cheek, trembling.
“Your wards kept flashing red over and over. No message, no note, only silence. And I begged, Aria. Gods, I fucking begged for even a flicker of you, but you were gone.”
He drags in a breath. “I destroyed my suite at The Den that first night. Ripped through it like a feral beast. Anything that smelled like you, looked like you, shattered.” His grip tightens at my waist, a bruising hold that betrays just how much this confession costs him.
“After that? I snapped. Every whisper of your name, every pitying glance, I lost it. Started fights for no reason and ended them bloody. You haunted every hallway, and I tried to beat you out of my system like an addiction I didn’t want to survive. ”
Dom’s gaze pins me in place, and something within it is so raw, it threatens to bleed.
“I couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t eat. Couldn’t fucking breathe without tasting you in the back of my throat.
But the worst part? Kian loved it. He watched the destruction I left in my wake and smiled like he’d finally finished sculpting the perfect monster. ”
His thumb grazes my lower lip, and I don’t mean to, but my tongue flicks out, tasting him. The sharp inhale he gives me isn’t smug, it’s wrecked. Like that single touch was oxygen.
“I learned, Aria,” he murmurs. “Learned not to dismiss your grief. But watching you with him tonight . . .” His fingers slide into my hair. “That was cruel. Deliciously, exquisitely cruel, even for you.”
His ring pulses with magic as he reaches into the space between shadows, pulling a leather-bound journal from whatever hidden place he’d stored it. My mom’s initials gleam against the worn cover, and the moment I see it, the floor drops out from under me.
“Consider this my surrender,” he says, voice low and lethal.
“But don’t mistake it for weakness. This is the only war I’ve ever chosen to lose.
” His teeth graze the frantic pulse at my neck, and I shudder with a need so deep it borders on madness.
“I kneel for no one. Not for blood, not for power, not for the man who made me his weapon. But for you? I’d fall to my knees a thousand times over. ”
“That’s—” My voice shakes as my fingers brush the leather. “How did you get this?”
“Does it matter?” His lips curve against my throat.
“Everything I’ve done—every broken rule, every unholy deal—it’s always been for you.
Even when it shouldn’t have been, and when the right thing would’ve been letting you go.
” He cuts himself off, but his mouth keeps moving, trailing fire down my neck, teeth scraping enough to leave heat blooming under my skin.
“That’s not an answer! Dom, those journals were sealed behind blood-locked wards. You can’t just walk in and take something like this.”
He stills, just for a second, but it’s enough. There’s a price behind this, a cost I haven’t seen yet, and whatever it is, he’s not ready to confess it.
“What do you want in return for this, Dom?”
His eyes go dark and bottomless. “What I’ve always wanted.” His fingers curl in my hair, twisting until he’s tugging hard enough to make me gasp. “You.”
He trails a hand along my collarbone before slowly dragging the silk of my dress down.
“Let me take you out to dinner first.” His mouth drops to the swell above my breast, and his teeth sink in.
Not enough to break skin, but enough to brand.
His tongue follows, soothing where he bit me, and I have to clamp my jaw around the sound that rises in my throat.
“Let me remind you what it feels like to be loved by me.” His voice turns raw with need. “Then . . . The Den. You. Me. Every wall, every surface.” He bites again, harder this time, marking me in a place only he’ll ever see. “I’m done waiting, Aria. I need you.”
The journal presses between us, sharp against my ribs. A reminder of why I’m here. But the second he speaks against my skin like that, breath hot and ragged, I forget my own damn name.
My fingers fist in his hair, yanking his head back just enough to see his face. This isn’t Dom polished and poised. This is him unraveled, stripped to the nerves, and offering the only kind of vulnerability a man like him can give: complete, feral surrender.
“Okay,” I breathe.
The journal hits the floor with a dull thud and then he’s on me.
His hands seize my waist and I’m drowning.
The world narrows to smoke and spice choking my lungs, to the bruising grip of his fingers as he drags me against him.
Dom’s mouth crashes into mine and it’s carnage—teeth scraping my lips bloody, his tongue driving deep to claim every breath I try to steal.
Two months of wanting him erupts between us and I’m already gasping for air I don’t want.
Heat pours off him in waves, burning through silk until my nipples ache against his chest, until every nerve ending screams for more contact, more pressure, more of whatever poison he’s feeding directly into my bloodstream.
Dom’s hand slides up to clamp around my throat and every coherent thought scatters.
His fingers find that perfect pressure point that makes my pulse stutter wildly against his palm.
The squeeze builds slowly, cutting off just enough air to make me lightheaded and desperate for more.
Black spots dance at the edges of my vision but I don’t want him to stop.
I want him to take everything, to own every breath I’m allowed to take.
The moan that rips from my throat is barely human, more animal than sound, vibrating against his fingers where they press into my windpipe.
It’s pathetic how much I need this, how wet I get from the way he controls something as basic as breathing.
The noise drives him absolutely feral. I feel it in the broken groan that tears from his chest like I’ve reached inside and squeezed his heart.
His other hand slides down to grip my hip, fingers digging into flesh hard enough to bruise.
“I tried to forget you,” he whispers against my ear, voice cracked and raw.
“Tried to convince myself I didn’t need this—didn’t need you.
” His thumb strokes over my pulse point almost gently, a stark contrast to the bruising hold.
“But you’re in my fucking veins, Aria. Two months of agony and I’m still drowning in you. ”