Chapter 13
thirteen
They stood frozen for a moment, then, without a word, grabbed for each other again, colliding in a kiss that had no audience, no strategic purpose.
It was hungry, desperate, a dam breaking after years of holding back.
His hands found her waist, then slid lower, gripping her hips and pulling her hard against him.
She gasped into his mouth at the contact, at the heat of him, at the unmistakable ridge of his cock pressing against her.
“Viv,” he said, voice shredded. “You sure?”
She couldn’t get close enough. Couldn’t get enough of him, of the heat and the press of his body and the way his hands slid under the silk. “Fuck me, Dominic. I mean it.”
He didn’t have to be told twice. He turned her toward the balustrade, bent her over it, and hauled up the hem of her dress so that it bunched at her waist. She braced herself, hands gripping the curve of the railing, and arched into him without shame as he dragged a finger between her legs.
“Fuck, baby. Look at you. You’re dripping for me.” His mouth was at her ear, biting, his breath ragged in time with hers.
He slid his fingers deeper, and she nearly lost her balance.
The terrace was exposed, the gardens below crawling with staff, any of whom could look up and see her.
The danger was a pulse behind her ribs. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think.
He thumbed her clit in tight, perfect circles, exactly the way she liked, and her knees threatened to buckle.
“God, Viv, you have any idea how much I want you like this? All dressed up and bent over for me, getting off on the thought of someone seeing you with your legs spread and your pretty little ass bare?”
A sharp laugh escaped her. “You’re such a fucking animal.”
“You love it,” he rumbled against her ear. “You want me to ruin you right here, don’t you? Let everyone know you’re mine.”
God help her, she did. She wanted him to mark her up and leave her throbbing, wanted to feel the aftershocks every time she moved for the rest of the night.
“Stop talking,” she managed.
He bit her shoulder, not enough to break the skin, just enough to remind her who was in control.
“Make me.” And then he was unzipping his pants, one-handed, the other spreading her wider.
The tip of his cock nudged her entrance.
She felt how hot he was, how thick, and she bucked against him reflexively.
He slid in all at once, a hard, greedy shove that filled her to the point of pain.
She cried out, the sound half-muffled against her arm as she braced herself more firmly on the railing.
Her brain went blank except for the stretch of him inside her and the way the stone chilled her front while he burned against her from behind.
He set a brutal rhythm, holding her in place while he fucked into her, hips snapping with a violence he’d never dared in their old life.
His hand snaked around to clamp over her mouth, more for the sound than to stop her from screaming, she realized.
She tasted the salt of his palm, the metal tang of his skin, and came apart.
Her whole body went rigid, her muscles clenching so hard she saw white.
He fucked her through it, didn’t stop, didn’t slow down. Aftershocks rippled in her thighs and up her back. She felt her legs start to give. He caught her under the ribs, pulled her upright, still buried deep, and bit the side of her throat with a growl.
“Fuck, Vivi. You take me so fucking well. You were made for me.” He didn’t pull out.
He held her locked against his body, her ass pressed tight to his hips, and let her feel every inch of him, every twitch.
His hand clamped over her mouth, muffling the whimpers she couldn’t stop making.
She tasted her own lipstick on his palm, the sweat slick on his skin, and her whole body vibrated.
He rocked his hips again, a hard, filthy stutter that pushed her right back to the edge. “Bet you’d let me bend you over the table at the wine tasting if I told you to. Bet you’d let all those rich assholes see how good you take my cock.” He bit the shell of her ear. “Tell me you would.”
She tried to shake her head, but he held her too tight, and all that came out was a whine, desperate and raw.
He moved his hand just enough that she could talk, but not enough for her to get a full breath. “Say it, Viv. Say you’d let me.” He drew back and shoved inside again, so deep she thought he might split her in half. “Say you’re mine.”
“Yours,” she gasped. “Yours, fuck—just don’t stop, don’t—”
He let go of her mouth and grabbed her hair, yanking her head back so he could see her face. “That’s what I wanted. That’s my girl.” He was still fucking her in short, relentless strokes, each one punctuated by a filthy word at her ear.
It was so dirty—so much dirtier than anything they’d ever done before.
Or maybe she’d just never let herself want it this much, never let herself need him so badly she’d let go of every scrap of pride.
Her thighs were soaked, trembling, her nipples hard enough to ache.
She reached back and dug her nails into his forearm, wanting to mark him up, too.
He hissed and fucked her harder, the slap of skin loud enough she was sure it echoed down to the gardens. “You want everyone to see how good I make you come? You want me to make you scream?”
She couldn’t answer. All she could do was brace herself as the next orgasm hit, even more violent than the first—like he’d reached in and stripped away every layer of self-control she’d ever had.
She tried to muffle it, tried to bite her own arm, but she was loud, and he’d made her this way, and she didn’t fucking care.
He didn’t stop, not even when her legs gave out, and she sagged against the railing. He held her up, kept her impaled on him, and ground into her until she felt like she might black out from the pleasure.
When he finally came, it was with a groan that was half her name, half a curse, and buried so deep inside her she wasn’t sure where she ended, and he started.
He pulsed inside her, his grip bruising, and she let herself go boneless against him, their combined weight supported by the stone balustrade.
For several heartbeats, they stayed like that, his chest heaving against her back, his breath hot on her neck. The sea breeze cooled the sweat on her skin, raising goosebumps along her arms.
“God, Viv,” he whispered. “I missed you.”
Oh… shit.
What had she done?
She’d let him fuck her on a terrace where anyone could have seen them. She’d begged him. She’d let him hear how much she still wanted him.
Dom eased out of her, his hands gentle now as he helped her stand straight.
She felt his release trickling down her inner thigh and suddenly couldn’t look at him.
She straightened her dress with shaking hands, smoothing the silk back into place.
She felt raw, exposed in ways that had nothing to do with the sex.
“Viv—” His voice was rough.
“Don’t,” she said, cutting him off. She couldn’t bear to hear whatever he was about to say. “This was... it doesn’t change anything.”
His expression tightened, but he nodded. “Okay.”
“We should get back before they send another guard to find us,” she said, already turning toward the stairs that would lead them back up to the main terrace.
Dom caught her arm gently. “Vivi, wait.” When she turned back, his eyes were serious. “I know this doesn’t change the past. But I’m still here. Whatever happens next, I’m with you.”
She wanted to stay angry. Wanted to keep that protective wall of resentment intact. But something in his expression—the raw sincerity, the lack of expectation—made it impossible.
She spun away and headed for the stairs without looking back. “Goddamn you, Dominic Wilde. Why can’t you just let me hate you?”
“You don’t hate me, Viv,” he called after her.
No. She didn’t. Not anymore, and that was the problem. Hate would have been easier than this tangle of attraction, resentment, and lingering affection that made her want to both push him away and pull him close.
Her legs still trembled slightly, and the evidence of what they’d done was cooling against her thigh. She should be mortified, but instead, she felt strangely powerful. Used and raw and satisfied in a way she hadn’t been in years.
The climb back to the main terrace gave her time to compose herself.
She smoothed her hair, checked her reflection in a decorative mirror hanging in the stairwell, and wiped away the smudged lipstick at the corner of her mouth.
By the time she reached the top, she looked almost normal.
Almost like a woman who hadn’t just been bent over a balustrade and fucked senseless.
Ugh. What was it about Dominic Wilde that made her so stupid?