His words still lingered in the air between them—"And I think you are too."
Arielle didn't reply.
She didn't have to.
Because the moment Dominic's fingers brushed her cheek, her wine glass hit the counter with a soft thud, and her hands found the lapels of his shirt. She pulled him to her like she'd been waiting all night to do it—because she had.
And then, finally, his lips crashed into hers.
It wasn't gentle. It wasn't polite.
It was possession wrapped in fire.
Dominic's hands gripped her waist, lifting her onto the cold marble counter. She gasped against his mouth, her knees parting to draw him in, her fingers already tugging at the buttons of his black shirt.
"You don't play fair," she whispered against his lips.
"I never promised I would."
His mouth found her neck, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses along her skin as he peeled the straps of her dress down her shoulders. The silk slipped easily, exposing the barest suggestion of her lace beneath.
Arielle's breath hitched as his hands roamed—deliberate, reverent, then suddenly rough.
"You always talk," he murmured against her collarbone. "But right now… you're quiet."
She arched into him, lips parting. "You shut me up. Congratulations."
He chuckled darkly, one hand sliding behind her back to unfasten the delicate clasp of her bra. "And here I thought that was impossible."
The tension between them snapped completely as his mouth replaced his hands, tracing a path down her throat, across her chest, until she was panting—lost, undone, his name a breathless curse against his shoulder.
She pulled at his belt with shaking fingers, hungry, demanding.
"You sure?" he murmured, mouth brushing hers again, his control hanging by a single fraying thread.
Her eyes locked with his. "If you stop now, I swear I'll hate you forever."
That was all the permission he needed.
Clothes vanished—silk, lace, leather—all falling to the marble like petals in a storm. He lifted her from the counter and carried her to the dark leather couch without breaking the kiss.
There, in the dim, expensive glow of his penthouse, she lost track of time, of pride, of everything that made her hold back.
And Dominic?
Dominic worshipped every inch of her.
There was no power game anymore.
No dominance war.
Just skin against skin.
Need against need.
And heat.
Enough heat to burn the city down .
The leather couch groaned beneath them as Dominic laid her down, his body covering hers with practiced ease but raw intention. His lips didn't rush—he took his time now, claiming every inch of skin with slow, calculated purpose. Every kiss was a promise. Every bite was a dare.
Arielle had never been handled like this before. Not owned, not dominated—but devoured. Like he'd wanted her for years. Like he'd memorized the map of her body before ever touching her.
Her fingers tangled in his hair, tugging, scratching, pulling him closer when his mouth dipped lower—leaving trails of fire along her stomach, between her hips, then further still.
She gasped, her back arching.
"Dominic—"
"Say it again," he murmured against her inner thigh, voice low and rough.
She bit her lip, dazed, flushed. "Dominic."
"Louder."
He pressed his mouth to her in a way that stole her breath, unraveling her piece by piece, until she had no choice but to moan his name loud enough to fill the room.
He rose slowly, and the look in his eyes… it wasn't smug.
It was hungry.
Starved.
And tonight, she was his only meal.
He covered her again, their mouths meeting in a kiss that tasted like fire and revenge and something dangerously close to desire that went too deep.
When he finally entered her, she gasped—not from pain, but from the shocking, overwhelming rightness of it.
He stilled, brushing her hair back, watching her face.
"You okay?"
Her hands gripped his back. "I'll kill you if you stop."
That earned a wicked smirk.
Then he moved.
Slow at first. Deep. Measured.
Her nails dug into his shoulders, and her legs wrapped around his waist, hips meeting his rhythm for rhythm, challenge for challenge.
She wasn't the type to surrender.
But in this—this chaos of touch and breath and skin—she didn't need to.
Because he wasn't trying to break her.
He was matching her.
And she felt it—every emotion he refused to say, hidden beneath the way he worshipped her body like she was both sin and salvation.
They didn't speak.
They didn't need to.
Their bodies said everything.
And when they finally shattered together, it wasn't pretty or perfect—it was raw and loud and messy.
Real.
The kind of night you don't come back from the same.
The kind that changes the temperature of everything that follows.
The room was quiet now—except for the soft hum of the city beyond the penthouse windows and the uneven breathing slowly returning to normal.
Dominic lay beside her, arm draped over her waist, his face buried in the crook of her neck. His breath was hot against her skin, still tasting like sin and surrender.
Arielle stared at the ceiling, blinking slowly, as if trying to process what had just happened.
She should have felt powerful.
She should have felt victorious.
But instead… she felt seen.
And that was so much more dangerous.
He shifted beside her, brushing her hair back gently, his touch surprisingly tender for a man who'd just spent the last hour proving how merciless he could be.
"You still with me?" he murmured, voice hoarse, lips brushing her shoulder.
She turned her head slightly to glance at him. "Barely."
He smiled, tired but real. "Good."
They lay in silence for a beat longer, and for once, Arielle didn't feel the need to fill it. No quips. No sass. No one-liner meant to protect her pride.
Just her body curled against his, the scent of his skin mixing with her perfume, the sheets tangled around their legs like a secret neither of them were ready to admit out loud.
Eventually, though, she stirred.
"Is this where you tell me it was a mistake?" she asked lightly, trying to reassemble her armor.
Dominic didn't flinch. "No."
She raised a brow. "No?"
"I don't do mistakes," he said, eyes locking with hers. "Just choices."
Something inside her chest fluttered. "So this was a choice?"
He reached for her hand under the covers, weaving his fingers through hers.
"Yes. And I'm not done choosing you yet."
Arielle blinked, suddenly feeling naked in a way that had nothing to do with the lack of clothing.
"Dominic…"
"Don't panic," he said softly, pulling her hand to his lips. "I'm not asking for declarations. Just… don't run, Arielle. Not tonight."
Her defenses crumbled, one by one, until she was left with nothing but the truth on her tongue.
"I'm not used to someone seeing me without looking for something."
He brushed a kiss to her knuckles. "Maybe I'm just looking for you."
Her heart thudded—loud, rebellious.
She didn't say anything.
But she didn't pull away either.