Chapter 4: The water cascades over them as Dominic pins Serena's wrists above her head, his thick cock sliding between her thighs from behind while his teeth graze her neck - the steam-filled glass walls fogging with their animalistic coupling.
The velvet box was cool in her palm. She placed it back on the counter, a strange talisman, and turned the shower taps to blazing. Steam billowed, clouding the mirrors and the view.
She stepped under the scalding spray, wincing as it hit the tender bites on her shoulders. The water sluiced over her, pink-tinged at first, carrying the physical proof of him down the drain. She braced her hands on the marble, head bowed, trying to wash the feeling of his ownership from her skin.
It was futile.
The glass door slid open with a quiet hiss. Steam rolled out into the cooler air. She didn’t need to turn around.
His presence filled the spacious stall, a change in pressure, a shadow against her closed eyelids. The water pulsed between them. His hands, strong and sure, settled on her wet hips. He pulled her back firmly against him. She felt the rigid length of his erection pressing against the cleft of her ass.
“You stayed,” he murmured into her soaked hair. His voice was almost lost in the drum of water.
“The suite is paid for the week,” she replied, her own voice surprisingly steady. “Seemed a waste.”
A low chuckle vibrated through his chest and into her back. “Practical. I like that.” One hand slid around to her front, sliding down over her soap-slick stomach. His fingers didn’t hesitate, parting her folds with an intimacy that stole her breath. “But this isn’t practical. This is wrecked. Puffy and used. Mine.”
He thrust two fingers inside her, a blunt, claiming invasion. She cried out, her forehead thumping against the tile. She was still sensitive, oversensitive, from the morning’s thorough taking. His fingers curled, probing the tender flesh, and a jolt of electric pleasure-pain made her legs tremble.
“Still so fucking tight around my fingers,” he grunted, working them in and out. The sound was lewd, wet and slick, competing with the shower’s pour. “You’re clamping down like a fist. Do you need it again that badly?”
“No,” she gasped, but her body arched back against him, betraying her.
“Liar.” He removed his fingers, bringing them to her lips. “Taste. That’s us mixed together. That’s what you are now.”
He pressed his wet fingers past her lips. The taste was salty, musky, profoundly intimate. She suckled them, her eyes closing, a fresh wave of submission crashing through her. He groaned, turning her roughly to face him.
Water plastered his dark hair to his skull, streamed over the hard planes of his chest. His blue eyes were savage. He gripped her jaw, holding her stare. “Open your mouth.”
She obeyed. He spat into it. The act was so debasing, so utterly dominant, her knees nearly buckled. “Swallow,” he commanded. She did, the warm liquid disappearing down her throat, a covenant more binding than any kiss.
He kissed her then, a brutal, claiming kiss, biting her lower lip. His hands gripped her ass, lifting her effortlessly. Her back met the cold, wet tiles, a shocking contrast to the hot water and the heat of his body. He hooked her legs over his arms, spreading her wide, and drove up into her in one ferocious thrust.
The cry he tore from her was raw, ripped from a place of pure sensation. He filled her, stretching the ache, a glorious, punishing fullness. Her fingernails scraped at his shoulders, drawing faint red lines through the water beading on his skin.
“Every time,” he panted, his hips setting a relentless, pounding rhythm. The water cascaded over his back, spraying her face. “Every fucking time I’m in you, it’s like the first time. That hot, desperate clench.” He drove deeper, and she screamed. “You take my cock so perfectly. Made for it.”
He was a piston, unrelenting, the slap of their bodies echoing off the marble. She was utterly helpless, pinned between his immovable body and the unforgiving wall, completely at the mercy of his pace. Her climax began as a distant tremor, a tightening in her belly that coiled with every brutal intrusion.
“Look at me,” he snarled, his rhythm faltering for a second. “Look at me when you come.”
Her eyes, glazed with pleasure, fought to focus on his. The intensity there, the raw, unvarnished hunger, was what finally shattered her. Her orgasm exploded silently at first, a seismic internal convulsion that locked her muscles, her mouth a round ‘O’ of shock before the sound escaped—a broken, continuous moan.
Her internal spasms milked him, triggered his own release. He swore, a filthy, beautiful string of obscenities, as he buried himself to the root and held, his own body shuddering as he emptied into her. They stayed like that, joined, breathing in ragged gulps of steam, until the water began to cool.
He let her legs slide down, her weight settling on unsteady feet. He smoothed her wet hair from her face, a gesture almost tender. His thumb traced her swollen lips.
“My driver is at your disposal for the day,” he said, his voice back to its controlled norm, though his breath was still uneven. “I have meetings. I’ll be back by seven.” He stepped out of the shower, grabbing a towel. “Be dressed. We’ll go to dinner.”
He left her there, slick and trembling. The water was turning tepid. She turned it off, the silence ringing in her ears. Wrapping herself in a thick towel, she walked back into the bedroom. His scent was everywhere.
On the pillow, next to the impression of his head, lay a single black credit card. No name. Just a number. A different kind of key.
She picked it up. It felt heavy. Final.
Be dressed. We’ll go to dinner.
It wasn’t a request. It was the next step in a negotiation she hadn’t known she’d agreed to. She looked from the card to the black velvet box on the bathroom counter. Two kinds of currency. He was paying, one way or another.
She walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, the towel clinging to her damp skin. The city below teemed with ordinary lives, ordinary decisions. Hers no longer belonged to that world.
She had one week in this gilded cage. One week to see how deep this rabbit hole went. Her reflection in the glass showed a woman who looked like her, but with darker, knowing eyes.
She would be dressed by seven.
The dress she chose was a weapon. It was a simple column of emerald green silk, backless, with a neckline that hinted rather than shouted. It cost more than her monthly rent. She charged it to the black card without flinching, a strange thrill in the act.
When Dominic returned at seven, his eyes darkened appreciatively. “You look expensive,” he said, his voice a low rasp.
“I feel expensive,” she shot back, smoothing the silk over her hips.
He drove them himself in a low-slung Aston Martin, navigating Lisbon’s hills with aggressive precision. The restaurant was a secluded cliff-top estate, all soft lighting and whispered service. He ordered for them both in fluent Portuguese, never glancing at the menu.
“So,” she said, after the wine was poured. “Is this the part where you ask me about my childhood?”
He took a sip, amused. “Is that what you usually do on dates?”
“This isn’t a date.” She held his gaze. “This is a continuation of a transaction. You said so yourself.”
A faint smile touched his lips. “Direct. I like it. No, I don’t care about your childhood. I care that you didn’t run screaming this morning. I care that you’re here, in that dress, looking at me like you want to stab me or climb me, and I’m not sure which.”
She laughed, the sound surprising her. “Maybe both.”
The food came, artful small plates she couldn’t name. He watched her eat. “You have a job to get back to,” he stated. “A life. Tell me why you’re still here.”
She set her fork down. The truth was messy, coiled tight in her chest. “Because you see me. Not the uniform. Not the service-with-a-smile. You see the woman who wants to be shoved against a shower wall. It’s… inconveniently refreshing.”
“Inconvenient,” he repeated, savoring the word.
“My career is built on control. On anticipating needs, maintaining order. You are chaos. You’re a hazard to my carefully arranged life.”
“And yet.”
“And yet,” she admitted, her voice dropping. “I’ve never felt more in control than when I’m utterly out of control with you.”
He was silent for a long moment. The ocean crashed against the cliffs far below. “I have to be in New York tomorrow,” he said finally. “Then Singapore for three days.”
A cold splash of reality. “Okay.”
“Come with me.”
It wasn’t a question. Her pulse stammered. “I can’t. I have a schedule. I have commitments.”
“Call in sick.” He leaned forward, his gaze capturing hers. “Use the card. Buy whatever you need. My plane leaves at ten. Be on it.”
“You can’t just snap your fingers and expect me to abandon everything.”
“I can,” he said, utterly calm. “And you will. Because you want to see what happens next as much as I do.”
She wanted to refuse. To stand on principle. The word ‘no’ formed on her tongue. But the memory of his mouth between her thighs, the shameful, powerful clutch of her body around his, rose up and drowned it.
He read her capitulation in her face. He signaled for the check. “Good.”
Back in the penthouse, he didn’t touch her. The tension was a live wire between them. He poured a brandy, standing at the window. “You should pack.”
“What am I doing, Dominic?” Her voice was small in the vast room.
He turned. The city lights etched his profile in silver. “You’re letting me be selfish. I’m a man who owns things. Right now, I have a fascination. I want to exhaust it, explore its limits. That’s you.”
“And when you’re exhausted?”
“Then you’ll go back to your life. Unharmed. Enriched, if you’re smart with the card.” He said it so clinically, it felt like a slap.
“So I’m a temporary obsession.”
“Aren’t we all?” He finished his drink. “Get some sleep. We leave early.”
He went to his separate bedroom. She stood alone in the living room, the emerald silk suddenly feeling like a costume. She was a temporary obsession. A vivid, expendable diversion.
The black credit card sat on the table like a dare. She thought of her empty apartment, her predictable roster of flights. She thought of the terrifying, electric freedom in his shower.
In her room, the black velvet box waited. She opened it, running a finger over the cool platinum. A reminder. A promise.
She began to pack.