Domineering Lover

Chapter Four

Bryan’s POV

I shouldn’t have kissed her. 

The thought pressed against my skull like a migraine, looping in my head without mercy as I steered the car through the quiet streets of Houston. The night was unusually still, but nothing in me was.

I couldn’t even recall the exact second it happened, one minute we were talking, just two strangers over drinks, and the next, I was leaning in like a goddamn fool, tasting her lips like they were something I’d been starving for. 

I didn’t know her name. I didn’t know where she was from or why the hell she felt so alluring. All I knew was the shape of her mouth, the warmth of her breath, the way her fingertips grazed my chest like she belonged there. I didn’t kiss her like a man who was taken. I kissed her like I was lost.

I gripped the steering wheel harder, knuckles pale against the leather as I cursed under my breath. What the hell was I thinking? What kind of man does that? 

What kind of man kisses a woman he just met, barely a week before standing at the altar and saying forever to someone else? I couldn’t even lie to myself. I’d been sober. Clear-eyed. 

There was no excuse, no justification that could wipe away the heat in that bar, or the fact that a stranger had stirred something in me I hadn’t felt in months, maybe years.

The way she looked at me… it had knocked the breath out of my lungs. There was mystery in her eyes, but more than that, there was recognition. Like she knew me before we ever met. And I’d felt it too, that strange tug in the air between us, that magnetic pull I couldn’t name. For a moment, it had felt like stepping off a cliff, dangerous, thrilling, impossible to stop.

Maybe she wasn’t real. She was just a mirage, a ghost in heels and red lipstick, conjured up by stress and bourbon and the mounting pressure of a life I hadn’t fully chosen. Maybe I needed someone like her, someone nameless and untethered to wake me up. Perhaps she planned the whole thing. It was a setup, a game, and I was just another idiot in a suit who mistook lust for fate.

But still, I couldn’t stop thinking about her.

Even now, with the road stretching ahead and the city behind me, I could feel her on my skin. I didn’t know her name, but her face was burned into my memory, and that kiss was soft, deliberate, and haunting 

This isn’t happening to me. Not when I was a week away from becoming a husband, I must never meet her again, I must stay away from that bar.

Just approaching my home, I froze of my fiancé, Bella.

She was sitting on the swing I had installed last summer, legs crossed, a glass of wine in one hand, her phone in the other. She looked poised, untouched by time or suspicion, like she belonged exactly where she was like she hadn’t missed a single beat while I was out ruining the illusion of our perfect life.

I stepped out of the car and approached slowly, the gravel crunching under my shoes.

“I thought you were staying at your place tonight,” I said carefully.

She looked up, smiling like she’d been waiting for me. “Why? Planning to bring someone over?”

I raised a brow. “Excuse me?”

She stood, walking toward me with that lazy, feline confidence she’d mastered over the years. Her arms wrapped around my neck before I could react. “I’m kidding, Bryan. Relax. I just missed you.”

“You didn’t call,” I said.

She shrugged. “It’s going to be my house in a week. Why would I need to call?”

I exhaled slowly and forced a nod. “Right.”

In a week, she’d be my wife.

The thought used to bring certainty and comfort. But tonight, all it brought was a pounding headache.

Inside, the house was quiet. Bella kicked off her heels by the staircase and wandered barefoot across the marble floor like she already owned it. She poured herself another drink and turned to me with that familiar, flirty glint in her eyes.

“You’re quiet,” she said, walking over. “Long day?”

“Something like that.”

Her arms slid around me again. She smelled like vanilla and rosewater, expensive and soft, nothing like the sharp, heady scent that still clung to the collar of my shirt. I hadn’t even changed.

She leaned in and kissed my neck.

“I missed you,” she murmured.

A part of me wanted to pull away. The logical, responsible, guilt-ridden part forced my hands to find her waist.

‘This is your fiancée, Bryan. This is your home, your life.’

I kissed her back.

The bedroom was warm, dimly lit. She pulled me onto the bed, laughing breathlessly as she pressed herself against me.

It wasn’t gentle. It was a claiming, deep, slow, deliberate. Her nails raked down my back as her legs wrapped around me.

"You are mine," she murmured against my lips.

She slowly unbuckled my belt and put down my trousers while I watched her, my heart somewhat uninterested but I liked the way she was domineering.

Just then, she took upon her mouth my p3nis. I moaned out in pleasure and hoped it never stopped, just then, I thought of the lady at the bar. 

Why the heck is she messing with my head when I am making out with my wife to be?

In a few minutes, I had cum in her mouth and the way she stared at me and swallowed my cum made me want her instantly again. My penis arose again, and it was as though she expected it, she took off her dress, climbed on me and rode me like a horse while placing my hands on where she wanted me to touch her. 

I loved the feeling of her body, very soft and its temperature is just right. She let out a loud scream as she had reached orgasm, so close and bonding. 

She whispered in my ears, “You can’t wait to marry me, right?”

I kissed her neck and squeezed my eyes shut, trying to chase the image of the woman with no name away from my head. 

She curled into me like I was her only solace in life. Her breathing slowed, her fingers traced absent circles across my chest.

“You’re quiet again,” she whispered.

Yeah, that was unlike me, but my spirit has been jeopardized by that woman, she’s all I could think of.

I remembered her lips more vividly than the woman I am about to marry.