Chapter Twelve: The Dark Jealousy

The walk to the car is an exercise in pure agony. Every step Rhea takes causes the emerald silk to slither against her sensitized skin; a constant, shiver-inducing reminder of Dominic’s hand beneath the table.

She can feel Marcus’s gaze on her back, a physical stain that makes her skin crawl, but Dominic’s hand on her spine is heavier. It is a silent, terrifying anchor, steering her with the lethal focus of a predator. 

The moment the Maybach door thuds shut, the atmosphere turns suffocating.

The privacy glass is already up, encasing them in a black, leather-scented void. Dominic doesn't wait for the car to pull away. He lunges, grabbing the lapels of Rhea's trench coat and jerking her toward him until their noses brush.

"You liked it, didn't you?" His voice is a jagged edge, vibrating with a dark, possessive hunger.

"What, sir?" she whispers, her breath hitching in her throat.

"The way he looked at you. The way he claimed your hand." Dominic looms over her, his knee pinning hers against the seat, crushing her into the expensive leather. "I told you I don’t share. Yet you sat there and let him imagine what was under that dress."

"I couldn't stop him... I was trying to be professional…"

"You were being provocative," he snaps, his eyes flashing like a midnight storm. 

"I told you to be silent, yet you spoke. Why do you always choose to disobey?" He grips her chin, tilting her head back until she is forced to drown in his obsidian gaze. "You let him think he had a chance. Now, you’ll learn why that was a fatal mistake."

He reaches for the hem of the emerald silk, his fingers grazing her bare thigh.

"Mr. Ashcroft, please... we're in the car..."

"I don't care if we're in the middle of the street," he growls. "Remove the coat. Spread your legs."

Rhea obeys instinctively, her body reacting to his command before her mind can protest. 

She sheds the wool coat, leaving her in nothing but the thin, treacherous silk. She spreads her legs, exposed and vulnerable, knowing there is no lace or cotton to protect her from his hungry gaze.

"Wider."

She obeys, her face burning with a mix of shame and a dark, terrifying thrill. Dominic doesn't touch her yet. 

He picks up his silver fountain pen and places it vertically between her inner thighs, the cold metal biting into the skin just inches from her aching center.

"Don’t move your legs," he whispers against her ear, his breath hot and dangerous. "And you don’t get to touch me. Not a finger. You stay open for me, Fragile."

Rhea nods frantically. In these moments, she doesn't feel like a woman of thirty-four; she feels like a slave at the mercy of a king. His hands move to her breasts, circling the peaks through the silk. 

Rhea’s breath catches, and she instinctively tries to close her legs. The pen pricks her thigh, a sharp, metallic warning.

"Ahhh!" she cries out. It is a sound of sharp pain and skyrocketing pleasure.

Dominic’s mouth claims her nipple through the wet silk, sucking the fabric into his heat. A jolt of electricity runs through Rhea, making her want to snap her thighs together to find relief, but the pen is waiting. Instead, she pushes her legs wider… too wide.

The pen clatters to the floor.

"A mistake," Dominic murmurs, his voice dropping into a lethal, predatory purr.

His hands replace the pen. The metal was bearable, but his fingers are ruinous. 

He dips a thumb into her slick heat, circling her sensitive nub with a ruthless, rhythmic pressure.

"Mmmpph... ah... Mr Ashcroft..." The first moan breaks from her lips, a honeyed, desperate sound that echoes in the small space.

"Shhh," he whispers, then buries two fingers deep inside her with a violent thrust.

Rhea’s hands claw at the leather seat. She is forced to endure his pleasure while her own hands are denied the comfort of his body. 

She wails, a long, high-pitched moan of pure undone surrender as he works his fingers inside her, finding the exact spot that makes her vision go white.

"Mr Ashcroft! Ah! Please... I'm…I'm going to…."

"Go then," he commands, his voice thick. "Climax for me while I watch you ruin my car."

Rhea shudders, her body racking with a violent, toe-curling release. 

She sobs out his name, her moans turning into broken cries of "Yes... ah, please..." as the silk is soaked through and clinging to her skin.

Dominic abruptly withdraws, moving back into the seat. Rhea is left shaking, her breath coming in jagged hitches, her face flushed and tear-stained. The sudden cold is a shock.

He reaches out, pulling the glasses from her face. He uses his thumb to wipe a stray tear from her cheek, his expression unreadable and stone-cold once more.

"Good girl," he says, the softness of the praise more terrifying than his anger. "Now, fix your dress. We're going to my penthouse. And the night is far from over."