Chapter Thirty-Four: Ruin Me

He didn't announce himself with words. He simply materialized behind me like smoke and shadow, sliding one strong arm around my waist and pressing his lips against the sensitive spot where my neck met my hairline.

The touch sent shivers racing down my spine, and I melted back against the solid warmth of his chest.

"You're quiet," he murmured against my skin, his breath hot enough to make me dizzy.

"I'm thinking," I replied, my voice coming out softer than intended.

"About what?"

I tilted my head back against his shoulder, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against my spine. "How easy it is to shift from villain to victor in the span of a single evening. How quickly people's opinions change when they realize they've underestimated you."

He turned me in his arms, his hands settling on my hips with possessive certainty. His eyes were dark and unreadable in the dim light, but there was something fierce burning in their depths.

"You didn't just destroy them tonight," he said, his voice rough with emotion. "You obliterated them. Every single person who doubted you, who whispered about you, who thought they could break you—you made them watch as you rose from the ashes stronger than before."

I met his gaze, feeling something shift between us. "Did I?"

He stepped closer, eliminating the last inch of space between our bodies. I could feel the heat radiating from his skin through the expensive fabric of his tuxedo, could smell the intoxicating blend of his cologne and something uniquely him.

"You did," he said, his voice dropping to that tone that made liquid heat pool in my belly. "And now..."

His hands tightened on my hips, pulling me flush against him.

"Now let me ruin you a little too."

Then he kissed me.

Slow at first, like he was savoring the taste of victory on my lips. But the kiss quickly deepened, became possessive, demanding, like he wanted to claim every part of me that had just claimed the world.

His tongue swept into my mouth, and I gasped at the sensation, my hands fisting in the lapels of his jacket to keep myself upright. He tasted like champagne and power and promises, and I wanted to drown in him.

I kissed him back with months of pent-up desire and frustration, pouring every emotion I couldn't voice into the connection between our mouths. My body pressed against his, and I could feel his response—hard and urgent against my hip.

His hand slid up my spine with deliberate slowness, fingers tangling in the elaborate updo that had somehow survived the evening's chaos. With a gentle tug, he loosened the pins, and my hair tumbled down my back in dark waves.

"Beautiful," he breathed against my lips, his voice rough with want. "So fucking beautiful."

I gasped into his mouth as his other hand traced the neckline of my gown, fingertips barely grazing the swell of my breasts. The touch was feather-light but it set every nerve ending on fire.

"Dominic," I whispered, not sure if I was begging him to stop or continue.

"I know," he murmured, his lips trailing down my throat. "I know, baby. But I need—God, I need to touch you. To remind myself that you're real, that you're mine, that they can't take you away from me."

His mouth found the pulse point at the base of my throat, and he sucked gently, hard enough to mark but not hard enough to hurt. The sensation sent electricity racing straight to my core.

My hands moved of their own accord, sliding inside his jacket to feel the solid warmth of his chest through his shirt. I could feel his heart hammering against his ribs, matching the frantic rhythm of my own.

"Right here?" I asked breathlessly, even as my body arched into his touch.

"Right here," he confirmed, his voice dark with promise. "Let them see. Let everyone know exactly who you belong to."

His hand slipped lower, tracing the curve of my waist through the silk of my gown. The fabric was thin enough that I could feel the heat of his palm branding my skin.

"You were magnificent tonight," he whispered against my ear, his breath making me shiver. "Watching you destroy them, watching you claim your power—it was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

I was completely lost in the sensation of his hands on my body, his mouth on my skin, when reality crashed back into focus.

"Ahem."

Jules.

Her tone wasn't amused. At all.

We broke apart like teenagers caught by disapproving parents, both of us breathing hard and looking thoroughly disheveled. My lips felt swollen from his kisses, and there was probably a mark on my throat that would be visible in tomorrow's photos.

"Sorry to interrupt what is clearly a private moment," Jules said dryly, though I caught the hint of amusement in her eyes. "But we have a situation that requires immediate attention."

Dominic's expression immediately shifted from lover to predator. "What kind of situation?"

She didn't answer right away, just gestured for us to follow her.

So we did, walking back toward the house hand in hand, my body still humming with unfulfilled desire and the lingering taste of his kiss on my lips.

Back into the marble halls that had witnessed our triumph.

Back into reality.

And just before we reached the front doors, something made me pause. Call it intuition, call it paranoia, call it the survival instinct that had kept me alive through Blake's betrayal—but I glanced over my shoulder one last time.

And froze.

Blake stood at the far edge of the courtyard, half-hidden by the shadows of an ancient oak tree.

Alone.

Completely disheveled in a way that spoke of hours of drinking and self-destruction. His bow tie hung undone around his neck, his usually perfect hair was mussed, and his eyes were bloodshot with exhaustion and something darker.

And he was staring at me.

Not with the love he'd claimed to feel earlier.

Not with the regret that had colored his pathetic apology.

With pure, undiluted rage.

Like I'd stolen something precious from him and he wanted it back.

Like he couldn't breathe without me in his orbit—and hated me for making him need something he couldn't have.

His jaw was clenched so tight I could see the muscle jumping beneath his skin. His hands were curled into fists at his sides. His entire body radiated the kind of fury that came from watching someone else claim what you believed belonged to you.

Our eyes met across the courtyard, and in that moment, I saw something that made my blood run cold.

Blake Reynolds wasn't done fighting for me.

He was unraveling, coming apart at the seams, and he was going to drag me into the wreckage with him.

The war wasn't over.

It was just beginning.