All Chapters of Ruthless Desires: Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

Anna’s POVDominic’s penthouse had the kind of silence that didn’t comfort—it oppressed. It was vast, immaculate, and cold. The air was always scented faintly of cedarwood and expensive cologne, and yet I still felt like I couldn’t breathe. The high ceilings only made the place feel emptier, like I was shouting into a void and getting nothing back but echoes of myself.I spent most of my time pacing between the bedroom, the kitchen, and his sprawling glass-walled office, where I managed an endless loop of meetings, calls, and meticulously structured schedules. I hadn’t known a crime lord’s life could look so much like a Fortune 500 CEO’s. But Dominic’s empire wasn’t built on muscle alone—it ran on discipline, strategy, and an unsettling ability to predict everyone’s next move.I should’ve known that extended to me.I sat cross-legged on the oversized bed that night, the cool tablet screen resting against my thighs as I reviewed tomorrow’s itinerary. His day was booked solid—back-to-ba

Dominic’s POVAnna thought she could fight me.She thought she could hide behind stiff professionalism and clipped sentences, like that would be enough to keep me at bay. But I’d seen it—the flush that bloomed beneath her skin when I stood too close, the breath she held when my hand brushed against hers, the tension that curled in her shoulders when she thought I wasn’t looking. That wasn’t indifference. That was restraint. Fragile. Brittle.I had given her space. Let her pretend our arrangement was purely business. Let her wear her armor of distance and dignity. But the thing about walls was, they cracked. And I had every intention of making her shatter.Not through force.But through heat.I wouldn’t take her. Not until she came to me. Until she begged for it. Until she admitted the truth neither of us could keep denying: she was mine.And today, I would start breaking her down.She was in the kitchen when I came out of my room, the soft clink of porcelain meeting marble as she pour

(Dominic’s POV)Her legs wrapped tighter around me, her breath catching as I pressed against her—hard and aching, straining through the thin barrier of my sweatpants. Her fingers gripped my shoulders like she didn’t trust herself to let go.I ran my hand down the curve of her side, slow and possessive, lingering at her hip.“I tried,” I murmured, voice low against her skin. “Tried to live without you.”Her eyes opened—wide and searching.“But I can’t,” I said. “I missed you, Anna. Every second. Every fucking breath.”She didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to. Her hand slid down my chest again, over the hard ridges of muscle, trembling as she moved lower.I let my palm drift, wrapping around her hip, my fingers curling down beneath her, squeezing the soft, perfect shape of her ass. She gasped, and I swallowed it in another kiss.My hand slid up to the hem of her sweater.“Can I?” I asked, my voice thick.She hesitated. Not from fear. Just the weight of it all. The memories. The want.

Dominic’s POVBrion Hills Golf Club looked exactly the same as it had a decade ago—immaculate down to the blades of grass, a monument to excess and ego disguised as tradition. Everything about it reeked of curated legacy. Even the air here smelled like privilege—cigars, cedar, and the faintest whiff of some overpriced cologne peddled as "heritage." It was the kind of place where old money didn’t just whisper—it barked orders between strokes, where new money showed up overdressed and desperate, praying someone at the clubhouse bar remembered their grandfather’s name.And for what we were about to do, it was perfect.Anna walked beside me, steady and silent. Her crisp white shirt was tucked with precision into her dark jeans, and every step she took on the manicured gravel paths felt deliberate—controlled. She didn’t ask questions once we pulled past the gate, but I saw it in her. The tension. Not fear—Anna didn’t do fear—but a low hum of alertness beneath her calm. She kept touching the

(Dominic’s POV)She sat beside me in the backseat like nothing happened last night.Legs crossed. Spine straight. Hair up in one of those tight buns she only did when she wanted to pretend her control was real. Tablet in hand, stylus poised, that same damn calm, clipped tone she always used when she was trying to keep a professional distance.As if I hadn’t fucked the fight out of her on almost every surface of my house. As if I hadn’t watched her come apart in my lap, nails in my back, moaning like she hated how much she loved it.“As of now, you’re expected in the tenth-floor conference room by ten,” she said, flipping to the next screen. “Rosa confirmed the quarterly finance deck is updated. She wants time to brief you personally.”I hummed. Noncommittal. Stretched my arm out along the backseat, fingers just brushing the curve of her shoulder.She ignored it. Little liar.Her voice didn’t waver, but I saw the twitch at her throat when I leaned in close.“Keep going,” I said softly.