His muscular chest rose slow, deliberate, as if he were syncing his breathing to mine.
“You’re shaking.” He reached his hand to mine and slipped his fingers along my knuckles. “But it’s not fear, or at least. . .notonlyfear. There’s desire in your trembling.”
I swallowed. “That’s not an answer.”
“Hmmm.” He leaned my way and dipped his head closer to mine, not touching, just hovering close enough for his breath to stir the curls near my temple.
My pulse battered.
His restraint was the most terrifying part—that he could stand there, holding all that muscle and violence back, pretending patience.
“Why won’t you tell me what you did?”
“Because that’s the wrong question.” Dominic’s lips curved, dark and knowing. “Instead. . .you should ask me what I am willing to do next.”
Terror shattered me into pieces.
Holy fuck.
Chapter twenty-three
Lethal Devotion
Dominic
I didn’t lace Scott’s beer to be merciful.
I did it so the house would finally know who it answers to.
And I knew I was becoming even more of a madman for Teyonah.
But. . .I didn't care.
Soft jazz poured through my basement apartment. Three candles shouldered a warm glow along the walls, the peonies stood in a short white vase on the desk, and the bed was made to hold us both as I devoured Teyonah.
Does she see the madness within my mind? I hope not.
Sandalwood and warm wax braided the air.
So close, I watched her feeling two things radiate off her curvy body.
Fear and arousal.
The inside of my mouth still ached from the fresh piercing. I’d spent my lunch break downtown, sitting in a sterile chair and thinking only of her.
The new silver bulb pressed cool against my tongue.
The appointment had cost six hundred dollars at a private studio in the city—the kind of place that didn't advertise, where clients came by referral only and paid in cash for discretion. I'd taken time off from the hospital, driven fast so I wouldn’t miss it, and sat in a leather chair that probably cost more than most people's monthly rent.
Worth every cent if it made her scream my name.
I had told myself it was necessary. I’d studied pressure and nerve endings long enough to know what the bulb could do—the right touch to her clit, the right rhythm, and she’d unravel in my hands. I planned to do just that this evening.
I stuck my tongue out.
She blinked. “Dominic. . .did you get your tongue pierced?”
“Yes.”
