Page 72 of Bound in Ruin

A sudden wave of heat flushes across my skin. I clear my throat. He pulls away as I struggle for the right words.

Before I can even pull out my card, Dominic seamlessly steps around me, sliding a black metal card across the counter toward a smiling Marcus.

"Handled," he says smoothly, leaving zero room for argument.

We step out of the salon into the bright afternoon air. I expect us to head straight for the parked car, but Dominic catches my hand, his long fingers lacing tightly through mine, and turns toward the high-end shopping arcade adjacent to the salon building.

I pull back slightly, frowning up at him. "Where are we going? Dominic, I don't want to shop."

"We're not shopping," he says, offering no further explanation as he leads me through the polished marble concourse, completely ignoring my bewildered look.

He navigates the corridor with quiet, purposeful strides until he pulls me into a secluded, lavishly finished powder room corridor tucked away from the main concourse. Before I can open my mouth to ask what on earth we're doing, the heavy door swings shut, locking us inside the marble-tiled space.

Dominic spins me around, shoving my back firmly against the cool wall, his broad frame instantly pinning me in place.

"Dominic—" I gasp, my breath catching in my throat as his heavy hands grip my hips, pulling me flush against the hard length of his body.

"Silence, Rosalia," he growls, his dark gaze burning down into mine with a fierce, reckless intensity. "I told you I couldn't wait."

He doesn't give me time to think, crashing his mouth down on mine in a brutal, possessive kiss that steals the last breath from my lungs. His tongue sweeps inside, claiming my mouth with a feverish, primitive hunger, tasting me like a man dying of thirst.

I let out a breathless, muffled gasp against his lips, my fingers tangling wildly in his dark hair, pulling him closer as the sheer thrill of the risk—of being in a public building, mere steps away from the bustling arcade with only a locked door between us—sends an electric current straight down my spine.

"Dominic... someone could walk by—" I gasp out, my chest heaving as he drags his lips down my jawline, biting softly at the sensitive skin of my throat.

"Let them," he growls, his low voice vibrating against my skin. "Let anyone try to open this door, Rosalia. I dare them."

His large hands slide up my thighs, gathering the fabric of my dress and bunching it up around my waist with zero patience. The air hits my exposed skin, making me shiver, but the fiery heat radiating from his body instantly burns it away.

His fingers dig firmly into the meat of my hips, lifting me slightly and pressing me harder against the solid marble wall until every inch of my body is pinned under his raw, overwhelming weight.

"You have no idea what you do to me," he breathes darkly, his eyes dark, wild, and utterly consumed as he stares down at me. "Sitting there in that chair... looking so damn beautiful...."

He hitches my leg up over his hip, his thumb tracing a scorching line along my inner thigh. I bite my lower lip to keep from crying out loud as he shifts my underwear aside, his broad chest rising and falling in harsh breaths against mine.

"Look at me," he commands, his voice dropping into a thick, lethal order that leaves me trembling. "Keep your eyes on me, Rosalia. I want you to remember who owns every inch of this body."

When he drives into me, a sharp, gasping cry escapes my throat. My head falls back against the marble with a soft thud, my toes curling as he claims me with thick, uncompromising strokes. He doesn't hold back. Every thrust is deep, and full of a dark, possessive urgency that shatters my remaining composure into dust.

His hand slides around to cup the back of my neck, tilting my head up so he can watch the wild, undone expression on my face.

"Say it," he growls against my mouth, his hips snapping forward in a relentless, punishing rhythm that makes the breath hitch in my chest. "Say you're mine."

"Yours," I sob out quietly, my nails digging deep into the fabric of his suit jacket as the coil in my stomach tightens to an unbearable, agonizing pitch. "Dominic... please..."

"Good girl," he purrs darkly, the dirty, quiet praise sliding straight into my veins like poison. He speeds up, his touch growling rougher, more desperate, his forehead resting against mine as he drives us both right over the razor's edge.

The world outside the locked door completely vanishes. There is no trial, no threats—only the sound of our ragged breathing, the friction of skin against fabric, and the dark, intoxicating thrill of being completely undone by my husband.

The risk of someone walking into the corridor, of a handle turning just inches away, sharpens every sensation to a razor's edge. My heartbeat hammers against my ribs, matching the relentless rhythm of his hips pinning me against the cool marble wall.

Dominic shifts, driving deeper, his broad hand gripping my hip so hard his fingers leave a bruise I know I'll trace tomorrow. The coil in my stomach snaps completely, shattering my control into a thousand pieces as a silent, trembling shudder rips through my entire body.

He feels me break. With a low, guttural growl against my neck, Dominic buries his face into the crook of my shoulder and gives into his own release, his broad frame rigid, holding me tightly against the wall until the heavy tremors finally subside.

For a long moment, the only sound in the locked powder room is our ragged, tangled breathing.

Dominic slowly lifts his head. His dark hair is rumpled, his eyes heavy with an intense, ferociously possessive fire. He cups my jaw with a calloused hand, leaning in to press a deep, searing, almost feral kiss against my bruised lips.