Page 7 of Ava After Midnight (Chaos and Chemistry #2)

Chapter Seven

AVA

T he storm thrums against the windows, powerful and relentless. Inside the dance studio, the air is thick—with humidity, with tension, with something neither of us want to name. My pulse is steady, but my hands aren’t. I flex my fingers, watching Domingo from where he stands in the middle of the room, watching me.

Not impatient. Not pushing, not guiding, not even teasing. He’s waiting.

For me.

It’s the only thing keeping me grounded. If he had smirked, if he had reached for me, if he had spoken first—I might have wavered. But he’s giving me the choice.

And I take it.

I should hesitate. I should question this, second-guess what I’m about to do, overthink it until I ruin the moment. But I don’t. Because right now, he’s mine to do anything I want with.

I take a step forward. Then another. His chest rises and falls in slow, controlled breaths, but when I press my palm flat against him, dark eyes locked on mine, watching, wanting.

“You’re really going to let me do this?” My voice is quieter than I expect.

Domingo’s eyes don’t waver. “I need you to want to.”

Something tightens in my chest.

No one’s ever asked me what I want before.

I glance down at where my hand is pressed against him, at the steady, strong rhythm of his heartbeat beneath my palm. At the way his muscles flex—not in resistance, but in waiting.

Do I want this?

The answer is obvious.

I want to laugh. I want to tell him I have no fucking idea what I’m doing.

Instead, I move with the reckless certainty of a woman who refuses to hesitate.

“Then you’ll do as I say,” I tell him, dragging my nails down his jaw. He doesn’t nod, doesn’t answer. He just breathes.

A hint of a smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Yes, princesa .”

I press my thumb against his bottom lip, and he opens his mouth without thinking, without questioning. I feel his breath, the heat of him, the tension coiling beneath his skin. A muscle jumps in his jaw, but he doesn’t break eye contact.

The control I thought I’d never have—the ability to pull him apart with just this—floods through me like a rush of air after drowning.

I press harder. “Say it, again.”

“Yes, princesa .”

I exhale slowly. He means it.

I yank at his belt, pulling it free from the loops. The leather hisses against fabric, a sharp sound in the quiet space between us. His breath stutters—just a little—but he doesn’t move. The weight of the belt feels good in my hands, solid and certain. Domingo’s arms stay loose at his sides, waiting.

I step behind him, pressing my chest flush against his back, letting my breath fan over the curve of his shoulder. He smells like clean sweat and musk, something darker underneath, something purely him.

“Hands,” I murmur against his ear.

A slow, deep inhale pushes from his chest before he obeys, shifting his arms behind him.

I tighten the leather around his wrists, the buckle clicking into place. He exhales, long and controlled. Settling into it.

I step back to take him in. His chest rises and falls a little faster now, his hands flexing behind him in a test of restraint. Fully dressed, completely restrained, waiting on my next move.

“I can take more,” he murmurs, voice edged with challenge.

My hands slide down his stomach, past his waistband, stopping just before I touch him.

He groans.

“You don’t like being kept waiting?”

His jaw clenches. “I can wait.”

I hum, dragging my nails along his lower stomach. “You sure?”

His breath stutters. His restraint is cracking—I can feel it in the way his thighs tense, in the shallow hitch of his exhale.

I grip his jaw, forcing his gaze on me.

“I want to hear you beg for me.”

Silence stretches between us, heavy with defiance and something darker, something hungry.

I tighten my grip. “Do it.”

His voice is rough, wrecked. “Please, Ava?—”

“No.” I press closer, rolling my hips just enough to make him shudder. My lips brush his earlobe, teasing. “Try again.”

His throat bobs, breath stuttering. He swallows his pride and chokes on his need.

" Por favor ," he whispers, then again, louder. " Por favor, mi amor. Déjame corr ?—"

I drag my nails down his stomach, cutting him off.

“That’s my good boy,” I murmur. “Ask me sweetly, and I’ll ruin you properly.”

Only then, I finally give him what he’s been aching for. My hand wraps around him, stroking him through his pants, slow and torturous. His head drops back against the mirror, a wrecked sound slipping free.

He tries to rut into my hand, but I stop him.

“You don’t get to take,” I murmur. “You get what I give you.”

His muscles strain, his body screaming for more. His fingers twitch behind his back, testing his restraints.

I reach for my phone.

Domingo’s eyes flicker open, hazy but sharp beneath the fog. “Ava?—”

“You said I could do anything,” I remind him.

His throat works as he swallows. “I’m yours to use.”

The way it breaks out of him, rough and wrecked, makes want to fuck him right then and there, but first I needed my fun. I hold the camera up, framing him in the screen. His wrists are still bound behind him, his body flushed with heat, completely undone for me.

I hover my thumb over the record button.

“Then let me keep this,” I say softly. “Let me watch you. Let me see how much you want this.”

His muscles tense. His jaw flexes. His entire body is fighting for control, and he’s losing.

“Say no,” I murmur. Daring him.

His breath stutters.

He doesn’t say no.

I hit Record.

The camera captures everything—his wrecked expression, his chest rising and falling too fast, his lips parted on shallow, stuttering breaths. I shift on his lap, pressing against him, watching the way his jaw clenches, the way his throat works.

“You want me?” I tell him, positioning myself over him. “Watch me take it.”

I sink onto him, slow and unrelenting.

His back bows, his throat tips back, his mouth parts in a silent, wrecked sound.

His jaw is tight, his hands useless behind him, his body trembling under mine.

“Look at yourself,” I whisper, moving just enough to drive him insane.

I tilt the phone so he can see exactly what I’m doing to him.

His head lolls to the side—but his eyes stay on the screen.

I ride him, slow at first, watching every flex of his stomach, every twitch of his fingers, every ragged, desperate breath.

I grind down, making it worse, making him shudder.

His lips part, eyes heavy, voice wrecked. “Ava?—”

“Not yet.”

He groans, muscles straining, cock throbbing inside me.

I drag my nails up his chest, the rhythm of his heartbeat surging beneath my fingers.

His eyes flutter. His breath stutters.

“I want to hear you beg again.”

His voice isn’t smooth anymore. It’s wrecked, gravelly, so fucking raw.

“Please.”

“More.”

“Please, let me come.”

I ride him harder.

His hips jerk involuntarily.

I drag my hand up his stomach, nails scraping along muscle, watching the way he trembles beneath my touch. A low groan rumbles through him, frustration curling into pleasure.

“You like fucking me?”

A tiny nod, barely there.

I grab his face.

“Open.”

His breath shudders, but he listens. His mouth parts.

I spit into his mouth.

His whole body tightens, a growl escaping from deep in his chest.

I swipe my thumb over his lower lip.

“Swallow.”

He does.

I smile. “Good boy.”

His restraint is in shreds. His body is shaking beneath me. His breaths come out sharp, desperate.

I let my weight settle on him fully, grinding against him, pressing him to the edge.

He groans, head falling back, his body aching for release.

I stop.

His voice is wrecked, guttural. “Ava?—”

I stroke my fingers through his hair, tilting his head up to meet my gaze. “Try again.”

His lips part on a ragged exhale. His voice is barely a whisper.

“ Dame todo, mi reina. Ruíname. ”

I press a kiss to his temple. “Good boy. Come for me, Domingo.”

His entire body tenses beneath me, trembling, lost in pleasure. A guttural groan tears from his throat as he spills into my hand, his breath coming in sharp, shallow bursts.

I keep the camera on him, recording every second.

He shudders, groaning my name, shaking beneath me as I take him through it.

I don’t stop recording. I capture every moment of his ruin.

And when it’s done—when he’s completely wrecked, completely mine—I stop the video.

Slowly, I unbuckle the belt, freeing his wrists. He just watches me.

I swallow. “This is what you wanted, right?”

His voice is soft but firm. “I wanted you.”

Fuck. I just gave a man like him the perfect excuse to take everything back.