Page 17 of Blackmailing Belle (The Lost Girls #4)

Chapter 17

A Snack is Hiding in the Pantry

BELLE

T he mansion is colder at night, its sprawling halls a labyrinth of shadows and quiet menace. Barefoot, clad only in the strappy lingerie I stupidly thought would help make this easier , I dart through the dark corridors, my breath sharp in my chest. My bare skin prickles with the chill in the air, and my nerves are alight with the knowledge that Dominic is somewhere behind me.

Hunting me. And gods help me, I like it.

The realization sends a flush of heat through my already overworked body. What is wrong with me? Why did I say that?

I like it to hurt a little.

Who says something like that?

But even as the thought crosses my mind, another follows close behind. It’s not like it’s a lie. I’ve had short flings, nights spent with men who liked it rough—men who left marks and bruises, the kind I didn’t mind seeing in the mirror the next day. I even dabbled in the Dom/sub world for a while, thinking maybe that was my answer.

It wasn’t. But what surprised me most wasn’t the kink itself—it was the part of me that came alive during it. The part that welcomed withstanding, absorbing all that power, taking it into me.

The part that Dominic seems to have unleashed without even trying.

It’s absurd how quiet he is for someone his size. The mansion swallows sound, but even so, the soft scrape of claws against wood—the claws of his half-shifted lion feet—is barely perceptible. The anticipation sends a thrill coursing through me, equal parts fear and. . .something far more dangerous.

I round a corner, pressing myself flat to the wall, my chest rising and falling rapidly.

The faintest growl echoes through the hall, low and predatory. A shiver races down my spine. My breath catches, heart pounding in my chest as I push off the wall and take off again. My bare feet slap the cold floor, and the sound feels impossibly loud in the eerie silence of the house.

The mansion's heavy, locked doors that had frustrated me endlessly during my earlier explorations now serve as my salvation. I zigzag through the halls, twisting handles until one finally gives way, darting through and slamming it shut behind me. My fingers fumble with the lock just as the handle jerks violently from the other side.

A growl reverberates through the thick wood, shaking me to my core.

I step back, gasping for air, but I don’t dare linger. He’ll find another way in. Dominic knows this house better than I do, and I can’t afford to be cornered.

Think, Belle. Think.

I scan the room—an unused sitting room with furniture covered in white sheets—before slipping through an adjoining door. The air here is colder, the hall beyond narrow and darker. My pulse thunders in my ears as I make my way through, locking the door behind me and continuing forward.

My feet carry me in random patterns, weaving through hallways and adjoining rooms, locking each door I pass to throw him off. Adrenaline thrills through me, making my senses acutely aware. I’m so aware of my breath, my skin, my state of undress, and the throbbing pulse at my center.

I risk a glance over my shoulder as I round another corner—and nearly scream. Two glowing green eyes cut through the darkness behind me, a feral gleam that’s all predator.

A low growl builds, sending vibrations down the hall. I don’t wait.

I bolt.

His heat closes in, his growls sharper now, like a lion stalking its prey. Each thud of his footsteps seems to match the rapid pounding of my heart. The walls blur around me and my breath burns in my lungs, but I push harder.

No one expects a girl my size to move this fast, but jogging with an audiobook has always been my escape. While it hasn’t made me an athlete, it’s enough to keep Dominic at bay—for now. The mansion works in my favor, its labyrinthine halls and countless rooms offering a chance to stay ahead.

I dart into another room—a formal parlor by the looks of it—slamming the door behind me and locking it. I barely have time to brace myself when the doorknob rattles again, followed by the unmistakable sound of claws scraping against the wood.

"Isabelle," he purrs through the wood. The way he says my name sends a shiver through me, causing my nipples to tighten in anticipation. "When I catch you, I’m going to eat you alive."

My knees weaken at the promise, but I steel myself and slip through another door, locking it behind me as I continue. My path becomes more erratic, weaving through hallways and rooms in no particular order. The sound of him grows faint, then disappears altogether, but I know better than to assume I’ve lost him.

I stumble into the kitchen, my feet sliding against the tile as rain pelts against the towering windows. The faint glow from the property lamps outside filters through the glass, casting fractured beams of light that only deepen the shadows. The massive space feels cavernous and unsettling, every corner cloaked in a dim, eerie stillness. My chest heaves as I scan for a hiding place, my eyes landing on the walk-in pantry.

Perfect.

I slip inside, closing the door as quietly as I can and pressing my back against the shelves. The smell of flour and spices fills my nose as I strain to hear any sign of him. My breath comes shallow, my heart pounding against my ribs.

For a moment, there’s only silence.

Then, the soft click of claws against tile.

I press a hand to my mouth, stifling the sound of my breathing as the footsteps draw closer. He’s here. The pantry door creaks open slightly, the dim light of the kitchen spilling in.

Then the door swings fully open, and there he is, his massive frame filling the doorway, his eyes glowing with hunger. His claws grip the edge of the door, and the sharp points of his teeth glint as he grins.

"Perfect place for a delicious thing like you to hide." His voice is rough velvet, curling around me with dangerous intent.

Before I can answer, he scoops me into his arms as if I weigh nothing, carrying me effortlessly out of the pantry and into the kitchen. His claws scrape along my bare thighs as he sets me on the ice-cold marble island. A gasp escapes me, the chill of the surface’s stark contrast to the heat pooling low in my belly.

"Dominic," I start, but the word dies on my lips as he steps between my legs, his massive frame eclipsing everything else. His hands grip my thighs, the rough pads of his palms grazing sensitive skin as he pulls me closer to the edge.

"I told you I was going to eat you up.” The gravelly words vibrate through me in a way that’s entirely unfair.

Despite the heat pooling in my belly, my defenses rise instinctively, shielding the sudden vulnerability creeping in. "Maybe the kitchen is closed."

The growl deepens, rumbling in his chest like a warning. He steps closer, pressing into me, and I can feel the dangerous heat radiating off him. "For everyone else, perhaps. Not for me."

I tilt my head, raising a brow. "And what makes you so special?"

His lips curl into a slow, dangerous smile, sharp teeth glinting in the faint light spilling in from the windows. "I take what I want, when I want it."

His shoulders loom over me, broad and unyielding, his hair thick and wild where it brushes my bare legs. The kitchen is dim, the fractured beams of light from the rain-soaked windows casting eerie shadows across his sharp, half-shifted features. His glowing green eyes lock on me, filled with a predatory hunger that makes my breath hitch.

My pulse spikes, but I refuse to let him see how his words affect me. But then he splits my legs apart so quick and hard I gasp. The strap of my lingerie barely hides anything from his gaze, and my center is already damp with my excitement.

When he lowers his head, I can feel his breath against me, hot and deliberate. My chest heaves, my nipples tight beneath the sheer fabric as I watch him, unable to look away.

It only now occurs to me how much my husband has been holding back his animal nature. It gleams from his eyes with predatory satisfaction, and I inspired it. The thought is too heady to absorb.

My breath cuts off abruptly. Dominic’s thumb brushes over my barely covered cleft, slow and deliberate. His eyes flick up to meet mine, and a wicked smile curves his lips.

"So wet for me, wife."

He drags his thumb back and forth, rubbing the slickness through the thin material before lifting it to his mouth.

I can only watch, entranced, as his tongue curls over his thumb, licking it clean with a deliberate swipe. The way he does it—like he’s savoring something rare and precious.

"So sweet," he murmurs, his voice a dangerous purr.

My heart flutters with anticipation. "All full yet?" I push a little more.

"You like being a brat?" he says in a low musing tone. A claw hooks under the strap, knuckles flush against my bare sex as he yanks it. I slide a couple inches to the edge of the island, then he jerks that thin bit of cloth to the side. Before I can register what he’s doing, I jerk at the smack of his hand against my already bare neediness.

"Oh, that gasp was delicious, wife," he coos dangerously, though I can barely comprehend his words or register any sounds escaping me. "I think I’ll have another." He spanks me again, a loud slapping sound against my wetness. I cry out in surprise.

" Delicious ," he repeats.

He throws my legs over his broad shoulders, locking me in place, and dives in tongue first, licking and sucking me with a fervor that has my back arching off the counter.

Oh gods.

Oh fuck.

It’s so good. It’s out of this world good, and he has me bucking and begging for more even as he gives it.

His tongue moves like it has a mind of its own, curling and flicking, exploring every inch of me with unrelenting hunger. Its sheer length allows him to reach places I didn’t even know existed, drawing cries from me that echo in the vast, empty kitchen.

I squirm beneath him, overwhelmed by the intensity of his assault, but his claws dig into my thighs, holding me steady. "Stay still," he growls, lifting his head just enough to shoot me a warning look. His lips glisten with my slickness, his sharp teeth peeking through as he smirks. "I'm eating here, wife. Don’t interrupt my meal."

The way he calls me wife. It’s the same every time. A slightly irreverent, ironic moniker, but always possessive. He says it the way he always does, but I know I’ll never hear him call me that again without being transported directly back to this moment where he mocks and tortures me.

It stokes something rebellious inside me. I curve my back deliberately, rolling my hips forward just enough to break the contact between us. The shock on his face is fleeting, replaced almost instantly by something darker, more dangerous.

"I was just helping," I murmur, breathless but defiant. "Thought you might need a better angle."

Dominic’s sharp teeth glint in the dim light as his lips pull back in a feral smile. "A better angle?" His voice is a purr.

Before I can respond, two fingers plunge inside me, filling me with a sudden, shocking heat. My head snaps back, a cry tearing from my throat as my body clenches around him. His digits curl, dragging along something deep inside me. Sparks explode behind my closed eyelids.

"Does that feel like I need your help?" he growls, his breath hot against my ear. His pace is relentless, each thrust precise, claiming me in a way that leaves no room for resistance. My body isn’t striving for release—he’s taking it from me, pulling it out with every pump of his hand, every flick of his thumb to my clit. He uses the beastly paw to push down on my lower stomach, intensifying the sensations.

"Dominic," I gasp. I’m near splintering as my hands scrabble over the counter for balance. My body trembles, every nerve alight with the intensity of his assault. I’m spiraling upward and I can’t decide if it’s too fast or not fast enough.

"Do you want to come, dear wife?" he asks, his tone mocking, daring. His thumb presses my clit, circling in slow, devastating strokes that have me teetering on the edge.

"Yes," I whimper, my words cracking as my body shakes. "Please."

His growl deepens, and he dips his head, his eyes glowing as they lock on mine. "Then you’ll do exactly what I say.” His words are dark. "Push those straps down. Show me those pretty pink nipples."

My hands tremble as I obey, the cool air brushing against my flushed skin as I bare myself to him. My breasts are heavy and aching, the peaks tight and sensitive under his feral gaze.

"Good girl," he rasps, his clawed hand palms one breast, his thumb brushing over the hardened bud. The fingers inside me curl, dragging a broken cry from my lips. "Now come for me."

Then his mouth is on me again, his tongue flattens over my clit with a deliberate stroke. The texture of it—rough yet smooth, curling at the edges—sends me hurtling over the edge. My thighs clench around his head, my body locking as my orgasm crashes through me, violent and all-consuming.

Dominic doesn’t stop. His fingers pump into me, his tongue teasing me through every wave of pleasure, until I’m a trembling, incoherent mess beneath him.

When I finally collapse on the counter, he pulls back, his chest heaving. His lips glisten with my release.

He lifts his fingers to his mouth, licking them clean with a deliberate, feline grace. His glowing eyes lock on mine as he smirks, his voice a dark purr. "That’s merely the appetizer course."

My body shudders at his words, every nerve still alight with the aftermath of his dominance.

I’m trembling, my thighs still quivering from the force of my orgasm. This isn’t over. Not even close.