Page 18 of Blackmailing Belle (The Lost Girls #4)
Chapter 18
Fuck, Fuck, Bite, Fuck
BELLE
D ominic is already scooping me up again, his hands rough and unrelenting as he pulls me against his chest. His claws press just shy of breaking my skin, the sharpness a constant, thrilling reminder of the predator holding me.
"Dominic," I manage, my voice barely more than a shaky whisper, but he doesn’t answer. He’s moving, striding out of the kitchen with single-minded purpose, his heat searing into me even through his half-shifted form.
The shadows of the mansion blur around us as he takes me to his bedroom, the air growing heavier, darker, as though the house itself is holding its breath. By the time he kicks the door shut behind us, my pulse is racing again, my senses on high alert.
He sets me down on the edge of the bed, his eyes raking over me in the faint light filtering through the curtains. "You have no idea how hard it’s been to hold back," he mutters, his voice rough, strained.
I barely have time to process his words before he takes a step back and begins to strip. His shirt comes off first, revealing the broad, muscled expanse of his chest, the skin lined with jagged strips of fur. My breath hitches as I watch him, my gaze drawn to the claws that flex and curl at his sides, to the way his muscles ripple with barely restrained power.
But it’s when he removes his pants that my heart stutters. His cock is impossibly large, ridged, and—dear gods—barbed.
Right. Every last bit of him is half-shifted.
I’d read enough shifter romance to know about knotting with canine based shifters, and that feline shifters have barbed penises. But I’ve never seen one, much less been about to be penetrated by one.
It should terrify me, but it doesn’t. Instead, it sends a rush of heat straight between my thighs, and I can’t stop myself from leaning forward, reaching for him.
"Isabelle," he growls, a warning that only makes me more determined. I want to touch him, to feel the weight of him in my hands, to know every inch of this man who’s unraveling me piece by piece.
The ridges under my fingertips are firm but flexible, like molten steel wrapped in silk. He’s so hard, yet the skin glides easily beneath my hand as I stroke him, the barbs flattening slightly with each motion, teasing my palm with their strange but not unpleasant texture. He shudders, a barely contained tremor that vibrates through my touch, and I grow bolder, my grip tightening.
My mouth waters with anticipation as I take him in, the heat of his length radiating through my palm. When I lay my tongue on him, tasting, engulfing his growl deepens, filling the room.
"Stop," he pants, his claws gripping my hair and pulling me back. His eyes burn into mine, a feral glow. "If you do that, I won’t be able to control myself. And I have to be inside you."
There’s something raw in his plea, an edge of desperation that sets my pulse racing. I nod as I let him push me back onto the bed. His hands slide down my body, claws scraping lightly over my skin as he grips my hips, positioning me beneath him.
I reach for him, my fingers brushing his jaw. "Kiss me," I whisper, the words trembling on my lips.
He freezes, his breath catching. "Isabelle.” My name comes out rough and strained, his lips pulling tight, almost self-conscious. "You don’t. . .You don’t want that."
"Yes, I do.” My fingers trace the line of his jaw. My heart pounds, but I don’t look away. The hesitation in his glowing eyes is palpable, his gaze flicking to my mouth.
His lips meet mine, tentative at first, the unfamiliar shape of them skimming uncertainly over mine. But when I respond, gentle and insistent, his restraint crumbles.
The kiss deepens, and his mouth—half-shifted and foreign—becomes something I can’t get enough of. His tongue glides over mine, the rough texture reminiscent of a jungle cat, launching a shockwave of sensation through me. He tastes like my own desire, mingled with the salt and musk of himself, a heady combination that drags a ragged moan from my lips.
His fangs graze my bottom lip, a teasing scrape that sparks a wicked jolt, making me clutch at him harder. The strangeness of his tongue, rough and deliberate, only heightens the intensity, a slow-burning ache spreading through my core .
My hands tangle in his hair, dragging him closer, our kiss turning wild and consuming. The slick, unrelenting stroke of our tongues, the way his mouth claims mine—desperate and searching—leaves me breathless, aching, and trembling.
When he finally breaks away, his breath drags through his lungs, chest rising in sharp, uneven pulls. His glowing eyes burn with an unguarded intensity. "Isabelle," he growls, the sound guttural and raw.
Slowly, he pushes forward, the thick ridges of his cock stretching me inch by torturous inch. My breath catches, my head drops back as I feel every contour of him—every pulse, every movement.
He thrusts once, burying himself completely, and my world tilts. Oh gods—he’s— The friction, the fullness, the pulse of him inside me, it’s too much. How can this feel so good? The barbs—soft, pliant, thrilling—catch and release with every inch he claims. Electric shocks of pleasure race through me. My body seizes as wave after wave of sensation floods me. I’m coming. The thought splinters through my mind, incredulous and raw, as my climax takes me by surprise, stealing my breath and tearing a cry from my lips. My thighs quiver, tightening around him instinctively, and I feel myself gripping him, my body trying to pull him deeper.
"Isabelle." His claws dig into my hips as if my release undoes him as much as it unravels me. The pleasure crests again, leaving me trembling, gasping, unable to think, unable to do anything but feel. Too much, too good— I don’t know where I end, and he begins.
"Do you remember what I told you about Weres, Isabelle?" he murmurs, his voice a low growl as he pumps into me steadily, driving me out of my mind .
My breath catches as his lips skim over my neck, his touch calling forth a trail of goosebumps. I feel like I’m flying.
"We bite," he continues, his teeth grazing the sensitive curve of my shoulder. "When we want something, when we need it, when we take it."
I shiver beneath him, my body arching instinctively as his claws slip beneath the straps of my lingerie, tugging them tight across my skin before slicing through them. "And gods help me, Belle, I can’t help myself." His voice turns strained and taut.
The admission ignites a rush of pleasure, but before I can respond, his teeth sink into the curve of my shoulder. The pain is sharp, but it’s eclipsed almost instantly by the wave of pleasure that follows as he increases the pace of our joining.
The ridges of his cock stroking deep inside me, combined with his bite, is a sensation so exquisitely overwhelming that it shatters me all over again. Pleasure detonates inside me, violent and raw, a scream torn from my throat as I clutch at his shoulders, my nails biting into his flesh.
"Mine," he rasps into my shoulder. "You’re mine, Isabelle. Every inch of you. Always."
Dominic’s movements grow erratic, as he fractures into raw, desperate sounds. When he finally surges deep inside me, his roar shakes the air, his release violent and all-consuming. I feel it—the searing heat of him filling me, the way his body molds to mine, trembling with the force of his climax.
His teeth remain embedded in my shoulder as his hips jerk buck in a final, shuddering thrust, a hoarse sound breaking from his throat. It’s not just pleasure; it’s anguish, possession, and need all tangled together. He’s giving me everything, and I feel it in every quiver of his muscles, in the way he clings to me as though he will never let go.
When he finally stills, his body trembling with the aftershocks, his eyes glowing in the darkness, I realize there’s no going back.