Page 19 of Blackmailing Belle (The Lost Girls #4)

Chapter 19

Falling Off Ladders

BELLE

M y arm finds nothing but empty mattress where Dominic was all night long.

I blink up at the elaborate canopy overhead and can’t help but think I’m ruined. Absolutely ruined.

He wasn’t kidding about having me as a five-course meal, or rather, ten.

After absolutely driving me to insanity, pounding into me relentlessly, teasing me, claiming me, licking me, biting me like I’m only the sustenance a starving shifter needs, he held me all night long.

Normally I’m not much of a cuddler, but somehow every part of me fit perfectly to his ridges and gaps. Like our bodies were two puzzle pieces that click in together with absolute precision. The amount of oxytocin it released into my body had to be near criminal amounts. I didn’t even know my body could produce that much.

That may be even more dangerously addictive than sex with Dominic.

Then I remember the unexpected friction and havoc those barbs and ridges exacted on me and how he wrapped a clawed hand around my throat while saying he needs his gorgeous wife all over his cock just one more time.

Yeah, the sex has pretty much ruined me for all time. Which works fine since I’m a married woman and he forbade me from taking a lover. Now, how do I break the news to my sex toys that they’ll never cut it again?

A lingering ache reminds me just how thoroughly my husband took me. And maybe—just maybe—how much he left behind.

My stomach tightens. I meant what I said when I agreed to this. If a child helps form the pack bond, then it’s logical. Sensible. That’s what this arrangement is about.

But a secret part of me—a part I don’t indulge—knows it’s more than that. I’ve always wanted a little one to read to, to share stories with, to pass down the things I love. But I buried that desire years ago. A child without a partner, while balancing the weight of my father’s care? That dream had never been practical.

Yet now. . .I stretch and soreness makes itself known with the movement, pulling a moan out of me.

The feeling of awe and happiness ebbs quickly when I realize I’m alone in Dominic’s room. I sit up, pulling the covers around my naked body. Suddenly, this feels like one-night stand territory, which I’m not unfamiliar with. But this part still isn’t my favorite.

I get up, tie on my robe, and grab the remaining tatters of that string bodysuit.

Thank you, Goldie. That girl deserves a card or something to show my appreciation.

How quickly I went from feeling like a ridiculous prop from a failed boudoir photoshoot to Dominic’s delicious dish .

Calm down Belle, he was just doing it to create a Pack. This is all a transactional situation. Don’t get carried away. Enjoy the fact you had excellent sex (incredible sex, mind blowing, world altering sex) and get out.

I open the door and nearly shriek when I find Dominic on the other side. I drop the heap of broken straps in surprise. He’s showered and fully dressed..

Dominic raises an eyebrow before dipping down and hooking a claw under the destroyed lingerie, holding it up. "Where do you think you’re going?"

For once I struggle to find my composure and the proper words. "W-well we were done, and you were done because you were gone, and I thought I should get out and we’d get on with our day." I find myself stammering as my fingers dig into the fabric of my robe.

His gaze slowly scans my body, quietly assessing, making me feel like he’s preparing to pounce.

"First of all," he says, pocketing last night’s outfit, "This is mine now. Secondly?—"

He trails off as if in deep thought. Meanwhile, I’m clutching the neck of my robe trying not to think at all. I certainly won’t ask him to do what he did last night again. And I certainly will not reach up and kiss him, running my hands through his hair and mane.

He steps back, giving me room to pass. I can’t deny the disappointment that fills me, though I don’t let it show on my face.

"I won’t be joining you for meals today. I have. . .business," he grimaces.

"Oh, okay," I say, making my way past him, feeling more than ever like a fling who is now in the way.

His hand circles my arm, stopping me and pulling me back so we are side by side, facing opposite directions. Dom dips his head to inhale me deeply with such animal satisfaction that it vibrates from his chest when he exhales. I shut my eyes, feeling it too.

Suddenly the self-consciousness peels away as I realize this one moment is far better than any reassurance like, “thanks for the wild bang last night, top marks to you.”

I feel his deep appreciation thrumming through my body and bones. There is no falseness in it, only pure possessive emotion and it curls my toes into the lush carpet of the hallway.

"I regret not being able to see you until this evening, but I have a surprise for you. ‘Til then."

Then Dominic lets me go and I open my eyes again, the space he previously occupied now terribly empty. And the heat in my belly competes with a wild fluttering of anticipation.

A surprise?

Should I be afraid, or excited?

Or maybe just very, very turned on.

Chip claims not to mind working the shop from opening to close today since Dominic can’t escort me to Chapter Three. They text me that they realize what a sweet gig I have since the shop is pretty easy to keep in order and they enjoy the extra time either chatting with the customers or devouring books. They found their new favorite genre which is cozy Orc romance and have been cruising through volumes while trying to get other customers on the big green cozy train.

I feel Dominic’s absence through the day more keenly than I’d like. But because he’s away, I take meals with Mrs. P and my father in the kitchen. The housekeeper keeps glancing at me with a secretive knowing smile that makes me more than a little uncomfortable.

Does she know how I spent my night?

She does live onsite but in a house out back on the property. Surely she didn’t hear us?

My father happily jabbers away to her about being the angel of croissants and chemistry equations. He’s been reciting them more and talking about “the dogs,” which tells me he’s winding up again. At least if he has a half-lucid, half-manic episode I know there are more people around he’s familiar with to help calm him down.

When I leave them both to head toward the study, Mrs. P calls after me, "Have a lovely night, dear." Again there is some kind of knowing in her voice that makes me feel not a little uncomfortable.

Dominic and I didn’t talk about having sex again this evening. Though surely if the goal is to create a pack, we will need to continue having intercourse. Is it to be expected every evening? Should I ask Goldie to get me some more outfits? It might help me to wear some armor in these situations to make me feel more in control before I forget. . .

Before I forget this isn’t about love.

I swipe my face hard with my hand and try to erase the thought. Love isn’t real. Relationships are built simply on chemistry and necessity, and I can’t let myself forget that. Not for a second.

I change into my comfy reading clothes and grab my book. When I make my way to Dominic’s study for our nightly routine, I find my husband leaning casually against the doorframe. His broad shoulders make the heavy wood look fragile by comparison.

Though there’s tension in his stance that’s impossible to miss, a spark gleams from his eye. It’s muted, like he’s trying to tamp it down, but if I didn’t know any better, I’d say he was. . .excited.

And honestly? He looks so good like this—rumpled and brooding—that I briefly forget how to breathe. It’s almost criminal, the effect this man has on me. I might need CPR, and I’m not sure if I’m hoping he’d be the one to save me or finish me off.

"Evening," I say, aiming for nonchalance. My voice comes out a little shaky as if my body hasn’t entirely recovered from last night’s marathon of pleasure and destruction. Which it hasn’t. Though I try to hide it, seeing him spikes a bottomless hunger that doesn’t care if I should take some downtime.

He straightens when I speak, his gaze sharpening with a focus that makes my stomach tighten. "Come with me," he says simply, extending a hand.

I hesitate, caught off guard by his abruptness. "Uh, okay?" I place my hand in his, the warmth of his palm engulfing mine. His grip is firm, steady, and. . .far too thrilling for something as simple as hand holding.

Without another word, he leads me down a corridor I’ve never explored. The air here feels quiet, secretive, as though we’re walking into the heart of something private. Anticipation winds tighter within me with every step, and my mind races. What is he up to? My free hand fiddles with the hem of my sweater, my nerves buzzing.

We stop in front of a pair of arched double doors, intricately carved with ivy and roses, their craftsmanship exquisite. Dominic pauses, still holding my hand, and glances at me. For a moment, his expression softens, his usual guarded demeanor giving way to something. . .warmer. Vulnerable .

"There’s something I want to show you," he says, his voice rough. "Something I’ve kept locked away for far too long."

My breath catches, his words doing something dangerous to my chest. Oh no. Don’t fall for this. Don’t let yourself feel things. But the intensity in his expression—half challenge, half offering—makes my knees weak.

With a deliberate motion, he pushes open the doors, and my jaw drops.

The library is breathtaking. Towering shelves stretch up two stories, their dark wood polished to a warm glow in the flickering firelight. Frost rims the enormous windows, distorting the icy night beyond, while the golden glow of the fireplace casts dancing shadows across the room. A marble hearth dominates one wall, its mantel intricately carved with roaring lions and blooming roses locked in an eternal battle of strength and beauty. It’s a sanctuary of stories and warmth. The space feels alive, defying the frozen stillness outside.

It’s…" My voice falters as I step inside, turning in a slow circle. "Dominic, this is incredible."

He stays back near the doorway, his hands buried in his pockets. "Mrs. P refreshed it for you today," he says gruffly. "I thought you might appreciate it."

"Appreciate it?" I laugh softly, brushing my fingers over the spines of nearby books. "This is a dream, Dominic. It’s perfect."

He nods once, but tension lingers in his posture.

I stop, turning to him. "Why keep it closed up before now? It’s beautiful."

His jaw flexes, and for a moment, I think he won’t answer. But then he exhales. "This was my mother’s favorite room," he admits quietly. "She loved it. Spent her days here. After she died, I locked it up."

"Oh." My voice comes out small, my chest tightening at the weight of his words.

His mother is dead. I suspected but didn’t know. I try not to assume anything, and he gives me so little help to fill in the gaps.

"Since you are so enamored by books," he continues, his gaze falling to the floor so as not to meet mine. "I realized you might appreciate it like she did."

The vulnerability in his voice punches through my defenses, nearly forcing me to reach for a chair to sit down. I push through the urge.

Before I can stop myself, I cross the room toward one of the tall shelves. My hand hovers over the ladder affixed to the shelf, needing something to anchor myself. "It’s. . .Thank you," I manage. "This is the most incredible gift anyone’s ever given me."

"It’s not exactly a gift," he grumbles.

I climb a few rungs, my fingers brushing along spines, soaking in the beauty of this space.

"It was always here," he points out.

A strange lightness rushes through my head, and the shelves sway—no, I sway. My grip falters. My stomach dips as the world spins, and before I can catch myself, I’m falling.

Two strong hands catch me, and I’m pulled tight against Dominic’s chest.

My heart races, his arms like a fortress around me. For a moment we’re frozen, his breath hot against my neck. The heat of him seeps through my clothes, and my pulse drums in my ears. His arms grip me like he’s afraid to let go .

I lick my lips, turning my face slowly to the side to see his.

The need to kiss him is so strong, my lips tingle. I want to tangle my fingers in his hair, to lose myself in the intensity of this moment. We could strip naked and have at each other again right here. For pack, right?

Dominic steps back, breaking the contact, leaving me on shaky legs. When I turn, his expression is unreadable, shuttered.

Suddenly I feel ashamed for wanting him again.

Contract sex shouldn’t be spontaneous. We should be sending each other calendar invites on our phones. It’s methodical and for a purpose.

Which means no slamming his cock down my throat in the library to show him how grateful I am for the gesture and how much I enjoy the way he takes what he wants, even when I shouldn’t.

"I, uh, figured we could move our evenings to in here." He grabs his tablet off a side table and settles into a wingback chair as if it’s no different from any other night.

The dismissal stings more than it should, and the air between us feels charged and awkward. My mind spins with questions as I steady myself.

Was last night really just another duty for him? Does he have any intention of repeating the act with me? Should I ask?

The idea of voicing my insecurities out loud only glues my lips more tightly together.

The moment passes, but the weight of it lingers, leaving me breathless and aching in its wake.

Dominic may have been inside me. He may have pulled my body apart in twenty different directions before slamming me back together again, but the truth is we still don’t know each other. Not really. Not when my husband hides so much of himself, of his past, of his business.

To be fair, I’ve also cut my past out of my life, but it isn’t dogging my present like it clearly is with him.

Maybe that’s why I don’t unravel when men like Dominic change the rules. My uncle always said the only way to survive in our world was to keep moving—never linger, never look back. Kindness is just a detour on the way to disappointment, and only fools believe otherwise.

So I make my way to the lounge chair across from him and settle in with my book, pretending that everything is as it should be. That I don’t want him and that I don’t care what he’s thinking.

Dominic might have given me this room, this sanctuary, but it’s clear he’s still keeping the most important parts of himself locked away.