Page 20 of Blackmailing Belle (The Lost Girls #4)

Chapter 20

Cornering the Lost Girl

BELLE

I want to fuck my husband.

Since that night, neither of us has brought up the subject of sex again.

Some deep, dark scary part of me fears he thought I was bad. But then I remember the things he said, the way he kept coming back to me for more, until we’d come countless times and were beyond dehydrated. How he commandeered the ruined red strappy lingerie and shoved it in his back pocket. How he held me all through the night.

I didn’t make up any of that. He could have sent me back to my bedroom after we were done, but he wrapped himself around me, nuzzling the back of my neck, occasionally kissing or nibbling my shoulder or ear.

Now we are back to our routine. Safe, reliable routine.

It should feel normal. The kind of predictable rhythm I’ve always craved. But it doesn’t. Not after what happened between us.

I sit across from Dominic in the library, often pretending to read, pretending that the memory of that sweaty, vigorous, impossibly unforgettable night isn’t burning me alive. But it is. My body betrays me with every flicker of firelight that catches the sharp edge of his jaw, every rasp of his clawed fingers against his tablet.

How does he sit there so composed every night, like nothing happened? Like I didn’t fall apart on him or under him about a dozen times? Like I didn’t lick and suck him until he grabbed my hair to thrust brutally deep before he’d finally spent? Like it wasn’t worth repeating?

I cross my legs tightly, forcing myself to focus on the book in my lap. But the words blur, and my pulse hammers, every part of me hyper-aware of my husband mere feet away from me.

I just need to keep my distance, stick to our arrangement, and focus on what matters: taking care of my father and Chapter Three. The rest of this—the heat, the pull, the way my thoughts always circle back to the feel of his thigh between my legs—it’s just noise.

And I’ve gotten very good at tuning out noise.

That’s what I tell myself while pretending that I’m not using far too much of my energy to keep from climbing into his lap to do it all again.

But I keep my distance, and life marches on.

At Chapter Three, Chip has learned the ropes faster than I expected, and I can’t help but wonder why I didn’t hire help sooner.

With a little more glee than is probably appropriate, I flip the sign to Closed and lock the door behind me.

The limousine is still parked at the curb, Dominic inside, waiting. Watching, no doubt.

I let the laughter of my Lust I hadn’t forgotten. I was across the street with my friends. It’s not a big deal."

"It is a big deal," Dominic snarls. His hands flex, claws sliding in and out. He’s pacing now, too restless, too furious. "You don’t get to just disappear, Isabelle. I won’t lose you?—"