Page 21 of Blackmailing Belle (The Lost Girls #4)

Chapter 21

Be Afraid. Be Very Afraid

THE BEAST OF BOSTON

T he words leave my mouth before I can stop them.

I won’t lose you.

I turn away, the line echoing in the silence, harsher than I intended but no less true. I drag in a breath, but it’s shallow, unsteady. My pulse is a relentless drum in my ears as I wrestle with the fear clawing at the edges of my control.

She doesn’t understand.

"What are you afraid of?" she asks, her voice soft but cutting, piercing straight through my armor.

Afraid.

The word cuts through me, jagged as broken glass. I’m the Beast of Boston. I’m not afraid of anything. Everyone fears me.

My hands curl into fists, but it does nothing to stop the trembling in my muscles.

I swing back toward her in two steps, the distance between us disappearing as my hand finds her jaw, tilting her face up toward mine. Her scent is maddening—warm and familiar yet charged with a defiance that makes my blood burn.

"I'm not afraid," I bite out, my tone edged with raw defiance.

Her breath skims my lips, but she doesn’t flinch. She stands there, staring up at me with those wide, unyielding eyes, and it unravels something deep inside me.

My grip tightens, claws grazing her skin—not enough to hurt, but enough to remind her of what I am. "Everyone fears me, Isabelle. Everyone. But you?" I lower my head, letting the warning coil in my throat as I lean in, my breath curling against her lips. "You don’t know fear. And that’s your problem."

Her hands fly up, gripping my forearm, her nails digging in—not in fear, but in challenge. "If you think I’ll cower because you’re throwing a tantrum, think again."

I cage her in, both hands braced on the counter behind her now, my body swallowing the space between us. The weight of her scent—something soft and floral, overlaid with the salt tang of her skin—crashes over me, tightening my control to a thin thread.

"You don’t understand," I bite out, my words tight and clipped.

"Then make me understand," she fires back, her eyes blazing with the kind of fury I should crush beneath my heel—but I don’t.

I hesitate. Just for a moment.

I don’t want to tell her how I thought she’d been taken. That when I realized she wasn’t in the shop, a cold terror swept through me, dragging me into the darkest depths of my mind. That the image of her broken and bleeding in an alley, her life traded for one of my rival’s twisted games, is burned into my brain like a brand .

The people who want to destroy me would have no hesitation in using her to do it.

"You just disappeared," I say instead, my words rough with the echoes of everything I can’t say. "I didn’t know where you were."

"I went across the street." Her shoulders tense as her big brown eyes drill into me. "That’s it, Dominic. Across the street."

Her tone fuels my rage, but it’s not her I’m angry with. It’s myself. For letting this happen. For not being able to keep her safe.

"They’re watching," I hiss, leaning closer. "You don’t understand what that means. Every step you take, every place you go, they see it. They wait for the opportunity to strike. To hurt you because of me."

Her eyes widen, and I see the first flicker of realization in her gaze, but it only lasts a moment before her defiance returns.

"I’m not a damsel," she says firmly. "You don’t need to treat me like I’m some fragile thing."

"You don’t know how fragile you are." The tension in my jaw aches as the words rip free. "You think you’re untouchable because no one’s laid a hand on you. Yet."

The word hangs between us, heavy and sharp.

I step back, needing distance, needing space to breathe. My claws retract as I press my hands to my thighs, trying to calm the storm raging in my chest.

It’s been like this since that night.

Since I made her mine in every way I swore I wouldn’t.

The distance I’ve forced between us is supposed to protect her. From me. From the part of me that wants to possess her completely, that wants to keep her locked away where no one—not my rivals, not the world—can touch her.

And yet, here I am, letting her pull me into another storm, her fire fueling mine in a way I can’t escape.

A slow, dark realization settles in my gut. "You’re trembling." My eyes drop to her hands, clenched at her sides, her breathing uneven. "Maybe you’re not as fearless as you claim."

She narrows her eyes with open resentment. "That’s not fear. That’s frustration."

Her breath catches, and her heart slams against her ribs. I can feel it—feel her heat, her need—and it’s too much.

Frustration doesn’t begin to cover it.

I’ve been going out of my fucking mind. Every time I see her, smell her, hear her. . .Every second I’m near her and I can’t touch her again is torture. She has no idea how badly I want to ruin her all over again.

Then why haven’t you?

It’s the question that’s dogged me every moment since that night I chased her down and fucked us both blind.

Because I’m a coward. Because I don’t trust myself. Because I can’t bear the thought of getting in too deep and dragging her down with me.

I don’t say any of that. Instead, my hips roll forward, pressing harder into her.

"Is this what you’re frustrated about, wife?" I rasp, my voice dropping into a growl. The tension between us tightens like a noose, and I can’t stop myself from teasing her, forcing her to acknowledge the fire I know is consuming her, too.

Her moan escapes, low and drawn out, and I freeze. My body locks, every nerve taut as a live wire. Fuck. She’s not just matching me—she’s surrendering to me, feeding this insatiable hunger.

I’m already hard, thick, and aching, my arousal straining against the confines of my pants. I’ve been like this every night since that first time. Unable to think of anything but her. The way she looked beneath me, the sounds she made, the way her body wrapped around mine, pulling me deeper. The memory drives me mad, but the fear. . .The fear keeps me in check.

I should stop. Pull back. Regain control. But the sounds she makes, the way her body arches toward mine, the way she whispers, "No. I’m not afraid of you, Dominic. And I never will be," undoes me.

Her defiance is a dagger, slicing through the last shreds of my restraint. My hands move on their own, gripping her hips and pulling her closer. Her body molds to mine, soft and yielding, but still holding her strength, her challenge. It makes me want her more.

I press her harder into the counter, the edge digging into her lower back. My body radiates heat, and I know she feels it—my need, my frustration. She’s the only thing that can quell it, and yet I’ve been forcing myself to stay away. Every instinct tells me I should walk away now, but I can’t. Not anymore.

Her mouth opens as my thumb grazes her lips, and before I can think better of it, I slip it inside. She sucks lightly, her tongue flicking over the pad of my thumb, and my control snaps. My pupils blow wide, a guttural sound ripping from my chest.

I yank her dress up, shoving her panties to the side. My fingers slide into her heat.

"Fuck," I hiss. She’s so tight, so ready. I’m on the brink of losing myself, of forgetting every reason I’ve stayed away. Every thrust of my fingers feels like a claim, a brand, and I don’t want to stop.

The cry that tears from her throat is a symphony. Her body clenches around my fingers, her hips rolling instinctively to meet my movements. I curve my fingers, finding the spot that makes her gasp, and I press harder, stroking until her moans rise in pitch.

"You are a pain in my ass, wife." Heat simmers beneath each syllable, my brutality taking over. "I should finger-fuck you until you’re right on the edge, right on the precipice of screaming my name and breaking your spine on the orgasm I’ve built up in you. And then I should leave you there. Hanging. Insane with want."

I thrust harder, deeper, her cries driving me to the edge. "And then maybe you’d have something to be afraid of. Because you won’t be able to give yourself the relief I could. And then you’ll learn to be afraid of wanting me as much as I want you."

Her nails dig into my shoulders, her body arching as her moans reach a crescendo. She’s close, so close, and I know I should push her over the edge, claim her completely. But something holds me back. A thread of hesitation, of fear, that I can’t quite untangle.

I’m losing control, and she’s unraveling me piece by piece.

Her hands grip me, one trembling as it slides lower, toward my waistband. I know what she’s doing, and I should stop her. I should put an end to this before we cross a line I can’t come back from. But I don’t. I let her touch me. Let her find the hard, ridged length of me.

The words come out as much for me as for her, a desperate attempt to regain some shred of control, to remind myself that I’m the one who holds the power here. But the way she arches into my hand, the heat radiating from her, tells me I’m failing. She’s dismantling me, brick by goddamn brick.

Her whimper cuts through the haze of lust and frustration, and I freeze. It’s a needy sound, vibrating with an undercurrent of surrender. It punches through me, obliterating the walls I’ve spent the last week desperately trying to keep intact.

I can feel her unraveling, her body trembling beneath my hands. My grip on her throat tightens, and when she drops her head, the soft groan that escapes her lips shatters something primal inside me. It vibrates through me, sharp and electric, feeding the animal clawing its way to the surface.

Her nipples strain against the fabric of her dress, begging for my touch, but I don’t dare let go of her throat. My hand moves, sliding another finger into her drenched heat. Her walls clench around me, pulling me deeper, her slickness coating my skin in a way that sends my own need spiraling.

I hear myself mutter, "So wet for me already," the words rough and jagged, as if they’ve been dragged from the deepest part of me. It’s not just her I’m convincing—it’s myself. I need to believe that I can do this, that I can take her apart and put her back together without losing myself in the process. She’s pushing me too far, too fast, and I can’t stop it.

Her hand presses lower, fumbling at the waistband of my pants. My breath hitches as her fingers slip beneath, her movements unsure but determined.

"Isabelle." Her name is warning and a plea all at once. But she doesn’t stop. Her fingers explore further, stroking my hardness. Teasing. Pressing. Like she’s searching for a reaction—and fuck, she gets one.

Her fingers slide over my ridges, brushing against the textured barbs that mark me as something not entirely human. My breath catches, the sensation shooting through me. The edges of my vision blur, tunneling to only her, only this—the tentative press of her palm, the wicked drag of her nails, the way she tilts her head, watching me unravel.

"Don’t," I bite out. My restraint unravels further with every stroke of her hand. But she doesn’t stop. She explores further, her touch tentative but insistent, and the sound that rumbles from my chest is more animal than man.

And then I snap.

My mouth crashes down on hers, the kiss fierce, unrelenting. My teeth scrape her lips as I devour her, pouring every ounce of my frustration, my need, my fear into the contact.

I drag her closer still, my clawed hand sliding up to cradle her jaw. I tilt her face to deepen the kiss, my tongue sweeping into her mouth, demanding everything she has to give. Her taste floods my senses, sweet and intoxicating, and I know I’m done for.

My fingers drive deeper, coaxing desperate reactions from her trembling body. Her gasp pours into my mouth, a fractured sound that sparks along my spine. I barely register my own restraint crumbling, too focused on her—on how she arches into me, on the way she tightens, unfurls, yields.

She melts against me, fingers clutching my arms, grasping like I’m the only thing anchoring her. I can feel her unraveling, the tension in her body winding tighter with every stroke of my fingers. She’s close, so close, and I know I should give her what she needs, but I hesitate .

"More," she begs. Her nails dig into me, hips bucking against my hand. "Please, fuck. Ungh, Dominic, don’t stop."

A dark laugh escapes me, strained and vibrating with the last vestiges of control I’m clinging to. "You think you can tell me what to do, wife?" I taunt. I withdraw my fingers, just enough to make her whimper. Then I thrust them back inside, harder, deeper, savoring the way her cries spike. "You don’t command me. I take what’s mine."

Her walls clamp down on my fingers, her moans rising in pitch, each sound dragging me further into madness. She’s so fucking close. I feel it in the way her thighs quiver, in the way her breathing fractures, in the way her body writhes against me.

She comes undone, her release wet and messy, soaking my hand as her cries echo through the space around us. The sheer force of it, the way her body clenches and spasms, pulls a guttural curse from me. My chest heaves as I hold her, watching her shatter under my touch, her pleasure radiating through me like a drug.

But it’s not enough.

"Please, fuck me." Her raw need destroys the last thread of restraint I’d been holding on to.

I haul her onto the counter, my movements rough, unrelenting. Her thighs spread beneath my hands, and my pants are gone in a blur. The blunt, ridged head of my cock presses against her soaked entrance, and the heat is almost unbearable.

"You think you can just disappear on me?" The words tear from my throat, raw and jagged. I thrust forward, the stretch overwhelming both of us, her sharp cry mingling with the guttural growl that escapes me. "Do you know what that did to me? What I thought?"

I need her around me desperately. Every gasp she emits reminds me she’s here. She’s real. She’s alive. My fear wraps around her in greedy tendrils demanding more, more, more.

"I didn’t disappear.” She clutches my shoulders, trying to steady herself even as I pound in her body.

"You were gone." My voice cracks as I thrust harder, burying myself to the hilt. She takes me, her body wrapping around me so tightly it’s almost too much. Almost. "I thought I’d lost you. Again."

Her breath catches, and she echoes the word back at me, soft and confused. "Again?"

Shit. The word slams into me like a wrecking ball, and I feel the weight of my mistake. A slip I hadn’t meant to make. The past surges forward, a tidal wave I can’t stop. The image of her lifeless, broken, traded away by my enemies tangles with another—darker, more painful. My family. Their screams. Their blood. The unbearable void they left behind.

My movements have come to a halt, and I feel frozen from the inside out.

The confusion in her eyes cuts deeper than it should, and for a moment, I’m drowning. Panic wars with grief, twisting my insides, and I don’t know how to make it stop.

"Dominic?"

No. I won’t drown in my past, in my fears.

I drive into Isabelle again, my thrusts hard and desperate, the need to silence my own thoughts consuming me. Her cries rise with every movement, her nails raking down my back as she clings to me. I feel her unraveling again, her body tightening around me as she builds toward another peak.

Her release hits like a violent surge, wet and raw and visceral, pulling me over the edge. When I finally come, it’s with a roar that rips through me, shredding my soul along the way. My teeth sink into her neck, and the satisfaction of pouring everything I have into her intensifies from my balls to the base of my brain.

The silence afterward is deafening. My forehead presses against hers, our breaths mingling.

For a moment, I let myself feel her, the hum of her body matching the chaos in mine. But it’s too much. Too real. Too dangerous.

I pull away abruptly, stumbling back like I’ve been burned. My breathing is harsh, my hands shake as I adjust my pants. The distance feels like a knife to the chest, but it’s necessary. I can’t let her see how deep this goes, how much she’s already undone me.

"Dominic—" she starts, her voice soft and vulnerable, but I cut her off with a sharp shake of my head. I can’t do this. Not here. Not now.

"We’re going home." My instructions are cold and final. It’s the only way to end this, to regain some semblance of control. I don’t wait for her response, don’t let myself look back. I stride out of the shop and into the limo, a weak attempt to escape the chaos inside me.

The door slams shut, and the inside of the car is suffocating. My hands clench into fists as I try to steady my breathing, to push down the emotions threatening to consume me.

I thought I’d lost her tonight. And the truth is, it hurt far more than it should have. Far more than I want to admit.

For the first time, I realize marrying Isabelle may be the second biggest mistake I’ve ever made.