Page 31 of Blackmailing Belle (The Lost Girls #4)
Chapter 31
Absorbing the Pain
BELLE
A ll I can hear is the rushing wind and Dominic’s ragged breaths. Ice cold rain drops drill into my exposed face until I turn into his chest, my fingers find his thick soft fur. His body is so hot as if it is radiating the heat of hell itself.
Wood splinters and cracks as Dominic slams his shoulder into the door of a boathouse, forcing it open with a ferocity that vibrates through my sternum. He doesn’t pause to check the damage—just barrels inside and lets the warped door swing half-shut behind us.
Inside, the air is thick and damp, and the musty scent of salt and decay fills my nostrils. Shadows twist across the warped floorboards, thrown by the light broken through the single, jagged window. An overturned table lies in one corner, its rusted legs tangled with a rotted tarp. The remnants of some forgotten fishing gear—hooks, nets, a warped metal bucket—are scattered across the space.
Dominic drops me to my feet but doesn't let me go. His breath is hot and ragged against my skin. The tattered remains of his shirt cling to his shoulders, the fabric torn and stretched over his thick, rippling muscles. His eyes burn with feral intensity, and the growl rumbling in his throat is more animal than man.
"Take it out on me," I whisper again. "I’m yours, Dominic. Give it all to me. I can handle it." I reach up and slide my fingers into equal amounts of damp hair and fur.
His cheekbones seem sharper as if his human features can barely contain the animal beneath. The golden-green glow of his eyes pierces me, and I can’t look away from the raw, feral beauty of him.
A growl rumbles, reverberating through the space like thunder. His lips curl back, exposing those too-sharp canines, and for a moment, I brace myself for pain. Instead, his mouth crashes into mine, the kiss a collision of teeth and tongues, raw and desperate.
Dominic’s claws tear at my coat, ripping through the embroidered fabric as if it were paper. The sound of tearing cloth echoes in the empty space, and the coat falls in pieces around me.
His claws hook under the hem of my sweater dress, dragging it up over my thighs in one rough motion. The damp chill of the boathouse prickles over my skin, but it’s swallowed by the blistering heat radiating from his body. He doesn’t hesitate, shredding my leggings and panties in a flurry of impatient swipes. The fabric falls away in tatters, leaving me exposed to his gaze.
And I want this. Fae lords help me, I want this .
It’s fitting, isn’t it? For him to take his pound of flesh from me. My family took everything from him—his loved ones, his sense of self, his peace. I don’t deserve to escape unscathed, and some part of me doesn’t want to. Maybe it’s because I like it. The bruises he’ll leave, the bite marks, the pain—they’ll mark me as his. And maybe, just maybe, it means I’m more like Roman than I want to admit. That thought twists inside me, ugly and thrilling all at once.
Every scrape of his claws against my skin, is another piece of the agony he’s shedding. He’s using me to pour his grief into, to carve out the weight that’s crushing him. And I welcome it. I deserve it. For what my family took from him. For what I am to him. I don’t know how or why I can take it all, but I was made for this. For him.
The tattered remnants of his shirt hang from his shoulders, and he rips it away with a single swipe of his claws, revealing every ridge and ripple of his broad chest. The buttons of his pants strain against his arousal, but he doesn’t bother with finesse—just yanks at the waistband until it gives, the fabric falling to the floor alongside my ruined clothes.
The fur running down his forearms catches the fractured light from the window, each strand glistening like spun gold. His claws flex, black and gleaming, almost elegant if not for the destruction they’re capable of. His body is massive, so much bigger than mine, every muscle corded with tension that makes my breath catch in awe and fear.
The floorboards creak as he backs me against a wall, his massive frame pressing into mine. Splinters bite into my shoulders, but I barely notice. His claws grip my hips, hard enough to bruise, and his mouth drops to my neck, his fangs scraping over my skin.
His urgency should scare me. It should turn me off, but I find myself panting and ready. I want him. I always want him. The animal side of him thrills me even though it shouldn’t.
I push off the remains of my coat and pull my dress over my head. As soon as my skin is bared, Dominic lets out a roar of victory before he drops his head. Fangs sink into my shoulder, breaking skin. My nipples wrench up into painfully tight buds as liquid lava melts at the apex of my thighs. An unlikely flood of endorphins rushes to the spot where he’s biting me, but he keeps it shallow. He’s not there to render flesh away from bone, he’s penetrating me, marking me, lodging himself in where no one else is allowed.
His cock is monstrous—thick, ridged, and barbed like the predator he is. It glistens in the low light, and my mouth goes dry at the sight of it, every instinct screaming that I should fear him. But I don’t. I ache for him.
There’s no warning when he thrusts into me, a single, brutal stroke that has me crying out. The stretch is overwhelming, the ridges along his shaft dragging against my inner walls in a way that steals the breath from my lungs. My nails dig into his bare shoulders, the pain grounding me as he claims me in every possible way.
"Dominic," I gasp, my voice cracking. Each thrust sends pleasure and pain crashing through me, the two indistinguishable from each other. His growls mix with my cries, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing in the small, abandoned space.
His claws grip my thighs, bruising, biting into my flesh as he pulls me closer. My back scrapes against the wall, and my head knocks against the wooden boards behind me, but I don’t care. I was made for this .
For him.
It might make me sick in the head, but no one else could take this. No one else would let him be this unrestrained. And no one else would revel in it the way I do.
He pulls me away from the wall, spinning us until my back hits the cold, splintered surface of the overturned table. The wood creaks under our weight, but Dominic doesn’t pause. He spreads me wide as he drives into me so hard stars explode in my vision.
When I glance down, I see it—his cock sliding into me, glistening with my arousal and smeared with streaks of red. It’s obscene, beautiful, terrifying, and I love it. I love the way he fills me, the way he breaks me open and puts me back together all at once.
"Mine," he snarls, his teeth grazing the curve of my neck. His movements grow faster, more frantic, his breath hot and heavy against my skin.
"Yes," I whisper, my voice quaking. "Yours."
His teeth find the top of my breast this time. My body arches into him, and I let go of everything—my shame, my guilt, my fear. I am a vessel for his rage, his sorrow, his grief. Every bite, every brutal thrust, feels like it’s carving pieces out of me, but I don’t break. I absorb it, revel in it, because the harder he pushes, the more I feel like I’m anchoring him, pulling him back from the abyss.
I become something else, someone else. Not a benevolent goddess, but a maelstrom, a force of nature built to take him, to match him blow for blow, thrust for thrust.
His claws dig into my hips, anchoring me as he drives me higher, his movements growing faster, more erratic. I feel the grief radiating off him with every rough motion, every growl. He’s not just claiming me—he’s punishing me, purging his rage and sorrow in a storm that leaves no part of me untouched. The pain is sharp, radiant, and I rise to meet it, to meet him, because if this is what he needs to survive, I’ll give it to him. Every broken piece of him can shatter me, and I’ll take it willingly.
I’m lost to him, to this. To the overwhelming force of him. My body is his to claim, his to use, and I give it willingly, meeting each of his thrusts with a desperate hunger of my own.
He roars as he finds his release, his body shuddering against mine as he fills me completely. I shatter with him. My eyes fly wide though I am sightless. The pleasure is blinding, searing through every nerve, every inch of me, until I’m nothing but sensation and sound.
Dominic pulls out of my body and a whine of disappointment escapes me. The room swims, the weightlessness of my head makes it difficult to think.
But he’s not done. Dominic drops to his knees, dragging me down with him until my back hits the floorboards. His mouth is on me before I can catch my breath, his tongue lapping at my folds, lapping at our mingled desire with a desperation that borders on madness.
Pain blooms under where his fingers grip my thighs and I know there will be bruises later. I don’t care. I buck, chasing the pleasure he’s pulling from me with every flick of his tongue, every rough suck.
I moan his name over and over, knowing he needs to hear it.
Even as he pushes me to orgasm two more times, until the shake in my thigh travels up and out to rock my entire body, Dominic never lets up.
It’s not enough. It will never be enough.
When he flips me onto my stomach, pressing my chest into the table and dragging me back onto him, I scream his name. Wet wood and splinters bite into my skin as he pushes his hard dick into my softened, greedy center. The air pounds out of me with every stroke, my body pliant, greedy for him.
He hits deeper than before, driving my mind straight out the top of my head. When he finally explodes again, I’m incoherent, tears streaming down my face from the pleasure and pain he’s wrung out of my body.
For a long moment, there’s nothing but the sound of our ragged breaths and the rain pounding against the roof. His body trembles against mine, his claws still biting into my hips, his teeth grazing my shoulder as he struggles to come back to himself.
His breaths are shaky now, less animal, more human, and I feel his grief softening into something quieter, something broken. The violence he poured into me wasn’t just rage—it was release, a purging of everything that’s been rotting inside him. I can still feel the imprint of his teeth, the burn of his claws, and I know that I’ve taken it. I’ve taken his pain, his punishment, and given him a moment of peace.
A fierce stinging attacks the back of my eyes as I can’t help but think my cousin is right. This twisted, fucked up situation does feel like a Shakespearean tragedy. A tear leaks out of my eye, trailing hotly down my cheek as I try not to think of myself as a Capulet and Dominic as a Montague, both of us destined to die horribly.