Page 33 of Blackmailing Belle (The Lost Girls #4)

Chapter 33

An Apology in Bubbles

BELLE

H ow can waking up feeling like you’ve been hit by a Mack Truck also feel so satisfying and wonderful? I’m sore between my legs in a way I’ve never known I could be, yet under all the bruising and bites, endorphins still steadily course through my veins. Satisfaction at being taken and claimed and fucked thoroughly for countless hours is indelibly imprinted on my mind and body forever.

Again, I might be shocked by how willing I am to lean into sex with such a violent side, but like I’ve told hundreds of women who read things that “aren’t right,” we like what we like. Don’t make yourself wrong for enjoying your fantasy and the itch it scratches. Though I can’t say I’ve ever had such fulfillment in a real-life scenario. That is definitely throwing me.

I stretch my limbs against the soft sheets and weight of the heavy comforter, but only when I inhale deeply do I realize this doesn’t smell like my room. The scent is layered and drenched in the spice and musk of Dominic. Forcing my eyes open—which is no small feat with the sleep gluing them together—I find myself in his room, in his bed, with his darkened figure sitting at the edge of it.

"Dominic?" My voice is scratchy, hoarse, and absolutely ruined.

"I’m sorry."

I extend my hand toward him, but he’s just out of reach. I scootch on the massive bed so I can run my hands along the complicated textures of his muscular back.

Sorry? Why is he sorry?

The flood of endorphins comes to an abrupt halt.

Roman, my own cousin, confessed to orchestrating the horrific murder of Dominic’s family, and my husband is telling me he’s sorry?

"For what?" I ask, my voice still a wreck of concrete pieces and razors.

He turns at that. Green eyes glow with anguish as they meet mine. "I hurt you. I took out all my rage on. . ." A claw brushes over the bite marks on my shoulder. A shiver rolls through me at the memory of how I got it, but he stills.

Unable to properly use my words after a night of screaming in the cold, wet sea air, I grab his paw and bring it to my lips, dropping a kiss on it before meeting his gaze again. In that look, I try to convey everything I feel. That I regret nothing. That I’m sorry for what my family has done to him and his. That I understand he needed to let loose. That I was there with him. That I’m still not afraid.

His nose twitches, and then he gets up.

A pitiful moan escapes me as he steps out of reach. Dominic flashes me a half-smile. "I’ll be right back. Stay here."

He disappears into the adjoining bathroom, and I hear the bathtub faucet turn on. I roll onto my back at the same time my stomach rumbles and rolls. The pain starts to radiate through my entire body a bit more intensely now, but I refuse to let it dampen my satisfaction.

Dominic comes back after a few minutes. He pulls the bedding away from my body, leaving me cold for only a moment before he lifts me up. Even if I lived as long as a fairy, I would never get used to the fact Dominic can make me feel small and light.

He sets me gently on my feet in front of a massive, sunken tub, recessed into a marble platform. Steam rises from the water, curling like phantom hands, and piles of bubbles shimmer beneath the soft, golden light of the chandelier.

My husband firmly but gently presses my lower back, directing me to it. I suck in a breath knowing the hot water is going to sting like hell when it hits all my broken skin, but I step forward. My body is definitely covered in grime and dust from the shack, not to mention I’m covered in sweat and smell like sex.

I appreciate the two shallow steps it takes before I can get into the tub. The big claw-footed tub in my bathroom is lovely, but it’s awkward for me to climb in and out of. Here, I only need to step down into it.

Half gasp, half sigh escapes me as I immerse myself in the deep pool. It has to be big enough to accommodate my husband’s massive form so I have plenty of room and even a lip to sit on.

Surprisingly, it doesn’t hurt. I lift a handful of bubbles and give Dominic a questioning look where he sits on the edge of the tub.

"Mrs. P is also very proficient at creating or procuring—I'm not really sure which—salves and potions that soothe the skin and help healing." I nod in understanding. Then I sink down further until I’ve soaked all of my hair before coming back up. Its dripping weight is heavy along my back.

Dominic sucks in a breath, but when I open my eyes again, he’s made himself busy dousing a loofah in soap until it’s more suds than mesh. I moan when he gently begins to run it along my skin. He only disappears for a moment to return with a beautifully laid tray of tea and one of my favorite blue and white China cups. Watching my massive, half shifted husband pour tea is another strange sight I will always keep filed away to be pulled out whenever I need a moment of ridiculousness and cozy loveliness. He passes it to me, and I sip the Earl Grey with honey. I don’t usually take it with honey, but the concoction instantly soothes my throat as it slides down.

Long, luxurious moments of Dominic washing me as I sip tea like a queen have me questioning everything about my life. I lift my legs so he can wash my thighs and knees. It’s like some kind of fairytale. A sexy, slightly violent fairytale, making it all the better.

When the loofah slides into the water down my inner thigh to gently scrape across my raw bits, I bite my lip to try and keep the moan at bay. The touch is both pleasure and pain, reminding me of last night all over again. I can’t help but set the teacup back in its saucer a little harder than I intended, the clink resounding through the room.

The sound of harsh breathing has me opening my eyes again, even as that loofah continues to slide along my slit. Dominic studies me with such intensity my breath catches in my throat.

Then the loofah disappears, replaced by his human fingers. This time, I can’t keep the needy moan from escaping. I don’t know how it’s possible for arousal to start dropping in my stomach until it’s tightening my groin after all we did last night. I should be completely wrung out, yet I can’t seem to get enough of him. Dominic is careful to keep his touch light and teasing, as his fingers caress up and down, and up and down, my abused sex.

More whimpers emanate from my throat as my hands wrap around the edge of the tub, and I sink in further. Then his digit splits my lips for a quick dip that turns my brain fuzzy. Then he moves up to circle one finger so very gently over my raw clit. He attacked my clit so many times last night, at one point I absurdly wondered if it would fall off when he was done with me.

But there it is, responding and swelling all over again.

"Your poor, pretty pussy," he finally says in a low growl. "I was too hard on you." His words break slightly, and I realize he’s still experiencing remorse for what happened.

"No." It’s easier to speak after the tea and honey, but I’m breathy from what he’s doing. "I wanted it. You needed it."

His face tightens momentarily with some internal pain. He never ceases stroking me, never goes harder or speeds up, yet my need is slowly, lazily rising.

"I’m so sorry, Isabelle."

I open my mouth to tell him he doesn’t need to say that, but then I realize we both hurt each other. Intentionally or not. Relations or not.

"I’m sorry too.” My throat thickens with emotion. "I’m sorry about your family."

He gives me a brief, wry smile. "I’m sorry about yours too."

Usually, the water can turn things a bit raw, but whatever is in the water helps with the smooth glide of his fingers. I wriggle a bit as I start to need more.

Even with the smallest gesture or sound, Dom recognizes what I need and slips a finger inside me. I cry out. It’s as intense as when he thrust his massive barbed cock into me last night.

"So tight," he whispers, and I know he’s hard as nails. To prove it to myself, I force myself to open my eyes and look down at him. The tent of his black silk boxers confirms just that.

"Please," I moan, wanting him all over again.

"No, baby." It’s the first time he’s ever used a pet name, and it absolutely undoes something inside of me. "You’re too raw for me to fuck you again. I’m just going to bring you off nice and easy like this." He removes his finger to rub my clit again in gentle circles before dropping again to slide his middle digit inside me.

I gasp, that coil growing tighter, hotter, brighter the longer he coaxes my body.

"But you?—"

"Came harder than I ever have in my life last night, multiple times," he says, cutting me off. "This is about you and making up for abusing your gorgeous body."

There’s things we need to talk about. My family. His family. How he feels. What he’s going to do next. No. What we’re going to do next.

But I can’t think straight as he slides and penetrates while reverently grazing my clit with perfect, patient rhythm. My head falls back again, my fingers digging into the cold porcelain as it builds and builds inside me.

"That’s it, baby. There’s no rush. Just let yourself feel good. Let me pleasure you. Just relax as I tease your tight, abused little cunt.”

His words wrap around my nipples like a string being yanked taut and they pebble, hard despite all the delicate work going on below the bubbles .

When I come, it’s like tumbling over a waterfall, the descent lasting far longer than the tension that built before it. The release isn’t sharp or frantic but soothing, a slow, rolling wave that cascades through me. Satisfaction spreads outward, reaching the tips of my fingers, toes, and even the bridge of my nose, leaving me utterly weightless and completely at peace.

I drift off to sleep again for a bit, my head supported on the lip of the tub. I doze in and out even as Dominic gets up and moves around. I barely register the knock at the bedroom door or him disappearing.

A feral roar explodes from our bedroom followed by a loud crack. I sit up fast. The water sloshes hard over the lip, knocking the teacup over.

Despite every painful protest of my body—though the bath did help soothe me quite a bit—I step out of the tub and grab a heavy midnight blue robe that I have to pick off the floor to keep from tripping on as I make my way to the bedroom.

Dominic stands there, clutching the now splintered side of the door. Mrs. P and Tock stand at the door with tight expressions. The tell-tale flick and click of Lucien’s lighter tell me he’s just behind them.

"What is it?" I ask, feeling their gaze fall too heavily on me.

Mrs. P swallows hard, struggling to maintain eye contact with Dominic but continually coming back to meet my gaze. "It’s your father, dear. He’s—" She swallows yet again.

"He’s been taken," Dominic growls.