Page 35 of Blackmailing Belle (The Lost Girls #4)

Chapter 35

Boinking?

BELLE

T he room feels too bright, too polished, as if all the glamour and glitter are trying to smother the raw tension crackling just beneath the surface. My heels click softly against the floor as I weave through the clusters of people, my every movement measured and deliberate. I don’t need to look back to know Dominic’s eyes are pinned on me, his restraint undoubtedly fighting against every protective instinct.

But this is my family. This is my fight.

Roman notices me before I reach him, his sharp eyes lighting up with that trademark smile—a mask of charm stretched over something far more dangerous. He steps away from his entourage, raising a champagne flute in mock greeting. His tailored suit fits perfectly, as always, and his easy confidence makes my stomach churn.

"Hey there, Belly," he says smoothly, his voice rich and warm like the predator he is.

I hate that nickname. I’ve always hated it.

"Or should I say Mrs. Dominic Blackwell? I can’t decide whether to congratulate you or send flowers to your funeral."

"Where is he, Roman?" I cut straight to the point, ignoring his grin. "Where’s my dad?"

He laughs, low and dismissive as if I’ve just asked him where he misplaced his wallet. "Basil? Oh, he’s quite comfortable, I assure you. More than comfortable, actually. It’s almost like he never left."

His casual tone, the smug curl of his lips—it all sends a fresh wave of anger rolling through me. But I don’t let it show. Not here. Not now.

"You don’t need to drag him into this. Haven’t you done enough to him?"

Roman observes me almost as if bored. "And you didn’t need to marry the enemy, but here we are, Belly." He sweeps an arm out.

"Why does it matter?" I say in a harsh whisper. "Why does any of this matter?"

I never wanted to be in the middle of a turf war for Thorns. I left my family and everything I knew behind just to try and escape exactly this.

I didn’t plan to marry the Beast of Boston. I didn’t want to be part of their crimes or their politics, but that’s the hand I’d been dealt. Apparently, fate couldn’t allow me to escape this world. At the end of the day, I was just a girl trying to take care of her father. I wanted to read and sell romance books. I didn’t mind my small life as long as it was mine, but standing here in front of Roman with my father on the line it’s like I never left.

Because of Dominic.

I try to swat the idea away, but it blooms before I can pluck it .

Roman’s face finally hardens. "It matters because family has always mattered."

My nostrils flare as I try to keep calm and collected but my cousin gets me as raging as a bull faster than anyone else. "Is that what you told yourself when you had my dad swallow the toxic contents of that Thorn? When you used him as a human guinea pig?”

His expression cools again. "Your father understood what we were trying to achieve. Unlike you, he was committed to our goals, our vision. Though ironically, you are the one to come closest to getting what I’ve been trying so hard to give to our own Pack." His eyes cut across the room. I follow his gaze to my husband. Lucien is speaking to him, but Dominic’s focus is completely directed at me and Roman. If I give him the slightest signal something is wrong, he’ll come over and rip my cousin’s head off, neutral territory or not.

I turn back to my cousin. "Our Pack," I repeat dismissively. "We are not Shifters. Your obsession with brute strength has always mystified me."

"And yet you're the one boinking a Were, dear cousin."

My brows screw up so fast, they threaten to collide and fly off my face. "Boinking?"

He shrugs nonchalantly before patting my shoulder, passing me by. "Don’t worry, cuz, Basil’s nice and comfy and I think your husband ," he stresses the word with both mocking and annoyance somehow, "is open to playing nice tonight."

My nails bite into my palm as my feet root into the ground. Roman is as infuriating as ever.

"You really shouldn’t," a smooth voice reaches me. "Worry, that is. Roman has things under control."

I meet Adrian’s familiar blue eyes. My ex and Roman’s best friend is as handsome as ever. Hair falls over his forehead in that way I used to find devastatingly attractive. He holds up his empty champagne flute. "But I think we both need something strong to get through tonight."

"I don’t think you’re wrong," I murmur, following him to one of the bars.

"I always knew you’d surprise us all in the end," Adrian says with a chuckle.

If you had told me four weeks ago, I’d be standing at a bar with Adrian, being subjected to his roguish charm again my heart might have stopped. Not because I loved him—love isn’t real, so I never could have—but because of what he taught me.

Though now, while he still has the pretty face, he seems so much. . .smaller. Softer. He once crushed my heart in his bare palms, but now. . .I realize he has no power over me whatsoever.

"You were the one who surprised me." The words come out flippant and dismissive.

He sets the champagne glass on the bar, sagging his shoulders as he sighs. "I suppose I deserve that." Then holding up a hand to the bartender, "One bourbon and one gin and tonic. Make the G&T a double."

Five years later, and Adrian still remembers my drink. At one time I would have been touched by the thoughtfulness, but I know that Adrian files things away to use against others.

Just like Dominic did, leveraging your father to force you into marriage.

I mentally swat the idea away again. Dominic isn’t like my family. He isn’t like Adrian.

My attempt to convince myself feels feeble.

"You still selling those sex books?" he asks .

I suppress the urge to roll my eyes, but it comes out as rapid blinking instead. "Romance books," I correct flatly. "And yes. My bookshop is doing very well."

He snorts softly but doesn’t go on.

That is a big difference between Dominic and Adrian. Where Adrian used to constantly inform me that I was reading trash and he found it embarrassing if we were going to be together, Dominic actually picked up the book that captured my interest. My skin heats at the memory of what came next.

Adrian takes the drinks from the bartender before turning to hand me mine. As my hand is about to close on the glass, a clawed hand intercepts.

Dominic places the gin and tonic back on the bar with deliberate force. His golden eyes lock onto Adrian, unblinking and burning with warning. “I don’t know who you are,” he says, his voice low and rough, “but you’re standing too close to something that belongs to me.”

Adrian’s smirk falters, but Dominic doesn’t stop, leaning in just enough to make the air between them crackle with tension. “I suggest you remember that before you try to hand her anything again.”

Dominic’s hand slides to my lower back, pulling me into his side as he steers me away. The growl in his chest doesn’t fade as we walk, his body tense and radiating heat. I let out a bitter laugh, shaking my head. "You think he wants me? Dominic, you don’t know the half of it."

His grip loosens just slightly, his eyes narrowing with suspicion as he waits for me to continue.

"There was a day I overheard him with some of the other Wolves," I begin, the words bitter on my tongue. "I stayed out of sight, listening like some stupid girl hoping to hear something sweet. But what I heard. . ." I trail off, my throat tightening as the memory claws its way back.

I force myself to meet Dominic’s intense gaze, grounding myself in the present. "He said I was useful. That keeping me ‘wrapped around his finger’ gave him access to my family, to power. He talked about me like a tool, something to be used. And love?" I laugh again, the sound sharp and raw. "He said love wasn’t real. That I was just part of his plan to rise in the ranks. Apparently, I’d make a decent wife, and he ‘could get skinnier tail on the side.’" That was a direct quote that lives like a permanent dagger under my ribs.

Dominic’s lips curl into a snarl, his claws grazing my skin. "He said that about you?"

I nod. "I learned my lesson that day. People don’t love, Dominic. They use. My parents did it. Adrian did it. It’s all just. . .utility and convenience.”

Dominic doesn’t speak, his sharp gaze pinning me in place, but I feel the weight of his focus urging me to continue.

"My mother used to complain about my father constantly. She’d sigh and say he didn’t love her the way a husband should. That he cared more about the Wolves, about chemistry equations, and work than about her. And then one day, she just. . .left.”

I glance away, but Dominic’s grip keeps me grounded, his claws trailing lightly over my skin. "And my father? He didn’t fight for her. Didn’t beg her to stay. He just carried on like she’d never existed. If that was love, then it was brittle. Hollow. A myth people tell themselves to make life bearable."

Dominic’s growl rumbles low in his chest, his claws flexing against my skin, pulling me back to the present. " So now you don't believe in love at all.” It’s somehow both a statement and a question.

I shake my head. “But isn’t that what makes me perfect? For you? For our arrangement?”

An internal battle seems to be taking place behind his eyes.

“And you don’t love Adrian anymore?” His lip curls almost involuntarily as he says the name. “You say you don’t believe in love, but he was your first. Firsts usually have weight, a hold that is impossible to dislodge.”

I shrug and shake my head. “I never did. I was just under the illusion I did for a little while. It evaporated when I found out he was using me.”

My tongue feels tied even as I say the words. Why is it difficult to denounce love to my husband? We have a contract marriage. Well, I suppose it’s not entirely limited to the confines of paper anymore.

Dominic’s teeth flash in a dangerous snarl. "Then you won’t mind if I make sure he knows exactly what happens when he covets what doesn’t belong to him."

A shiver races down my spine at the possessive fire in his tone. "Dominic?—"

"You’re wrong, Isabelle."

I blink up at him, trying to keep my voice steady despite the sudden intensity radiating off him. "About what?"

"About him." His thumb brushes the curve of my jaw, forcing me to meet his smoldering green gaze. "I can scent his arousal. His desire. He wants you." His words are clipped, filled with barely restrained fury. "But he can’t have you."

"Dominic—"

"You’re mine," he cuts me off. "Say it. "

A flash of heat rises in me, clashing with the tension in my chest. "I’m yours."

"He touched you once, but he won’t again. Not when every inch of you belongs to me now."

His grip on my throat loosens, not in retreat but in preparation. Before I can catch my breath, he spins me sharply, pressing me forward until I’m bent over the railing.

The cool metal bites into my hips, the sensation grounding me as his claws trail down my sides. Behind the glass, the glowing jellyfish pulse in ghostly blues and greens, casting shifting light over us as his body presses firmly against mine.

His claws hook the hem of my gown, lifting it slowly, deliberately, baring me to him. The chill of the air makes my skin prickle, but it’s nothing compared to the heat of his touch as his hand slides between my thighs.

"You’re not even wearing anything under this," he growls, with dark approval. His fingers find my slick heat, tracing slow, deliberate strokes that send shockwaves through my body. "Did you know I’d do this? Did you want me to?"

A gasp escapes me as he presses closer, his breath hot against the back of my neck. My mind swims, tangled in the weight of his words and the molten ache pooling low in my belly.

"Dominic," I whisper, clutching the railing as my knees weaken beneath his relentless touch.

He leans down, his lips brushing the curve of my ear as his fingers delve deeper, stroking with maddening precision. "You’re mine, Isabelle," he commands. "And I won’t let you back in there until you are full of my cum. I want you feel it sliding down your thighs with every step you take, reminding you who are here with and who you belong to.”