Her Possessive Don- 3

CHAPTER 3

BELLA

“We’re going to a charity gala tonight,” Dominic said, and he didn’t look up from his coffee when he said it. “You’ll be ready at seven.”

I set my fork down. “I’m not going to a gala with you.”

“You are.”

“I don’t have a dress. I don’t know those people. I don’t want to stand next to you and smile like I belong on your arm.”

“You’ll have a dress,” he said. “People there already know better than to ask questions I haven’t invited. And you don’t have to smile. You only have to stay where I put you.”

I leaned forward. “Why would you take me out? So everyone can see what you bought?”

“So everyone can see what’s mine,” he said. “There’s a difference.”

“Not from where I’m sitting.”

He finally looked at me and his voice stayed level. “Makeup artists will be here at four. They’re expensive and they’re discreet and they’ll make you look like you walked out of a magazine.”

“And if I refuse?”

“Then I’ll dress you myself.” he said. “Choose the version you can stand.”

I wanted to throw the plate. I didn’t. “What’s the charity even for?”

“Children’s hospital,” he said. “You can hate me and still stand in a room that raises money for sick kids. The two things are allowed to exist at the same time.”

“That’s a cheap way to make me feel guilty.”

“It’s a fact,” he said. “Finish eating. You’ll need it.”

At four the artists came in with cases and lights and quiet professional faces, and they didn’t ask who I was or why I looked like I wanted to run.

They curled my hair and pinned it so it fell over one shoulder and they painted my lids dark and when they were done I looked like a girl who’d never lived in a thin-walled apartment with a father who sold her. Dominic dismissed them with a nod and they packed up fast and left us in the quiet.

He picked up the dress from the bed. It was black and cut to the skin, the kind of dress that cost more than my old rent, and he said, “Stand up.”

I stood. “I can put it on myself.”

“I know you can. I’m still going to do it.”

He unzipped it and held it open and I stepped in. The fabric climbed my body and he drew it up over my hips and my waist and my chest, and his fingers brushed my spine as he pulled the zipper slowly all the way to the top. “Breathe,” he said.

“I am breathing.”

In the elevator his palm found the small of my back and it stayed there. In the lobby it stayed there. When the limo door opened it stayed there while I folded into the seat, and when he sat beside me his hand returned to the same place like it had never left.

“You don’t have to hold me the entire night,” I said.

“I know I don’t have to,” he said. “I’m going to.”

The gala was lights and glass and people who smelled like money. His hand never left the small of my back. When he introduced me he said my name and nothing else, and when a woman with diamonds asked how we met he said, “Recently,” and steered me away before I could open my mouth.

“I could’ve answered her,” I muttered.

“You would’ve told the truth,” he said. “I’m not in the mood to explain a debt to a donor.”

“Then you shouldn’t have brought me.”

“I wanted you seen,” he said, and his thumb moved once against my spine. “Seen isn’t the same as heard.”

A man tried to kiss my cheek in greeting and Dominic’s hand pressed harder and he said, pleasantly, “She doesn’t like to be touched.” The man laughed it off and left and I looked at Dominic.

“I can speak for myself.”

“You can,” he said. “Tonight you won’t.”

We lasted two hours of champagne I barely drank and conversations I wasn’t allowed to finish. In the car on the way home the partition was up and the city slid by in streaks until he turned me on the seat.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Taking what I’ve been thinking about since I zipped that dress.”

“We’re in a limo.”

“I know what we’re in,” he said. “Lie back.”

“Dominic.”

“Try again.”

I swallowed. “Sir.”

“Good. Lie back.”

I lay back and he pushed the gown up my thighs with both hands and hooked my underwear aside,

“Someone will hear.”

“The glass is thick and the driver’s paid not to hear,” he said. “Open your legs.”

“This is insane.”

Two fingers slid through the wet he found and pushed into me without warning. I gasped and grabbed the leather and he watched my face while he worked me.

His fingers curled and I bit my lip and he said, “Don’t go quiet on me now. You had so much to say at breakfast.”

“I’m going to kill you.”

“Later,” he said. “Right now you’re going to cum on my fingers and then I’m going to put my mouth on you.”

“You can’t eat me out in a limo.”

“I can,” he said, and he didn’t slow down. “Say please.”

“No.”

He rubbed that spot that made my hips lift off the seat and I hated how fast my body remembered this morning against the door. “Say please, sir.”

“Please,” I whispered, and then, because he waited, “Please, sir.”

He pulled his fingers out and I made a helpless sound at the loss. He hooked my knees over his shoulders and dragged me to the edge of the seat, his mouth was on me. I clapped a hand over my own lips because the first lick dragged a noise out of me that didn’t belong in a moving car.

He lifted his head just enough to speak against me. “Move your hand. I want to hear you.”

“The driver.”

“Can’t hear you,” he said. “I can. That’s the only audience that matters.”

He licked through my folds and sucked my clit and I grabbed his hair because I needed something to hold and he hummed like that pleased him. “You taste like you did this morning,” he said. “

He ate me like he had time. Two fingers came back to join his mouth and I was shaking. “I’m close. Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

“Ask properly.”

“Please, sir. Please let me cum.”

He sucked harder and crooked his fingers and I broke with my heels digging into his back and my cry caught in my throat and he kept licking me through it until I was twitching and trying to close my legs and he wouldn’t let me.

When he finally lifted his head his mouth was wet and he wiped it with the back of his hand and then he licked his fingers again, same as the morning, watching me while I tried to remember how to breathe.

I pulled the dress down with clumsy hands. “You’re unbelievable.”

“You came on my tongue in a limo after a charity gala,” he said. “We can add that to the list of things you said you’d never do.”

“I hate you.”

“I know,” he said, and he fixed my skirt with the same calm he used to zip me into it, and his hand returned to the small of my back as the limo slowed in front of the building. “Keep saying it. It sounds honest when you’re still shaking.”

The door opened and the night air hit my face and I stepped out on legs that didn’t feel like mine, his palm stayed exactly where it had been all night, guiding me toward the elevator.

The elevator doors opened and his hand was still at the small of my back and I could still feel his mouth on me from the limo and my legs didn’t trust the marble when we stepped into the penthouse. I made it three steps before he turned me and backed me into the wall kissing me like he’d been waiting the whole ride up to do it properly. I tasted myself on his tongue and I made a sound into his mouth that I hated.

“You’re still shaking,” he said against my lips.

“Because you ate me out in a car and then walked me through a lobby like nothing happened.”

“Something happened,” he said. “And we’re not finished.”

“Dominic.”

“Try again.”

I swallowed. “Sir.”

“On your knees.”