A Dominant Salvation (A Dominant Series Book 3)

by Lena Black

  “I won’t jump to any conclusions when it comes to you and your reproductive health. We will perform tests and take X-rays to make sure everything is in working order.”

  She finished my history, ordered blood and lab work, and checked me over head to toe. By the time I’m ready to leave her office, I feel like a human guinea pig.

  “Now,” she says before I exit the exam room, “I don’t want you to fret about any of this while we wait for the results. From what I can tell, you’re a healthy young woman with a long future ahead of you. And it doesn’t do your health any good if you worry yourself to death.”

  She smiles and pats me supportively on the arm.

  “Thank you, Dr. Charles.”

  Later that evening, while I lie in bed beside Damian, sleep refuses to come as the events of the afternoon replay in my head. Even though the doctor told me not to worry, it did little to ease my mind. I toss and turn, my thoughts racing and my body restless.

  I watch Damian sleep, wishing desperately to follow him into the dark void. But lying around waiting for it isn’t going to make it come any quicker.

  I kiss my slumbering husband on his broad back and slip out of the comfort of our bed.

  Hunt

  I wake in a cold sweat, with jarring fear swimming through my veins, my heart leaping from my chest. It’s hard to breathe, as if there were a large hand clutched to my throat. I can’t remember what my nightmare was about, but I can take a good guess. The stress is finally weighing down on me. I know I should talk to Elle about what’s going on, but how can I put that on her?

  Gabrielle.

  I turn over to find solace in her touch, but she isn’t there. I panic for a moment, still between awake and asleep. I shoot up; searching the room for her, but it’s nearly pitch black. I jump out of bed and throw on a pair of black sweatpants, heading out of our room to find her.

  I check the spare room and my office, but she isn’t in either. I head downstairs. Crossing the main room, I hear the rustling of pans and Elton John singing Benny and the Jets in the kitchen.

  When I push the door open, she’s lying cookie sheets and a large bowl on the marble island, singing along with the classic tune, shaking her wide hips to the beat.

  I lean on the doorframe and continue to watch her gather the ingredients for her midnight snack. She’s dressed in that white silk robe I love, the one that makes her look virginal, and I start to wonder if she has anything on beneath it.

  Finally, she spots me and smiles, turning the music down.

  “Hey,” she says softly. “Can’t sleep either?”

  I shake my head slowly and smirk with the lustful gleam in my eyes that sends her up the wall. She lets out a whimper, and I saunter over to her, boring my eyes into hers. I reach her and spin her so she’s facing away from me, press her into the counter, and brush her hair over her shoulder to expose her neck to me. I lean into it, trailing deep kisses to her jaw and ear.

  “What are we cooking?”

  “Cookies,” she moans out as I trace my tongue along the fold of her ear.

  “Tasty,” I reply with a gravelly voice. “May I help you?”

  “Yes, slick, you may.” She presses her rear into my steel cock, but I step away to regain the control. She glances back at me over her shoulder, pouting. I smirk at her, popping a cocky brow.

  She smiles up at me, a huge teeth-bearing grin. “Alright,” I clap my hands together, rubbing them rapidly, “what do you need me to do?”

  We blend milk, eggs, chocolate chips, and other ingredients in a bowl and whip it into submission. When it’s ready to put on the tin, I stick my finger into the batter and take a taste. “Mm.”

  “Stop! You have to wait until they’ve baked,” she scolds, slapping my hand. If one of my subs had done that in the past, I would’ve punished her severely. Luckily for her, it’s charming when Elle gets all bossy. “These are for Sloan and Maya, too.”

  I grin wickedly, and she scowls. I poke my finger into the dough again and smear it over her lips.

  “Hey!” she giggles, licking off the gooey mess. Her eyes playfully glare at me. She takes two fingers and drops them into the batter, scooping up a wad onto the tips.

  “I wouldn’t if I were you,” I warn with a kinked smirk.

  “Well, you aren’t me, and I’m not you,” she retorts with a wicked glint in her eyes and spreads the cold goo down the bridge of my nose to my lips.

  “Oh, you’re done,” I teasingly threaten her.

  “Don’t.” She holds her palms up to me. I grab onto her wrist, yanking her into my arms. I lean my head in and rub my nose across her face, cheeks, forehead, and lips. “No,” she pleads in a fit of the giggles.

  The song changes to something sultry, the atmosphere around charging, and the energy shifting. The sudden urge to be inside her, possessing every inch of her body overwhelms me, hardening my cock.

  I grasp a fistful of her lush, golden hair and gently yank her head back, looking over her beautifully messy face. As I gaze into her eyes, the playful light fades, transforming into licentious wanting. She thrusts her small hands into my hair, weaving it between her fingers. I come onto her lips, licking and tasting the sweetness of the cookie dough and her on my greedy tongue. She lets out a moan and melts into me like hot butter.

  I grab her by the waist, lift her onto the counter, and spread her legs with my hips, grinding into her with my firm cock. My lips move over her jaw, and she tilts her head back, giving me access to her neck.

  “You feel so good,” she pants, writhing under my wanton touch.

  “You taste phenomenal,” I reply from the curve of her neck.

  My fingers blindly search for the opening of her robe, grasping on and ripping it open, pushing it off her shoulders so she’s exposed to me. I pull away, noticing she isn’t wearing anything underneath, and explore her luscious body with my kneading hands. I tear one away, dip a few fingers into the batter, and paint it across her breasts and tiny nipples.

  “What are you doing, slick?” she asks with a lustful haze over her face, panting for me.

  “Having dessert,” I reply, coming down on her with devouring strokes of my tongue.

  “I love you,” she says with a gasp, gripping her hands in my hair as I dine upon her.

  I lift my head up slightly and tell her the most honest words I’ll ever express. “Love can’t comprehend what I feel for you. It pales and cowers.”

  “I know, baby,” she purrs, running her nails across my scalp, and I realize she truly does. She finally accepts my love for her fully.

  My need to take her hard overpowers me. Making love just won’t satiate this burn inside me.

  I bring her nipple back into my mouth, nipping and plucking at it with my teeth. She moans loudly, and her body arcs, covered in sugar and raw dough. She’s a delicious disaster.

  I move down, tasting the intoxicating mix of the ingredients and my wife’s flesh on my taste buds. I’ve never been so hungry or hard in my life.

  “Give it to me, Damian,” she pleads.

  “What, angel? What do want me to give you?”

  “Your cock,” she whimpers out as if on the verge of tears, so desperate for me, it overcomes her, too.

  I wrap an arm about her waist, positioning her into the center of the island while I climb atop her, adjusting myself between her legs. Without hesitation, I enter her, sinking root deep into the warmth of her responsive body.

  “Yes,” I hiss, immersing myself inside her. “Is that what you needed, angel?”

  “Oh, fuck.” Her hands claw at my back when I start to pump into her with hard, relentless thrusts. I move my arms under her back, hooking my hands onto her powder-dusted shoulders to gain better leverage, pulling her down onto me with every harsh thump.

  The sharp pings of metal and pops of glass, pushed off the counter by our reckless wanting, hit the floor with a clattering crash.

  Her warm pussy gobbles my cock, devouring it to the base. She sw
ivels and dips, taking her pleasure from me.

  “Harder,” she screams out, ordering me to give her what she needs. I pull out quickly, flip her over, and spread her legs with my hips, sinking back inside her soft folds from behind. I slam into her ceaselessly, driving my cock deep, and grasp a fistful of hair into my hand. I yank her head back hard enough to get her attention. She growls and shoves back onto me, meeting me thrust for thrust.

  I feel her constrict around me, twitching violently about my head and shaft, begging me for every drop of my cum. I feel myself tense, seizing up until I explode, milking myself into her with thick gushes. I keep at her, using my cum as lubricant, pounding into her mercilessly.

  My hand still clasped to her hair, I take the other and shove it under her hips, lifting them slightly. My finger slithers between her swollen lips, saturated with a mix of her and me, and locate her clit, hard like a little pebble. I rub it with circular motions while I aggressively pump into her. Feeling her build up around me, I go wild on it, flicking it with rapid strikes until she bursts, tremoring beneath me, crying out my name.

  I press my torso into her and mutter breathlessly into her ear, “That’s it, angel. Feel it.”

  She convulses and then goes limp on the counter, panting uncontrollably.

  Kissing her creamy back, I edge myself from her spent body, ensuring she feels every inch of me on my way out, and lie beside her on the marble island satisfied. I cradle her in my arms, resting her head on my chest.

  “I love you, Elle,” I murmur in her hair before kissing her atop her head.

  She glances up at me with heavy-lidded eyes and smiles weakly.

  “I love you, Damian.” With those final sleep-hazed words, she’s out like a light.

  Chapter Seven

  Glimpse

  When I arrived at View’s bayside offices to sign the contract the following Monday, my mind was occupied. I walk toward the conference room in the back, a gaggle of wolves in suits behind me. I entered the conference room and took my place at the head of the table. Normally, I would send the guard dogs to finish up a simple purchase, but I chose to attend this one. Not out of respect for Olivia. For Elle. Purely for Elle.

  I had time before the meeting started, which allowed me to think about my sister and our current situation, my promise to Hyde and my intentions for his daughter. To say my intents for her were unadulterated, would’ve been false. I wanted to defile her, tie her up, and tease her sweet body with every toy in my extensive collection until these cravings went away. But if I took that step, I knew it would put my relationship with Marshall in jeopardy. I’d started to rethink my deviant plans when the door opened and she walked through. She faltered when her blue eyes met mine. She’d recovered and taken her place at the other end of the table with Liv. Except she didn’t quite make it into her chair. She fell back and tumbled onto the floor. I jumped up before she had settled and knelt by her side. She was the most beautiful creature I’d ever seen, her lace bra and garters peeking out from her disheveled clothes. I gave her a hand and turned away to give her a moment to collect herself. I wasn’t about to let anyone see those creamy curves of hers. They belonged to me.

  During the meeting, all I could think about was those curves, how I wanted them, to bury myself inside the softness of their supple lines. She tried avoiding eye contact with me, but every now and then, her resolution slipped and I’d catch them lingering on me. It pleased me greatly, to know she wanted me as I wanted her. I couldn’t focus on what the lawyers and hired hands I left to hash out the details were talking about. By the end of the meeting, I’d made up my mind. I rose to address the room of suits, announcing I’d be moving the magazine headquarters to the Huntsman. This confused Olivia. It hadn’t been a part of the original agreement, but if she wanted my help, she’d do it without question.

  She did.

  Once we signed on the dotted line, and I managed to convince Elle to join me for lunch, we headed out. The car ride to the restaurant was tense. It wasn’t because of her. At least, not for anything she was doing. It was me. I was insane for taking the daughter of my business partner and friend out, even for a platonic lunch.

  Platonic, yeah. There was nothing platonic about my plans for her. I wanted her in every way a depraved man like me could want her. Flashes of her lace-covered breasts and thighs poking out from her work attire kept reminding me of my intentions. She was tempting me even in the car, her fragile hand placed between us since we left, her shapely legs crossed and leaning toward mine, the way her hourglass curves filled out her blouse and skirt.

  “I’m pleased you walked into the meeting,” I remarked emotionlessly, attempting to appear in control outwardly and subdue myself inwardly.

  “Yeah, you seem it,” she snapped.

  I couldn’t blame her. I knew my actions were confusing.

  “I am, but I know this is wrong.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “This. You and I, us, together.”

  “I wasn’t aware we were together. If it’s a problem, why invite me to go to lunch?” she asked with an affronted tone.

  It was a simple yet damning question. And the answer was clear. Even though I was bound by a promise, I couldn’t stay away. I wanted to be near her. I wanted her scent in my nose. I wanted to admire her beautiful face in the flesh, not frozen in the captured moments hung across her parents’ home. I wanted her, which is why I kept an emotional wall between us. I couldn’t get close. And I couldn’t be candid about my intentions either. So, I told her a shade of the truth.

  “I have an opportunity, and I plan to take it. I should keep my distance from you, but I find it difficult. You’re a good girl, and I don’t want to take advantage of your…respectabilities.”

  “You need not be concerned with my respectabilities.” She then proceeded to reprimand me about treating her like a child. I’d never been scolded by a woman before. It both impressed and aroused me. She was stunning when she was mad, the fire in her eyes, the flush of her cheeks, the confidence in her conviction. It drove me wild.

  I quickly began to regret my decision not to drive us to the restaurant myself. I was going to lose it before we’d arrived. I was going to fuck her right then, take her from behind with her face pressed against the leather of the backseat, make her scream for more. If I’d been the one driving, I wouldn’t be able to. I vowed then, the next time I got in a car with her, if I ever did again, I would drive. Being in the close confines with that woman is a true test to my self-control.

  Luckily, Banks announced our arrival. I was able to snap out of my delirium enough to gain some semblance of restraint. I hadn’t experienced that level of urge and lack of control since I was a kid, jonesing in rehab. It angered me. I didn’t like anyone or anything having that kind of effect on me.

  Things didn’t change once we entered the restaurant. She sat nervously, glancing around at the few patrons or the walls, but eventually attempted small talk, complimenting the establishment. I played along, informing her it was mine and my sister’s place. We said the usual polite banter, suppressing the silence lingering around us.

  She looked over her menu to avoid the awkwardness of my closed off demeanor. I took the chance to watch her. She’d shown me that fire in her belly. She was a fighter. I wondered if she were even capable of my lifestyle. I decided to test her, start with something simple.

  “There’s no need for that. I already know what you’ll have.”

  Her eyes narrowed over the top of her menu, glaring bullets into my face. But she didn’t argue. She placed the menu back on the table and sat quietly.

  Interesting, I’d thought.

  After the waiter came and went, we sat patiently. Well, I did anyway. Gabrielle on the other hand couldn’t stop fidgeting. She wriggled around in her chair like a fish on a hook. It was very distracting, watching her body writhe around. It made me think of her spread open and tied up, squirming and overwhelmed with pleasure.

  “Gabrielle,
could you please stop fidgeting? It’s quite difficult to focus,” I commented tersely.

  She straightened up and sipped on her water.

  “If we’re wrong,” her voice trembled on the first few words, “why approach me at the club? Why ask me to lunch?”

  I enjoyed her awkwardness. It meant I messed her up too. I smirked, pleased with myself, which only seemed to add fuel to her fire.

  “I should stay away from you,” I clarified. “I knew from the moment I saw you, you weren’t right for me. I told you at the bar, I was compelled to meet you. It didn’t seem I had a choice in the matter.”

  “Are you psycho? Do you need your meds? Because you’re fucking crazy! One minute, you’re pleased to see me, and the next, I’m not right for you. Who doesn’t have a choice in what they do? I didn’t notice anyone holding a gun to your head…You are right about one thing. I should stay the hell away from you!”

  She sprung out of her chair and rushed for the exit. For a brief moment, I was going to let her walk out of my life. Then I realized one simple fact. I didn’t want her to. I jumped to my feet and chased after her, catching her hand at the door.

  “Oh, now you want to hold my hand, but not when I put it out there for you to take.”

  She snarled at me and ripped her hand away before escaping out to the street. I caught up with her once again, but she only walked faster.

  “What do you want?! Why are you following me?!” she shouted. It made me cringe. Normally, I wasn’t one to publicly air my dirty laundry, but I hated seeing her unhappy.

  “I want to make sure you get back safely. Besides, I’m not following you. I’m walking alongside you,” I retorted.

  “Semantics. You are following me. Besides, you need to stay away from me, remember?”

  She tried to escape again, but I reached out for her, stopping her in her tracks. She kept her face down, refusing me access to her exquisite eyes. I slanted her chin upward, and the walls crumbled under the weight of her tears.

  “Please, don’t cry,” I implored, drying the wet trails from her face. “This is what I am trying to avoid. If you and I were to start a rapport, this will be how it ends, in tears. I can’t stand to watch a sweet innocent cry. I didn’t say I need or want to stay away. I said I should. There is a difference.”