“Then let me fill you up,” I murmur, turning him to face me. His eyes are red-rimmed, the usual sharp, commandingintelligence clouded by a profound grief he won’t name. I reach up and cup his face, my thumbs stroking his cheekbones. “Let me remind you who you are, Dominic. Let me remind you what’s real.”
I lean in and kiss him. It’s not a kiss of passion but of solace. My lips are soft against his, a silent promise. For a moment, he doesn’t respond, a statue carved from sorrow. Then, with a ragged breath, he wraps his arms around me, crushing me to him. He deepens the kiss, a desperate, hungry edge to it, like a man drowning and I’m his only source of air.
“I love you,” he whispers, the words raw and broken. “God, Ellie, I love you so much.”
“I love you too,” I breathe back, my hands sliding into his hair, holding him to me. “More than anything.”
His gaze meets mine, and the vulnerability I see there steals my breath. “Show me,” he pleads. “Show me something good. Show me something real.”
I answer him by sliding the straps of my dress down, revealing the simple lace of my bra that I put on after my time with Zane. His eyes trace the curve of my breasts, his expression softening from anguish to reverence. He reaches out, his fingers tracing the strap with a touch so light it feels like a prayer.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re the best thing in my life. The only real thing.”
He unfastens my bra, his knuckles brushing against my skin. He cups my breasts, his thumbs circling my nipples, which tighten under his touch. Leaning down, he takes one into his mouth, his tongue gentle, worshipful. It’s not about arousal; it’s about connection. It’s about grounding himself in my body, in my love.
“I need you,” he says against my skin. “I need to be inside you. I need to feel you.”
“Then have me,” I whisper, my hands going to the button of his trousers. “I’m yours, Dominic. Always.”
Standing, he unzips his pants, letting them fall to the floor. He quickly sheds the rest of our clothes until there’s nothing between us but skin and the faint light from the window. He positions himself between my legs, his cock hard and heavy against my entrance, though he doesn’t push inside, not yet. Instead, he looks at me, his eyes roving over my face, as if trying to memorize every line, every freckle.
“You are my home, Ellie,” he says, his voice thick with unshed tears. “You’re everything.”
Then, slowly, he pushes into me. He fills me completely, a slow, deep, deliberate joining that feels less like sex and more like a sacred vow. I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, my arms encircling his neck. He begins to move, his thrusts slow and rhythmic, a steady, rocking motion that’s both comforting and intensely intimate.
“You’re so good,” he groans, his face buried in my neck. “You feel so good. So perfect for me.”
I hold him tighter, my fingers forking through his hair. “You’re a good man, Dominic,” I whisper into his ear. “The best. Don’t ever let them make you forget that.”
He lifts his head, and his emerald eyes search mine. In their depths, I see the storm of his pain beginning to calm, the chaos receding, replaced by the unwavering light of his love for me. He increases his pace, his hips rolling against mine, each movement a declaration.
“I love you,” he says, again and again, a litany against the darkness. “I love you. I love you. I love you.”
“I love you,” I answer, my voice catching. “I’m here. I’ve got you.”
The pleasure builds, not a frantic fire but a slow, blooming warmth that spreads through my entire body. It’s in the way helooks at me, in the way his hands hold me like I’m precious, in the way he moves inside me with such profound tenderness. When my orgasm comes, it’s a gentle wave, a soft, cresting release that leaves me trembling and breathless. He follows me over, a deep, shuddering groan escaping his lips as he buries himself deep inside me, his body pouring all his pain, his love, his relief, into mine.
He collapses against me, his weight a welcome anchor. We stay like that for a long time, our bodies entwined on the bed, the moon shining through the window our only witness. He’s still inside me, still connected, and I feel the last of the tension leave his body, replaced by a bone-deep peace.
He lifts his head, his eyes clear now, the sorrow replaced by a quiet, fierce love. He presses a lingering kiss to my lips.
“Thank you,” he whispers. And I know he’s not only thanking me for the sex. He’s thanking me for saving him.
29
ELLIE
“Ithink it would be a good idea for you to see a therapist.”
I practically spit out my eggs—chewy and flavorless, though at least we know they weren’t laced with poison since we watched her make them—at Aria’s random declaration.
It’s been a few days since Doyle and Harvey were murdered, and we’ve been trying to go about our lives the best we can.
Kind of hard to do, considering we’re prisoners here.
I haven’t seen or spoken to Fischer in days. I have no idea where he is, and when I broached the subject with Aria the night before, she evasively answered, “Working.”
If that isn’t as ominous as fuck…