Page 18 of Beneath the Thorned Crown

“I’m not—”

“You are.” His voice is firm, cutting off my denial. “Every time I get close, you pull away. Why?”

I don’t know how to answer. My thoughts are a tangled mess, and the words stick in my throat.

“I don’t…” I swallow hard. “I don’t trust myself.”

His gaze softens, but the intensity doesn’t fade. “You can trust me.”

Can I? The question burns in my mind, but before I can answer, he lifts his hand, tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear. His fingers linger there, brushing lightly against the sensitive skin of my neck. The warmth of his touch sends a shudder through me.

I don’t know who moves first, but suddenly his lips are on mine, and the world tilts.

The kiss starts slow, tentative, as if he’s giving me the chance to pull away. But I don’t. Instead, I lean into him, my hands finding their way to his chest. His heart beats steadily beneath my palm, a sharp contrast to the chaos in mine.

It’s been two years since I’ve felt this—since Sebastian left for Italy and took every ounce of warmth with him. Two years without being kissed, without the touch of someone else—of a man. And now, it feels like I’m waking up from a long, numbing winter, my body craving the heat, the connection, the intimacy I’ve denied myself for so long.

Dominic’s hand slides to the small of my back, pulling me closer, and I gasp against his mouth as his other hand tangles in my hair.

Fire ignites in my veins, spreading through me like a fever. His lips are firm, commanding, and the way they move against mine leaves me breathless.

I clutch at his suit jacket, my fingers curling into the fabric as if I need something to hold onto. The heat between us is overwhelming, consuming, and I feel like I’m drowning in it.

His hand lowers to graze my thigh, just below the hem of my dress, sending a tremble through me. The sensation is enough to make my knees weak, but he holds me steady, his strength a lifeline I didn’t know I needed.

I pull back, just enough to catch my breath, and our eyes meet. His are dark, filled with a hunger that matches my own.

“Isabella,” he murmurs, his voice rough, almost pleading.

I don’t let him finish. Instead, I press my lips to his again, silencing whatever words he was about to say. This time, the kiss is more urgent, more desperate. I’m not thinking anymore—I’m feeling, drowning in the heat of him and the way he makes me forget everything else.

His hand moves under the fabric of my dress, his fingers brushing against my bare skin, and I can’t suppress the soft moan that escapes my lips. The sound seems to spur him on, his grip tightening as he pulls me even closer. Our bodies are pressed together, and I can feel the warmth of his skin even through the layers of our clothes, the heat of his body radiating against me, making it hard to focus on anything but the intense pull between us. His fingers slide up my thigh, tracing the curve of my hip before they settle, firmly grabbing my hips. Instinctively, my legs wrap around his waist as he lifts me effortlessly. I feel the solid pressure of his hands, holding me steady, making me feel like I’m drowning in him. Every nerve in my body responds, my breath hitching as his hold deepens, locking me even closer against him.

But just as the fire threatens to consume us completely, Dominic pulls back, gently lowering me to the ground, his breath heavy. His forehead rests against mine, and I can feel the strain in his body—the inner war he’s fighting with himself.

“We should stop,” he says, though his voice lacks conviction.

“Why?” The word slips out before I can stop it, and I hate how vulnerable it sounds.

His eyes meet mine, and for a moment, I see his raw and unguarded face. “Because if we don’t, I won’t be able to.”

The honesty in his words hits me like a punch to the chest, and I realize with startling clarity that I’m already past the point of no return.

For minutes, we don’t move, caught in the pull of a hunger neither of us can control. And for the first time in a long time, I don’t want to let go. A moment later, Dominic presses a kiss to my forehead, his hands gripping my arms, reluctant to let go.

“Goodnight, Isabella,” he whispers against my skin before walking away, leaving me standing alone.

Chapter 8 - Dominic

The warehouse smells like rust and damp concrete, a suffocating mix that clings to my senses as I step inside. My footsteps echo off the grimy walls, each one deliberate, a sharp reminder of who holds the power in this room. The fluorescent lights above shine weakly, casting erratic shadows across the floor.

In the center of the cavernous space, Adrian Torres sits slumped in a battered chair, his wrists bound tight, his face a patchwork of sweat and blood. He tries to lift his head as I approach, but fear—and Jayden’s earlier handiwork—keeps him down.

“Boss,” Nico greets me, his tone neutral but sharp. He stands a few paces back, arms crossed, his face impassive. Jayden is beside him, spinning a crowbar in one hand like it’s an extension of his arm. He joined me when he was only 17—sharp as a tack, with a memory that never forgets a detail. His loyalty is unshakable, and in all the years since, he’s proven himself time and again, never faltering when the heat is on.

I nod at them, my eyes never leaving Adrian. The man reeks of desperation, though he does his best to mask it under a defiant scowl. It’s almost impressive. Almost.

I take my time walking closer, letting the silence stretch. The tension in the room thickens with every passing second, and I can feel Adrian’s resolve cracking, piece by piece.

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