Page 34 of Beneath the Thorned Crown

His lips brush against mine, featherlight, testing. A breath, a pause—then it shifts. His hands slide down, gripping my waist, pulling me into him. The kiss deepens, unraveling from hesitant to something hungry, something consuming. It’s no longer soft; it’s demanding.

I gasp against his mouth, and he takes advantage, his tongue sweeping in, parting my lips, deepening the kiss until I feel him everywhere. His grip is unforgiving, desperate, consuming.

I give in. My hands tangle in his shirt, fisting the fabric, pulling him closer, needing more, needing him. But then—his wound.

For a split second, I pause, my fingers splaying over his chest as if I can hold him together, as if pressing gently against the bandages can somehow erase the pain, the damage.

But Dominic doesn’t give a damn.

He growls against my mouth—a low, feral sound—and his grip tightens on my waist, dragging me closer. His fingers press into my hips, guiding me forward, urging me to move, to take, to want. I nearly climb into his lap, my body instinctively following where he leads, but the moment my weight shifts, he tenses.

A sharp hiss leaves his lips, his body tightening beneath me. Pain.

“Fuck.” He mutters, pulling back just enough for our foreheads to press together. His breath is hot against my skin, his voice thick, strained.

I realize what I’ve done—the wound. The very reason I’ve been tending to him, the very thing that’s supposed to keep me from letting this happen.

“Dominic,” I whisper, my pulse erratic, my heart hammering against my ribs. A wave of guilt crashes over me, tightening my chest. “You’re hurt, I—”

His grip on my hips tightens, his fingers digging in, stopping me from pulling away.

“I don’t give a damn,” he growls, his voice thick with frustration, with need. “I haven’t stopped thinking about you since our kiss.”

The confession slams into me, stealing my breath, making my fingers tremble against his chest.

His next words are worse.

“If it wasn’t for this fucking wound, I’d have you right now, Isabella.”

I inhale sharply, heat rushing through me like a wildfire.

His voice drops lower, darker, rough with pure, unfiltered want. “I’d have you screaming so hard everyone hears. So they know you’re mine.”

Mine.

The word sinks into my skin, embedding itself so deeply I can’t tell if I want to fight it—or let it consume me.

Heat flares in my cheeks, a deep, traitorous blush spreading across my skin, down my neck, blooming low in my stomach. The words are blunt and filthy but I want them to be true.

Dominic watches me with knowing eyes, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He sees what I’m feeling. He knows.

And he wants me to act on it.

His fingers tighten on my waist, his grip firm, possessive. He shifts beneath me, the tension in his body evident, like he’s barely holding himself back. Like restraint is a battle he’s already losing.

I should say something. I need to stop this before we cross a line that neither of us can come back from.

But I don’t.

Instead, my fingers twitch against his chest, my breath shallow, my pulse wild. I want to push him back down. I want to feel his hands roam. I want to give in.

And he knows it.

I see it in the way his eyes darken, in the way he watches me—hungry, impatient, demanding.

His lips part, as if he’s about to give voice to the dirty thoughts I can already see in his eyes.

But before I can decide—

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