Page 49 of Beneath the Thorned Crown

A muscle ticks in his jaw. “You’re playing with fire here.”

My stomach clenches at the way he says it, like it’s both a promise and a threat. Like he’s warning me that if I cross this line, there’s no turning back.

I meet his gaze, holding it, my own pulse wild. “I’m not afraid of getting burned.”

His breath hitches. His fingers flex against the wheel.

And for a second, I think he’s going to pull over.

That he’s going to drag me into his lap, push my dress up, ruin me right here in the car, consequences be damned.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he laughs softly. A dark, low sound that make my thighs clench.

His voice drops to a sinister whisper.

“You think I can’t take you right now?” His eyes flick down, lingering at the hem of my dress, before dragging back up to meet mine.

A tremor runs through me. Not just at his words—but at the way he says them. Before I can reply, his hand finds my bare thigh, which is exposed by the slit in my dress.He rubs his hand up and down, then suddenly takes his warmth away and puts his hand back on the wheel.

The car hums beneath us, the low vibration of the engine thrumming through my body, but it's nothing compared to the way Dominic’s voice affects me—low, dark, commanding.

He doesn’t even have to touch me—his presence alone is enough to make my skin burn.

His hands grip the wheel, his knuckles flexing slightly, his forearms taut. His suit fits him obscenely well, the crisp white shirt stretching over his broad chest, the dark fabric clinging to the ridges of his arms as he maneuvers the car effortlessly.

I need to plan for the auction.

Prepare myself for Samuel Delgado, for the danger that looms ahead.

But all I can focus on is Dominic.

The way he’s been looking at me since I stepped into the car—hungry, possessive, controlled.

And now, his next words nearly knock the breath out of me.

"Touch yourself."

I freeze.

A slow, sharp ache pulses between my thighs.

He’s still staring at the road, casual, unaffected—but his voice? His voice is anything but.

I turn to him, shocked, breathless. “What?”

His lips twitch into that infuriating smirk, like he already knows I won’t refuse.

“You heard me,” he says, his voice smooth and thick like whiskey. “Put your hand between those pretty thighs and touch yourself.”

My pulse pounds against my ribs.

Heat pools in my stomach, spreading lower, throbbing.

I want to tell him he’s insane.

But I don’t.

---