Chapter 11 – The Unraveling
The rooftop was electric.
Laughter mingled with the mellow thrum of jazz morphing into sultry lounge beats. Glasses clinked, heels clicked, and perfume-laced air shimmered with intentions—some innocent, many not.
Dominic stood tall in a quiet corner of the lounge, glass of whiskey in hand, watching it all with the kind of detached dominance only a man like him could carry. The party was his idea, his money, his world. Yet all he wanted—all he could focus on—was the one person doing her best to ignore him.
Kirah.
She was no longer where he'd left her.
He scanned the room, irritation building as more women circled him like sharks. All dolled up—tight dresses, hungry stares, thinly veiled invitations hanging off each word.
"Mr. Vierra…" one purred, brushing imaginary lint from his jacket. "Did you notice the moon tonight? It's almost as breathtaking as you."
Another leaned closer, purposefully showing her cleavage. "You've worked so hard lately. Maybe tonight… you let someone else take care of you."
Dominic's jaw twitched. His eyes hardened.
They were trying to impress him. Compete for him. But none of them came close.
He took a slow step back.
"I didn't come here to be hunted," he said coldly, voice like cut glass. "Find someone else to chase."
With that, he broke through the crowd, eyes scanning.
And then he saw her.
Kirah.
Across the lounge, at the far end of the open-air terrace, sipping from a flute of champagne and laughing—laughing—with some random suited executive. She tossed her curls with casual ease, eyes sparkling, the deep navy of her gown clinging in all the right places. She was magnetic. Unbothered. Alive.
And it was killing him.
The man beside her leaned in, talking close, maybe too close. Kirah didn't pull away. She didn't mind. She smiled, raised a brow playfully.
Then it happened.
The man reached for her waist.
Dominic didn't think.
Didn't wait.
He stormed forward, the crowd parting instinctively as if feeling the tension rippling off him like a live wire.
Before the man's fingers could touch Kirah's curve, Dominic grabbed his wrist.
"Don't," he said, low and dangerous. The man froze. Kirah blinked in surprise.
Dominic turned his blazing eyes to her. "You. Come with me."
Her brows lifted. "Excuse me?"
"I said—follow me."
The commanding tone. The heat in his stare. The possessiveness.
People were watching now.
Kirah felt every eye on them, but she also saw something flickering behind Dominic's gaze—a storm barely leashed.
He didn't look like her boss anymore.
He looked like a man about to explode.
And despite herself, her body responded.
Still, she lifted her chin. "I don't take orders easily."
Dominic stepped in close, whispering just above her skin. "Then consider this… an invitation you don't want to reject."
Their eyes locked.
And slowly, without a word, Kirah followed him.
He didn't say anything as he led her away from the music, away from the crowd, down the short hallway that led to the indoor lounge and beyond—to the private suite connected to the venue. The click of her heels echoed behind his sure, silent steps.
The door shut behind them with a heavy thud.
Silence.
Then he turned.
And his control shattered.
"I don't share," Dominic growled.
Kirah crossed her arms, fire meeting fire. "I wasn't yours to share."
He stepped closer. "You will be."
Her breath hitched.
"Dominic—"
"You've been driving me mad, Kirah. Every look, every little challenge. Do you have any idea what you're doing to me?"
She smirked, masking the tremor in her chest. "Sounds like a you problem."
He was in front of her now.
Towering.
Tension snapped between them like live electricity.
His fingers trailed down the side of her arm. "Say the word, and I'll stop."
Kirah's lips parted.
She could walk away.
She should.
But her body betrayed her with a soft whisper of breath, a tilt of her chin—defiance wrapped in desire.
"I won't say it," she murmured.
Dominic's mouth crushed onto hers.
It was fire and fury, lips claiming, demanding. Hands gripping her waist, pulling her hard against the length of his body. Kirah gasped, her arms threading around his neck as he backed her against the wall of the suite. One hand cupped her jaw while the other slid down to her thigh, finding the slit in her dress and slipping through it like a man starved.
"You're trouble," he murmured against her neck.
"You started it," she whispered back.
He groaned, lifting her in one smooth motion. She wrapped her legs around his waist instinctively, her breath hot and shallow as he carried her to the edge of the plush sofa and laid her down like something precious—only to devour her like something forbidden.
Buttons popped. Fabric slid. Skin met skin.
Kirah arched beneath him, lips parted in silent gasps as his mouth worshiped every inch of her. His touch was both reverent and desperate, the way a man touched when he'd waited far too long. When he didn't just want a body—but her.
Their rhythm grew frenzied. Moans escaped, raw and real.
He was everywhere.
And still not enough.
Dominic growled into her skin, "Tell me this is what you want."
Kirah's nails raked across his back. "Don't you dare stop."
---
Much later, tangled in silk sheets neither of them remembered pulling down, Kirah lay with her head on his chest—silent. Breath slowing.
Dominic stared at the ceiling, pulse finally calming, but his mind anything but clear.
He didn't plan this.
Didn't expect to lose control.
But now, with her body molded to his like she belonged there… he didn't regret a second.
"Don't overthink this," she whispered.
He turned to look at her.
Too late.
He already was.