Starlet: A Dark Retelling - Cora Kenborn Page 0,96

the invasion, my body revolting.

“Is this what you want?” he hisses, pumping hard as I cry. “You want me to hurt you?”

I nod, too overcome for words.

“Fuck!” He sucks air through clenched teeth. “I told you I wasn’t a good man. I warned you, but you wouldn’t listen. You wore me down, Angel.” Pulling back, he fucks me hard, and I both love and hate him for it. “You kept on and on and on until you won, and now you don’t want me? The real Dominic? Tough shit. You’re going to get him.”

I can’t speak. I can’t breathe. All I can do is scream his name as he loses control. One violent thrust after the other, every stroke as fucked up as we are.

“You’re mine,” he hisses, punctuating each word with a slam of his hips. “Mine. Why can’t you fucking remember that? Remember me…”

The possessiveness in his voice is my undoing. My body splinters all around him, and I cry out his name as I shatter into irreparable pieces. At the same time, Dominic’s body jerks, and he buries his face in the hollow of my neck, roaring out his release as he spills inside me.

The room stills, thick and heavy with regret. Dominic’s breath is hot on my skin as he pulls out and slowly lowers me to my feet. Neither of us knows what to say, so he turns, tucking himself back inside his jeans while I just stand there, the evidence of what we just did dripping down my thighs.

Finally, he lets out a ragged breath and rakes a hand through his hair. “Look, about that photo. There’s something else—”

“Leave.”

The dim glow from the laptop casts a splash of light across his shocked face. “What?”

“I need you to leave now.” I close the laptop. Pausing, I run my fingers along the edge of the desk before turning toward the door.

“Now? After what we just…” His voice trails off as his steel gaze narrows. “What the hell just happened, Angel?”

I pause in the doorway. “The final act,” I whisper before heading toward the east wing.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Dominic

My office used to energize me. Inside these glass walls, I controlled the world and everyone in it. Now it’s a prison. These glass walls have become iron bars, and my wardens are the very people who brought me to power.

Milly leans against the doorframe, her arms folded across her chest. “You can’t hide out here forever, you know.”

The overdue invoices littering my desk are killing my buzz, so in one uncoordinated motion, I swipe them onto the floor. Satisfied, I reach for a nearly empty bottle of whiskey and take an indulgent swig. “Why not? Wasn’t it you who told me to keep my dick in my pants and come to work?”

Wincing, she pulls off her glasses and rubs her eyes. “I don’t think it’s your dick that’s the problem here.”

My fist tightens around the bottle. “Don’t.” Milly flinches at the harsh bite of my tone, but I don’t care. What happened is my fault, and mine alone. It won’t be mentioned inside these walls.

Now or ever.

Rolling her lips over her teeth, she pushes off the doorframe and invites herself into my office. “Dom, it’s been five days,” she says, slumping into a chair in front of my desk. “You’re like a pendulum, swinging from one extreme to the other. Either you ghost us, or you’re like the manic party crasher who never leaves. You can’t live like this.”

Spinning my chair, I turn the bottle up and stare out at the street. “Why not? It worked for Hemingway.”

“Hemingway shot himself.”

I glance over my shoulder, offering a whiskey-infused smirk. “Maybe he just knew when it was time to leave the party.”

“Jesus!” She yells, slamming her palms against my desk, and the sudden movement causes me to swivel my chair back around. “What’s wrong with you? This isn’t the Dominic McCallum I know. The one who went after the most powerful men in Hollywood. That guy knew everything could blow up in his face, but he didn’t care. You know why?”

I shrug, lifting the bottle again. “Because he’s a fucking moron?”

“No, because he’s not a quitter.” Letting out a frustrated groan, she shoves her glasses back on her face before collapsing back into her chair. “Have you talked to her?”

Her.

She doesn’t have to even say her name. My heart races just at those three letters.

“Nobody’s talked to her.” I rub the space in my chest that hasn’t stopped aching in five days.