Chapter 5 Beg Me

ISLA

His words burned in my chest long after he spoke them.

"Because when I finally do, I want you to beg for it."

I hated how my body reacted to the sound of his voice.

I hated that I clenched my thighs together the moment he said it.

I hated him.

Dominic said nothing else during the ride home. But I could feel the tension rolling off him-like he was holding himself back. Like he wanted to stop the car and drag me into the backseat, consequences be damned.

And the worst part?

Some sick, traitorous part of me wanted that too.

When we arrived back at the mansion, the sky had gone dark. The city lights faded behind the gate, swallowed by shadows.

He led me inside, and I expected him to lock me in the room again.

But he didn't.

Instead, he took me down another hallway. One I hadn't seen before.

It opened into a room that looked more like a penthouse suite than a prison.

A king-sized bed with black silk sheets. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the forest. A fireplace flickering with low flames.

A bathroom larger than my old apartment.

This was his bedroom.

I froze.

"What is this?" I asked, voice tight.

He turned to face me, loosening the top buttons of his shirt. "Home."

I stepped back. "I'm not sleeping in here."

"Yes, you are."

"I-"

"I told you," he interrupted smoothly. "You're mine. That means you sleep in my bed. You wake up beside me. You learn what it means to belong."

My stomach twisted. "You don't own me."

His smile was slow and dangerous. "Then why haven't you tried to run again?"

I hated him.

I hated the way he read me.

I hated how right he was.

---

He let me take a shower-alone. Another mind game. Another way to confuse me. I kept waiting for the cameras, the intrusion, the hand around my throat.

But nothing came.

Just silence and steam and the haunting sound of my own thoughts.

When I came out wrapped in a towel, he was sitting on the edge of the bed, shirt off, pants still on. His muscles were carved shadows beneath the firelight, tattoos inked in foreign languages covering one arm and part of his chest.

I tried not to stare.

Failed.

He didn't move when I approached, just looked up at me with that unreadable expression.

"I laid out something for you," he said, nodding toward the black silk robe on the armchair.

I grabbed it quickly, too aware of the way his eyes followed every step.

When I turned back, he was already in bed, sheets low on his hips, arms behind his head.

And I stood there, trembling, wrapped in silk, with no plan and no power.

"Get in."

Two words.

But they stole the air from my lungs.

"I'll sleep on the couch," I muttered.

"No."

"I'm not sleeping beside you."

"You already did once."

"That was different."

He tilted his head. "You were more afraid of me then. Now, you're afraid of yourself."

I bit my lip, hard.

He was right again.

He always was.

And I hated him for it.

But I climbed into the bed.

Slowly. Hesitantly. Like I was stepping into a lion's cage.

He didn't touch me.

Just lay there, his breathing steady.

I turned away from him, curling on my side, eyes wide open in the dark.

And then, I heard him whisper.

"I dream about you."

I said nothing.

"I see you in my mind before I sleep. How you looked when I first saw you... how you look now, fighting me with those eyes."

My throat tightened.

He was quiet for a long moment before speaking again.

"I'm not a good man, Isla. But I could be yours."

I didn't reply.

Not because I believed him.

But because part of me wanted to.

---

DOMINIC

She's close to the edge.

I can feel it.

The fear is still there, but something else is growing beneath it. Desire. Curiosity. Confusion.

She wants to hate me. But her body remembers my touch, even when her mind resists it.

And when she finally breaks, she'll never be able to leave.

Not truly.

That's the power I want. Not just obedience. Not just possession.

I want her soul to crave mine.

The next morning, I woke before her.

She lay still, lashes casting shadows on her cheeks, lips parted slightly. Vulnerable. Beautiful. Mine.

I didn't touch her.

Not yet.

I wanted her awake for what came next.

---

ISLA

I woke to warmth.

Not just from the bed-but from him.

His arm was around my waist. His body pressed against my back. Every hard inch of him lined up against me.

I panicked.

Tried to slip away.

But his grip tightened.

"I said you're mine, Isla," he murmured. "That means I wake up with you in my arms."

I shoved at his arm. "Let go."

"No."

His voice was calm. Dangerous.

"I'll scream," I threatened.

He laughed.

"You won't."

"I hate you."

"Say it again. Louder. Maybe you'll start believing it."

I twisted in his grip, finally facing him.

His eyes were heavy-lidded with sleep, but there was nothing soft in them.

Only heat.

And dominance.

"You think you can break me?" I asked, voice shaking.

He brushed my lower lip with his thumb.

"No, sweetheart," he said softly. "I think you're already cracking."

I shoved him.

This time he let go, laughing as I stumbled out of the bed, breathing hard.

I grabbed my robe and stalked toward the door.

But before I could open it, his voice stopped me.

"Come back when you're ready to beg."

I turned slowly.

"I'll never beg you for anything."

He smirked. "You already are."