The Dom's Secret: A Light BDSM Bad Boy Romance

by Cassandra Dee

  Suddenly, strong arms grabbed me and I heard a voice calling “Becca! Becca! Wake up! Wake up little one! Don’t fall asleep on me.”

  Big hands dragged me onto a boat, and I lay motionless on the floorboards, too cold to even shiver. I knew I must have looked bad because a big hand slapped me across the cheek, which stirred me to consciousness briefly. My eyes snapped open and I saw a big man shaking me, worry and concern deeply etched into his face.

  “Don’t fall asleep!” he commanded, shaking me again. He bundled me into a blanket, but I could barely keep my eyes open, and my headed nodded against my shoulders like a rag doll.

  He slapped me again, and shook me roughly, this time almost lifting me from the floorboards.

  “Don’t fall asleep!” he urged. “The hypothermia will kill you! Stay with me, stay with me baby, don’t go!”

  But I was overcome with exhaustion, and pitched headfirst into a black, dreamless hole.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Dominic

  My heart started racing when I saw the lifeless body face down in the water. Through some divine intervention, after scouring the seas surrounding the island for hours, I’d come upon Becca’s still, motionless form.

  My breathing accelerated and my head swirled. Becca had been an unwanted guest, sure, but like or not, I’d become fond of her, and frankly, didn’t even want to admit to myself exactly what she’d become to me. I gunned the motorboat to her side and roughly pulled her from the waters, her body a dead weight, that red hair a snarled, dripping mess against her pale form.

  Furiously doing CPR was no use. She was too cold, too far gone to respond to my urgent ministrations, and slowly slipped into the depths of hypothermia. Fuck the Caribbean! The sea was warm 99% of the time, except for a rogue current which could catch swimmers unaware. Unfortunately, Becca had swum right into the riptide and her skin was practically blue.

  My heart sank as I held her tight to me, willing my warmth into her lifeless frame. Shit shit shit, I panicked, begging God for a second chance with this woman, anything not to take her away. Slowly, she began reviving, the blood returning to her face, her extremities now damp and chill instead of ice cold. She shivered against me and I took hope. Shivering was a good sign, an indication that she’d recover and I clutched her desperately, unwilling to let go even as I turned the boat around and headed back to Koh-i-Noor. My mind whirled, but I was unable to think straight. I had to get her back to warmth and safety before I contemplated my next steps.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Becca

  Slowly, I came to. I was bundled in a big cotton duvet, wrapped like a hot dog in front of a fire. What was going on? I could feel the balmy Caribbean breeze against my skin, the climate humid and warm, but it was still cold, as if a deep freeze had entered the core of my being, my hands and feet only just beginning to thaw.

  Suddenly, it all came rushing back. I’d tried to escape from the island, but the attempt had been ill-fated. Dominic must have rescued me, and when the door banged open, revealing his huge frame, I opened my mouth to thank him.

  But he was having none of it. Before I could say a word, the big man strode over and ripped off the blanket. I was nude underneath and scrambled futilely to cover my breasts, a hot flush coming over my face despite the fact that my limbs were still chilly.

  “Bitch!” he exclaimed, looking at me with murderous rage in his eyes. “Bitch!” he raged again.

  “I can explain,” I said, trying to cover myself.

  But he was having none of it. Instead, he began undoing his belt, tearing open his shirt to reveal a brawny, muscled chest.

  “Bitch, you have no idea what you put me through,” he roared, ripping his shirt in his haste to get it off. He was all bronze skin, defined abs and rippling, muscular biceps. His pants were off in a flash and I was faced with the sight of angry, aroused male.

  “Dominic,” I said soothingly. “Let me explain.”

  But it didn’t matter. He was on me in a flash, his big bulk covering my body like a living blanket, pressing me deeply into the mattress. Despite my brush with death, I felt curiously alive as he bit my breast, his teeth leaving red, angry welts against my skin.

  “Bitch!” he managed again, before shoving two fingers into my cunt.

  I cried out in agony. Although my body was recovering, I certainly wasn’t over the hypothermia, and the digits in my pussy were unrelenting and rough. He ignored my pleas for mercy and began thrusting them in and out, riding me hard with his hand.

  And against my will, my body started warming, molding itself to his movements, curving to that hard, unyielding bulk. I felt myself melting against his mass, my softness cushioning his angles, and I mewled slightly, moaning into his mouth.

  He ravaged my lips, his tongue thrusting deeply into me, too rough to be called a kiss, but something deep, sensuous and animalistic instead. He was all over me in every way, his fingers in my pussy, his cock rubbing my thighs, his mouth on my face and neck, angrily biting even as he covered me with his lips.

  And I responded. The near-death experience had touched a deep need to feel alive, and with this man would come a type of fulfillment, an encounter with the stars that was a once in a lifetime experience. Hungrily, I embraced him, just as determined to create heat and space and energy through the physical, the act as sacred and original as the first time between Adam and Eve.

  Moving over me, he positioned his cock between my spread legs, and I cried out with pure, unadulterated pleasure as he thrust into me. Evidently it was just as mind-blowing for him because he let out a roar of “Becca!” into my mouth before beginning a deep, powerful thrust into my body.

  It tore me apart, those waves of pleasure, like riding the rockiest seas yet knowing I was safe and cared for. His body was like a wave above me, undulating, pure masculine beauty in the stretch of his muscles, the rhythm of the earth. As we crested together, a heat built in my lower body, slowly rising, Dominic stoking it expertly even as he lost control of his own.

  “Becca!” he roared again, coming deeply in me, his life force exploding into my womb. It felt so good that I began to cry even as my body seized around him, holding him tight, safely ensconced in my warmth. He shuddered again and again, burying his face in the crook between my face and neck as he found his release, warm spurts coating my inner self, bringing me alive and resonating with the most sensuous pleasure.

  And I felt completely at ease despite the tears on my cheeks, despite the rough way in which this lovemaking had begun. Dominic and I had done what was natural to survivors, engaging in the act of love to remind ourselves that we were human and filled with vibrant, essential life.

  I stroked his back as his breathing calmed, his chest pressing insistently against my breasts. But I smiled sadly to myself. Although Dominic didn’t know it, we’d already created a small life, and our passion only served to remind me that he could never know.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Dominic

  I could hardly believe what I’d done. Furious that she’d put herself in such jeopardy, I’d stormed into Becca’s room and raped her. And she’d cried out in pleasure and lust, her body responding to the call of mine naturally, so sweetly responsive, despite my intent to punish and discipline.

  But I knew I’d needed to do it for myself just as much as anything. I was overwhelmed with emotion, and I told myself it was because of my experience singlehandedly beating back the long hand of death, saving Becca from a watery grave. Yeah, I told myself grimly. I was just doing my civic duty because an accidental drowning on my property would be hard to explain to the authorities. Ha.

  Somehow, these wretched emotions had clouded my judgment, and I resolved to harden myself against the bitch, making sure she would never underestimate a Phillips brother again. I pulled myself out of her roughly, rolling off coldly, abruptly, despite all that had happened.

  “Make yourself presentable,” I growled, blindly throwing some clothes at her. I quickly averte
d my eyes, but not before I got a glimpse of that beautiful body, her breasts lush and full, her cunny wet and engorged despite my harsh loving. Shamefully, I could feel myself hardening again and was tempted to get back in bed, losing myself in the warmth of this woman. But reality came crashing down, and I knew that it was more important than ever to keep her prisoner. A girl who could cause me to rape would be able to get anything she wanted from Caleb.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Becca

  I really am a prisoner now. Before, I’d had a semblance of independence, essentially unsupervised because Dominic had been so sure that there was no way off the island. But after my ill-fated escape, I’m basically either with him or locked in my room one hundred percent of the time.

  The first night had been a shock. Dominic had forced me initially, but the sex had become magical, a reassurance that we were human beings, vibrant and alive. After dismissing me, I’d lain motionless on the bed, limp and unmoving, shocked by his abrupt departure. But what did I expect? It wasn’t like he loved me and was going to wipe my tears, stroke my back, and murmur words of comfort. I picked myself up, washing my face and tried to ignore the sight of my puffy, tear-filled eyes. Eventually, an overwhelming hunger gnawed in my stomach and I found myself creeping quietly downstairs for dinner.

  Nana looked at me with a pitying expression as she brought out the food, but wouldn’t say anything.

  “Mister Dominic, he da boss,” she said apologetically, in her lilting Caribbean accent.

  “I understand, Nana,” I said softly. “Don’t worry, I love you just the same.”

  Her eyes filled with tears as she backed towards the kitchen, but I understood. Dominic had instructed her not to talk to me anymore, though I’d sorely miss our times companionably cutting vegetables, as well as her tales of growing up as a child in the Caribbean.

  But there were worse things in life. I heard the shower in Dominic’s room turn on and off, and figured he’d come down to dinner sooner or later. I waited at the table, not sure what to say, but the shadows grew long and Dominic never showed. When it was finally pitch black outside, I realized that Nana had probably brought his food to his room, and he had no intention of seeing me.

  Maybe it was better, I sighed. There were just too many emotions between us, too much going on, too many dramatic moments. I schlumped up the stairs and got ready for bed, my mental and physical exhaustion overwhelming, my body limp as my head hit the pillow.

  Imagine my surprise when my door burst open again, a hulking form silhouetted which could only belong to one man. Before I could say anything, he strode in and got into bed with me, pulling the coverlet over us securely.

  “What … what are you doing?” I stammered. I thought I was the enemy, the prisoner, the person he hated most in the world.

  “I can’t let you escape again, and Nana and Oscar are too old to keep a look-out,” he said grimly. “The best way to ensure that you don’t sneak away during the night is to sleep in the same bed.”

  Reinforcing his intent to keep me prisoner was the muscular arm tucked securely around my waist as he pulled me to his bulk, wrapping that big frame around me. There was no way I was going anywhere now. His legs were tangled with mine and I could feel his hot breath against my neck as he turned us into a veritable human pretzel. I cleared my voice to protest, but he cut me off.

  “Sleep Becca,” he ordered. “Close your eyes.”

  And I was so tired that I did, too exhausted to protest. Tomorrow would be another day, and I could argue our sleeping arrangements then. But for right now, it felt so right, so heavenly, to be wrapped safely in Dominic’s arms.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Dominic

  I felt her drop off almost immediately, her lush, curvy form growing limp into the unconsciousness of exhaustion and much-needed sleep. I pulled her close again, not an inch separating us under the covers. Burying my nose in her hair, I inhaled the sweet fragrance that was all Becca, and found myself growing tired as well. Tomorrow was another day, and I’d figure out what to do with my prisoner then.

  Read A Baby for the Billionaire 3 next

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Becca

  I’ve been turned into an actual prisoner. Before my ill-fated escape, I’d been allowed to wander the property freely as Dominic believed there was no actual way to get off the island. But now, my captor keeps tabs on me all the time. He sleeps in my bed each night, wrapping his warm bulk around me, surrounding me with his masculine presence, and then spends most of each day with me as well.

  We begin each morning with sex, sometimes sweet and sensual, sometimes hard, hot and uncompromising. I know it sounds crazy because I’m a prisoner here, and believe me, the first time we had sex after my escape, I was shocked too.

  Shivering and cold, still recovering from my near-death experience, Dominic had stormed into my room, tearing the coverlet off the bed and basically raping me. He’d been driven by pure fury, his fingers and cock penetrating me mercilessly, but I’d melted under his touch, unable to prevent my body’s traitorous response.

  I’d fallen asleep immediately after that first time, too exhausted to protest and woken at the first grey light of dawn, a hardness pressed against my ass, an unmistakable big hand circling my belly. Without saying a word, he’d run his hands through my sweet folds, prepping me for entry before pushing his cockhead against me, my cleft eagerly parting for his penetration.

  And god, he felt so good, my ruthless tormentor. He was unbelievably hard, his girth almost too wide, too long, but my body stretched and welcomed him, welcomed that driving force, finding my sweet release as he overtook me. The penetration was absolute and I could feel myself diving into the seas of lust, a riptide rising from my cunny to make me scream with each thrust of his penis.

  And it’s become part of our daily routine. He spends every night in my bed to ensure I can’t escape again, and then wakes me each morning with soft caresses, taking me with his body even if he says nothing. Invariably, he comes hard, growling as his body shoots liters of sperm into my womb, spraying my ovaries with virile, milky semen. And then he rolls off, headed to the shower as I lay gasping in bed, recovering after another mind-blowing, earth-shattering orgasm.

  We meet for breakfast in the dining nook, and Dominic reads the paper as we drink our coffee. I wouldn’t say it’s companionable, but we’ve settled into a silence which while thick with meaning, at least isn’t oppressive.

  And then the work day begins. Dominic’s an international best-selling author and I’m his assistant, secretary and editor. His work is magnificent. This is his twentieth book in a blockbuster series, and it’s going to take the world by storm. We often engage in some light verbal sparring, but it’s never antagonistic. Instead, I derive a secret pride in knowing that an esteemed author wants my opinion and respects what I have to say.

  After working until six or so, we break, and it’s my only time away from him. We wash up to get ready for dinner, and I often find myself in the kitchen, helping Nana prepare food. At first, the Afro-Caribbean housekeeper was afraid to talk to me, having been warned off by her employer, but after a couple weeks, she’d warmed up again, sure that Mr. Dominic wasn’t going to fire her for socializing with me a bit. It’s one of the highlights of my day. I love Nana and her husband Oscar, and am grateful for their kindness and wisdom.

  “Mister Dominic, he a good Master,” said Nana in her lilting Caribbean accent. “I known him twenty years now!” she exclaimed.

  I was curious. Twenty years was a long time to observe a person, and the good word of a trusted servant was a valuable recommendation.

  “Tell me, Nana,” I said softly. “What was Dominic like when he was young?”

  “He da hardest worker round!” she laughed. “When he done arrive at da island, me husband and me take one look at him and say, twenty pounds needed. He work so hard, he barely eat, barely sleep, barely do no nuthin but write. But it done! We feed him, we take care of h
im like our own son,” she confided.

  I imagined it must have been peaceful at Koh-i-Noor when Dominic wasn’t touring the world on a book promotion. He lived in comfortable solitude here for a few months of every year to get away from the glitz and glamour of the international circuit, and plus it was just a beautiful place, the island’s quiet, peaceful surroundings perfect for writing uninterrupted.

  But now I was here, disturbing everything.

  “I’m so sorry to make you do more work, Nana,” I said. “I know you’ve been terribly busy since we arrived.”

  “No, it ain’t no trouble Missy!” she smiled. “We love Dominic to have a good woman, he never brought anyone here before and we see how much you care for each other,” she said. “Even if you on da outs, Dominic care for you, mind my words.”

  I sighed. If only Nana knew the twisted circumstances of my capture. Of course he cared for me, the same way a jailer cares about the prisoners under his watch. But I didn’t correct her and just kept rolling the dough.

  “I care about him too,” I said quietly to the pie I was making.

  But Nana’s sharp ears had caught the words. “And Mister Dominic, he love you tho he don’t show it,” she assured me. Tears welled in my eyes because I knew love was the furthest thing from his mind.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Becca

  Dominic and I often ate in silence in the dining room before retiring for the night. I’d like to say that once the bedroom door closed, we had fun enjoying a good novel or sipping fine wine, but most of the time, we just tore up the sheets.