Her Once And Future Dom

by Chloe Cox

  For a second, the truth hung in the air between them. It was the longest second of Simone’s life.

  Then Holt went from coolly controlling to an angry wall in a heartbeat. Shadows stretched long down his jagged features as he drank in the sight of her, and his shoulders squared off, while his hands stayed right where they were. His eyes alone were enough to pin Simone down.

  “You will never speak like that about yourself again,” Holt said. “That is an order.”

  Simone opened her mouth to protest.

  He said, “Quiet.”

  Her mouth shut.

  Holt looked her up and down, one more time, her body melting under his gaze. The distance between them was excruciating. He knew it. Without a word he pulled her toward him, until her butt was balanced on the edge of the bar and her legs were wrapped around his waist. Then he pulled her even closer.

  She could feel his erection through his pants, his hot, hard length pressing against her wet folds. She moaned. It gave her something to focus on, something beyond the fact that she’d just said the truth, out loud. That it was out there now, and she couldn’t take it back.

  Her legs began to shake, and Holt took pity on her.

  “Speak,” he said gently.

  She gripped his muscled shoulders in her hands, her fingers digging in.

  “Did you mean what you said, about second chances?” she said.

  Her voice was almost a whisper. She could feel her defenses crumbling as she spoke. It was because she wanted them to crumble. Because she wanted this to be real.

  “Look at me,” he reminded her. It was so hard. It was so hard to see what she couldn’t have. But he was still holding her. He was holding her close. And she couldn’t bring herself to let go.

  “Did I ever tell you about when I was a kid?” he asked her.

  His voice was gentle, for him, but it still gave her whiplash. Simone had been so wrapped up in her own feelings that she hadn’t seen the change in him. The energy between them changed, too—the anger was gone, and it wasn’t just lust that replaced it. There was something more.

  She gripped him harder.

  “You know you didn’t,” she said softly.

  Holt smiled. It had been a sore point, when they were together. How much he kept hidden. How little he shared about this past.

  “My mother was a drunk,” he said, finally. His eyes never left hers when he said it. “Other things, too, but mostly it was the booze. I bounced around a bit, learned to help take care of myself. But she was a complicated woman. She didn’t want that life for me. Taught me that with what she called ’tough love.’”

  Slowly, Simone swallowed. She’d had no idea. She didn’t know what tough love meant, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to know. She didn’t want another reason to love this harsh, honorable man; she didn’t want another reason to feel for him. She didn’t want another reason to feel terrible about ruining everything.

  But it didn’t matter. She wanted him.

  “I had no idea,” was all she could say. Maybe she should have. Maybe she should have seen the way her struggles affected him. She wasn’t psychic, but…that she had no earthly idea didn’t feel great, either.

  She wanted to wrap her arms around him, but he was making that difficult.

  Holt saw, smiled, and pulled her even closer.

  “I know my mother wasn’t right, but some of it sank in anyway,” he went on. “Some of it made sense to me. So I’ve always believed in tough love. I believed it was the only thing that worked, because that’s what I got, and that’s what worked on me. And then I saw my sub start to hurt herself that same way.”

  Holt stopped. His gray eyes held her, and she saw them soften. She saw them crease. She heard him take a deep breath.

  “I made my own mistake,” he said, his words coming out like rough gravel. “I was hard with you, Simone. Too hard. I’m not saying I shouldn’t have broken up with you. That I had to do, and you know that.”

  Simone blinked, because it stung. But she also nodded, because it was true. She’d crossed a line, and if he hadn’t gone through with the consequences for that, he’d just have been enabling her. She might not have gotten sober. She might have needed to fall even farther to see what she was doing.

  But still, the image of his cold, unfeeling face, that sense that the one person she loved more than anyone else didn’t understand, didn’t want to try to understand…like they’d never been anything to each other at all.

  That still haunted her. She didn’t like to think about it. But he was making her think about it now, and it was just as well, because she needed to remember. Especially now.

  “Look at me,” he said again, his deep voice gentle. She’d retreated, thinking about the past. He tilted her chin up to him again, and she finally relaxed. Whatever was coming next was coming.

  “I needed to break up with you,” he said. “But I shouldn’t have been so harsh about it. I thought I had to be to help you, and I was wrong. You were the only person who could help you, but I fucking hated not being able to fix it for you, so I tried anyway. And I did it because I was terrified. But I don’t know how to just be afraid. I don’t have a lot of practice. You’re the only person in the whole goddamn world who can scare me, Simone Delavigne, and it’s because I’m in love with you, and I always will be. You deserved to know that then, and you deserve to know it now.”

  Simone didn’t speak. She just looked up into those gray eyes.

  And the rest of the world just…fell away.

  She’d wanted to hear those words for almost a year. She’d wanted to believe that he loved her, that he believed in her. She’d dreamed about this moment, and when she’d woken up, she’d cried, because she’d had to face a world in which Holt had never said these things to her.

  And now…it was real.

  Simone blinked back the flood that was coming. All she could hear was her heart hammering her chest. All she could see was Holt. And all she could feel was the love she felt for him, that she’d always felt for him, rising in her like a tide.

  “I’m not strong enough to be smart enough about this,” she said. More to herself than to him. More to the universe.

  One last plea.

  “I don’t say this with any expectations,” Holt said. He reached up to touch her face, his hands tender and strong. “You’ll get what you need. I will continue to honor our contract.”

  She nodded. She was going to cry.

  “But don’t think that means I’m going to go easy on you,” he added. “Because if I ever hear you talk about yourself that way again, I will leave your ass so cherry red that you’ll be able to guide 747s in on a foggy night. Do you hear me?”

  Simone laughed, the first tears breaking over her eyelashes.

  Then she nodded, because she knew he wasn’t joking.

  And then she threw herself on the mercy of the universe.

  She reached up, took her Dom’s face in her hands, and kissed him.

  Just this once, Holt let his sub take the lead.

  Simone kissed him, and he let her. She was slow at first, almost hesitant. Holt drew her out like a hunter. Let her know she was safe. Let her know he wasn’t going anywhere. Her lips were softer than he remembered. Sweeter. She tasted better than he remembered, too. She tasted like home. She tasted like his.

  He let himself savor it.

  And then, when he felt her tears on his cheeks, he pulled back, rested his forehead on hers, and waited. Knowing she knew what he expected. Knowing she would say it.

  “I love you, too,” she whispered, finally. “I never stopped.”

  That was the magic phrase.

  Smiling, Holt slowly, deliberately, ran his hands from her shoulders down to her wrists. Then he pinned her wrists behind her back with one hand, and threaded his fingers through her hair with the other.

  “I will consider the contract amended,” he said, and watched the flush spread on her skin.

  Her eyelids fluttering, Simon
e pursed her lips, and nodded as much as she could.

  “Now,” he said. “Who do you belong to?”

  Simone exhaled a long, shuddering breath.

  “You,” she said. “Only you.”

  Holt fisted his hand in her hair and tilted her head back. He looked down at her, for a moment, looking into those wide blue eyes. He fucking loved her.

  And then he claimed her mouth with one fierce, possessive, dominating kiss. He felt her melt beneath him, and it took every ounce of self control to stop himself from throwing her over his shoulder and taking her upstairs, right there and then. But she needed more. He needed more.

  Everyone needed to know.

  He pulled away, and let himself enjoy the way she looked up at him, silently begging for more.

  “Nevertheless,” he said. “You violated the rules of our contract without prior negotiation.”

  Simone bit her lip to stop herself from smiling.

  “I did,” she said. “I’m not even sorry.”

  “Keep your hands behind your back,” he growled. “You may lean on them if you need to.”

  Simone’s eyes widened. She swallowed. She knew what it meant—and she had both a longstanding fear of and fascination with public display. That was why, when he’d claimed her body once she’d signed their contract, he’d done it in the dining room booth—technically public, but out of view. He’d wanted everybody to know.

  Now, he wanted everybody to see: Simone Delavigne was his.

  He watched the flush of arousal deepen across her cheeks and her chest. He saw her pupils dilate. He listened to her breathing, quick and ragged.

  And just when she was tense to the point of breaking, he reached up and popped her breasts out of her designer dress.

  Simone moaned.

  He could feel the heat from between her legs on his iron cock, through his goddamn jeans. He’d pushed her dress all the way to her waist, her legs wrapped around his waist as she perched on the bar, and now he slid one hand between them while the other toyed with her nipple.

  “Are they watching?” he asked her.

  He wanted her to look.

  Dutifully, she opened her eyes. Looked around.

  The flush deepened.

  “Yes,” she breathed.

  “Good,” he said. He dipped his thumb between her lower lips, finding her soaked, and then slid his thumb over her clit, tearing another moan from her throat.

  “Tell everyone who you belong to,” he said.

  She threw her head back, groaning.

  “You!” she moaned.

  He slid his thumb over her clit again, this time with more pressure.

  “Tell them who loves you,” he said.

  “Oh God,” she groaned. “You!”

  He returned his thumb to her swollen clit, and this time he didn’t release it. He kept pulsing the pressure, watching her body tense around him, watching her float all the way up to the sky. She was about to crest.

  “Tell them who you love,” he growled.

  “You, Holt!” she said, as her hips began to buck. “You!”

  And she came all over his hand, her body shuddering right there on the bar in the main hall, with half the club watching.

  And then he couldn’t wait anymore. Not one more fucking second.

  He scooped her up off the bar, her body still twitching her aftershocks in his arms, and held her as close to him as he could while he turned. The crowd parted. Maybe one or two of them clapped. He barely noticed.

  All he could see was his path upstairs, to the room he’d reserved.

  Clinging to him, she smiled into his neck.

  “Did you”—she panted—“plan this?”

  Holt kicked open the door to the reserved room, where the lights were already low, and the bed already turned down. There were other things ready for use, other things he planned to do to her. But those could wait.

  “I’m a Dom,” he said as he closed the door behind him. “Of course I planned this.”

  Simone was laughing as he lowered her to the bed, her blue eyes full of light and love and happiness. And tears, because she was Simone, and she cried at everything. It was the best thing he’d ever seen.

  And he made sure to tell her that. He’d tell her that every day.

  He peeled off her dress, and stood there for a second, looking at her. There would never be another woman he’d want like this. There would never be another woman he would love like this.

  Neither of them had to say anything.

  But after he’d stripped off his own clothes, after he’d parted her legs one more time, after he’d kissed her breathless, he made sure to say one thing.

  “I love you,” he said. “You are mine. And I am yours.”

  Simone nodded, more tears spilling.

  And then he eased himself into her, telling her again with every delicious, blissful inch.

  19

  Simone woke up enveloped in an overstuffed comforter, hugging an equally enormous pillow to her chest, with birds singing on the other side of a half-open window and sunlight warming the bed.

  But it wasn’t one of the luxurious but dark-hued bedrooms of Club Volare.

  She was at Holt’s house.

  She was at Holt’s house, in Holt’s bed, and while he wasn’t there, she could smell coffee. And probably food. Which meant he was making her breakfast.

  Just the thought made her smile into the comforter. Which was new. As were the sheets. And the art on the walls—black-and-white photographs of the city he loved. All of that was new, and different. Before, Holt’s house had always had an unlived-in quality. Like he was always just passing through, or like a bachelor who hadn’t yet decided to put down any roots at all. Bare walls, the bare necessities, nothing for comfort. Nothing for a soft life.

  He’d made some changes.

  She hadn’t had much time to look around the previous night. Holt had made good use of some of the equipment in the room he’d reserved at the club—her ass was kind of cherry red, aching in the sweetest way, and there were slight marks on her wrists and ankles—but, when he’d finished, he’d insisted on taking her back here. To his bed.

  Then he’d held her the whole night.

  Except for that one hour when he’d woken her up by going down on her, then flipped her over and fucked her right back to sleep via another shattering orgasm.

  Simone grinned at the memory, and buried her face in the pillow.

  She stayed there, though, when her heart refused to calm down, and her body started to tense up. Simone sighed. That was something else she’d learned in rehab—to listen to her body. When it told her to pay attention, she needed to pay attention.

  She ran through the events of the previous night: he’d said he loved her. He’d said he’d always loved her. He’d said he’d screwed up, that he was the one to make a mistake.

  That was the one that made her feel a little sick.

  It was the weirdest thing, to feel so happy, and so…so something. At the same time.

  Because as right as this was, as much as she wanted to relax into it, there was a part of her that knew that Holt didn’t know everything. He didn’t know all her mistakes. Holt loved her, but he loved the parts of her he could see. The parts she let him see.

  “Oh, screw this,” she muttered into the pillow, and propped herself up. This was the best morning she’d had in the past year—the past ten years?—and she wasn’t going to let Crennel take that away, too.

  Especially when she could hear Holt climbing the stairs accompanied by the smell of coffee and pancakes.

  One of the benefits of being with a grown-ass man who’d lived on his own for a while: he could cook.

  “You made me breakfast in bed?” she said as he walked in, carrying an actual tray. “Better not let word get around the club. You’ll lose your Dom card.”

  Holt raised an eyebrow.

  “I was hungry,” he said, setting the tray down on the foot of the bed. “And there was no
way in hell I was going to let you put clothes on yet.”

  Simone wanted to see what he’d brought her, but she couldn’t take her eyes off of him. She’d never quite gotten over the contrast of Dom Holt and Investigator Holt—a man who looked as coolly confident in leather as he did in suits. But this was a whole new aspect to this man. He wore sweatpants with a worn state police logo on the thigh, faded to the point that she almost couldn’t make it out. The string looked like it had been broken and tied together again at least three times, yet they still sagged at his hips. A ‘v’ of muscle carved a path down behind the waistband.

  Her eyes crawled up his abs to his wide chest, tanned from all the time he’d spent running outside in New Orleans’s humidity. She was used to seeing his muscles rock-hard with tension. But even relaxed, he was somehow…

  She bit her lip.

  Holt prowled onto the bed, pressed her back onto her pillow, the comforter still pulled up around her naked body, and melted her in place with a long, probing kiss.

  “You didn’t look at the tray,” Holt said, bracing himself over her with one elbow.

  How the heck was Simone supposed to look at anything except him? She had his hips weighing against hers and his bicep in biting distance.

  It was a silly thought, but she still acted on it. She sank her teeth into Holt’s arm. Like biting a big juicy steak.

  He growled into her hair. “Simone…”

  “Sorry,” she said, forcing herself to see what he’d brought.

  It wasn’t just breakfast. It was a nice homemade breakfast, with the kind of fluffy pancakes that could only come from scratch. He’d put chocolate chips in them. And then there was bacon, and grits, and…

  She gasped. “Coffee!”

  Holt rolled off of her with a laugh as she dived for the cup. “I see where your priorities rest.”

  “Coffee was my first Dom,” Simone said without a hint of a smile, even though she was joking. Probably.

  But seriously, the coffee was amazing.

  “What even is this?” she asked, sipping the scalding-hot brew.

  “Coffee,” Holt said. “Did I fuck amnesia into you?”

  She slid her thigh over his lap to straddle him as she drank. Holt’s eyes heated, and his hands skimmed up her legs, then bracketed her hip. “It just tastes better than anything else I’ve had.”