Bound to the Ruthless Billionaire

Chapter 12: Scars and Secrets

The emerald silk of the gown felt like a second skin, one that Claire desperately wanted to shed. Dinner had been a silent, suffocating masterclass in psychological warfare. Dominic had sat at the head of the long marble table, barely speaking, his eyes tracking every movement of her fork, every rise and fall of her chest as if he were counting her heartbeats. He hadn't touched her, yet she felt the weight of his gaze like a physical hand pressing her into the chair.

The moment he dismissed her with a sharp, impersonal nod, Claire didn't wait. She fled to the master suite, the heavy doors clicking shut behind her. She needed to get out of this dress. She needed to wash his scent off her skin.

She stood in the center of the bedroom, her arms arching awkwardly as she struggled with the hidden zip at the small of her back. Her fingers were trembling, making the metal teeth snag on the delicate fabric.

"Damn it," she hissed, her frustration peaking.

"Let me."

Claire whirled around. Dominic was standing in the doorway, his tuxedo jacket gone and his white shirt unbuttoned to the sternum. He didn't look tired; he looked wired, like a predator that hadn't had enough of the hunt.

"I can do it myself," she lied, pulling the fabric tighter against her chest.

Dominic didn't argue. He crossed the room in three long, predatory strides. He stepped behind her, his heat radiating through her back. His large, warm hands brushed hers aside, his knuckles grazing her bare skin. The contact sent a violent jolt of electricity through her spine that made her breath hitch.

He didn't pull the zip down immediately. He let his fingers linger on the nape of her neck, his thumb tracing the sensitive skin behind her ear.

"You're shaking, Claire," he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly vibration against her skin.

"It’s just... the air conditioning," she whispered, though her skin was burning.

"Liar." He pulled the zip down in one slow, agonizingly smooth motion. The silk fell open, exposing the curve of her spine to the air, and to his dark, possessive gaze. "Go. Take your shower. I have a call to take in the study."

Claire watched him leave through the bedroom door. She let out a breath she didn't know she was holding and headed into the master ensuite. The room was already filled with a dense, white steam. She assumed she had left the water running earlier to heat up the marble.

She stripped off the emerald silk, leaving it in a heap. She was about to step into the massive walk-in shower when the glass door swung open from the other side, the side that connected directly to Dominic's private study.

Claire gasped, instinctively grabbing a towel to cover herself, but she froze. Dominic was there. He had stripped down to a low-slung towel around his hips, his skin already glistening from the humidity.

"Dominic! I thought you were working!"

"I changed my mind," he interrupted, his voice dropping to a dangerous register.

As he stepped fully into the light, the steam shifted, and Claire’s breath caught in her throat. Across his broad shoulders and trailing down his spine were jagged, silver lines. These weren't surgical; they were the remnants of a violent past, the marks of a man who had fought his way up from the streets. And there, below his left shoulder blade, was a dark, intricate tattoo of a coiled dragon.

"You're staring, Claire," he said, his eyes locking onto hers with a lethal intensity. He didn't cover up; he walked toward her until they were standing in the heart of the fog.

"The scars..." she whispered, her hand instinctively reaching out before she could stop herself. She touched the jagged mark on his shoulder. It was raised and rough, a map of his survival. "Who did this to you?"

Dominic caught her wrist in a grip of iron. He didn't pull away; he yanked her forward until her chest was inches from his wet, naked skin.

"The people who thought they could own me," he growled, his voice a low vibration that shook her to her core. "The same people who thought a Sterling was too good for a man like me. Do they disgust you, Claire? Does the sight of my skin make you want to run?"

"No," she breathed, her heart racing so fast she felt dizzy. It wasn't disgust. It was a terrifying, magnetic pull. "It makes me realise I never knew you at all."

Dominic’s jaw tightened. He reached back and turned the shower dial to its maximum, the roar of the water filling the room like thunder. He grabbed her by the waist and hauled her into the heavy spray with him, the towel she was holding falling to the floor.

He slammed her back against the wet marble wall, his body a wall of iron and heat that left her with nowhere to run. The water drenched them both, pinning her hair to her face and soaking through her skin, but she could still feel the predatory fire in his gaze.

"Rule number three, Claire," he commanded, his hand winding into her wet hair and pulling her head back with a sharp, possessive yank. "Don't close your eyes. Not for a second. If you want to look at my scars, you look at all of them. I want you to watch the exact moment you stop being a Sterling and start being mine."

Claire braced herself, her eyes fluttering shut as she waited for his lips to finally claim hers. But the kiss never came.

Dominic let out a harsh, ragged breath, his forehead dropping to hers. His body was shaking with the effort of pulling back, his muscles corded like steel under the spray.

"No," he rasped, his voice a low, terrifying vibration. "I’m not going to give you what you want. Not yet."

He leaned down, his lips ghosting over the sensitive skin of her shoulder. Suddenly, he bit down, not hard enough to break the skin, but deep enough to leave a stinging, dark red mark. Claire gasped, her back arching against the cold marble.

"You’re going to look at that mark in the mirror tomorrow and remember exactly who owns you," he whispered into the steam. He stepped back abruptly, the cold air rushing in to replace his heat. "And if I see you trying to hide it, Claire... I’ll give you a reason to wear a scarf for a month."

He vanished into the fog without a backward glance, leaving her shivering and soaked, her fingers trembling as they rose to touch the burning brand on her skin.