Dominate me

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

The weight of a crown isn’t heavy if you have the spine to carry it.

I adjusted the cuffs of my tailored silk suit jacket, staring down at the polished mahogany table of the neutral zone boardroom. Through the glass of the high rise, the city stretched out like a grid of neon veins. Veins that my cartel pumped life into. But lately, those veins were running dry. The shipping port blockades were bleeding my profits, and my men were getting restless. A hungry soldier is a dangerous one.

I needed this deal settled tonight, or the West Side would face an internal coup.

"They're here, Boss," my underboss muttered, his hand instinctively dropping to the grip of his concealed firearm.

The heavy double doors swung open, and the temperature in the room plummeted.

In walked the plague of my existence.

He didn’t just occupy space; he commanded it. He wore a dark, open collar shirt underneath a sharp blazer, completely devoid of the gaudy gold jewelry older mafia men favored. He didn't need it. His presence did the talking. Strikingly handsome, with a sharp, stubbled jawline and dark, calculating eyes that immediately locked onto mine.

Every instinct in my body screamed at me to destroy him. But a deeper, treacherous part of my anatomy rippled with a heat I hated myself for harboring. He was entirely, maddeningly irresistible.

He took his seat across from me, leaning back with a casual, predatory grace that made my chest tighten. He looked like an apex predator waiting for me to make a mistake.

"You're late," I said, my voice smooth, cold, and dripping with the absolute authority I wielded over half this city. I leaned forward, resting my forearms on the table, refusing to let him see an ounce of weakness. "And my time costs more than your entire syndicate can afford right now."

A slow, devastating smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. It was a mouth I had spent the last three nights dreaming about ruining.

"I look at the map, and all I see is your territory shrinking, sweetheart," he replied, his deep voice vibrating right through the wood of the table and straight up my spine. "If anyone's bleeding cash, it's the West Side. So let’s skip the posturing. What do you want?"

My knuckles turned white against the table. The urge to wrap my fingers around his throat, or pull him across the wood by his tie, was nearly overwhelming. My soldiers were watching. His men were watching. The entire economy of the underworld depended on us appearing ready to tear each other’s throats out.

"I want your operations out of the northern docks," I said, my eyes narrowing as I stared him down, exerting every ounce of my dominance. "Or I will start sending your men back to the East Side in pieces."

He leaned forward, matching my posture, bringing his face just feet from mine. The scent of his expensive leather and smoky wood cologne hit me like a physical blow. His eyes dropped to my lips for a fraction of a second, hot and heavy, before rising back to meet my gaze.

"Try it," he murmured, his voice a low, dangerous purr meant only for me. "I'd love to see you try."

I didn't blink. I let the silence stretch between us, heavy and toxic, letting him feel the absolute lack of fear in my posture.

"Everyone out," I commanded, not breaking eye contact with him for a single second.

My underboss shifted uneasily behind me. "Boss, leaving you alone with him is a security risk."

"I said, out," I repeated, my tone dropping an octave, leaving no room for negotiation. "Both crews. Wait in the corridor. The two of us are going to settle the distribution rights without the peanut gallery."

He tilted his head, a dark gleam of amusement dancing in his eyes as he gave a slight nod to his own men. "You heard her. Give us the room."

The heavy click of the double doors sealing us inside sounded like a starter pistol. The public mask didn't slip, it shattered.

I stood up slowly, deliberately walking around the long table until I was standing right beside his chair. I leaned down, placing both hands on the armrests, effectively trapping him in his seat and invading his space.

"Let's get one thing clear," I whispered, the heat of my breath brushing against his ear. "I run the supply lines. You are a guest in my city. If you think your pretty face and your bloated ego give you leverage here, you are sorely mistaken."

He didn't flinch. Instead, his gaze trailed down my throat, lingering on the sharp collar of my blazer before rising back to meet my eyes with an intensity that made my stomach flip.

"Is that right?" he asked, his voice low and raspy. He didn't move to get up, completely comfortable with my dominance, testing exactly how far I would push it. "Then why is your pulse racing so fast, Boss?"

I refused to give him the satisfaction of pulling away. Instead, I leaned in closer, my lips almost brushing his jawline, letting him feel the steady, unyielding coldness of my resolve despite the fire roaring under my skin.

"My pulse is racing because I am anticipating the moment I finally break you," I whispered, my voice dripping with dangerous promise.

I reached down, my fingers deliberate and slow as they wrapped around the lapel of his sharp blazer. With a sudden, firm yank, I forced him to stand up. He let me do it, rising to his full height, his massive frame towering over me, yet his eyes remained entirely fixed on my command. The contrast was intoxicating. He was an absolute beast of a man, capable of crushing whole syndicates, yet right here, behind closed doors, he was letting me dictate the space.

"You think this is a game," I said, pressing my palm flat against his chest, feeling the heavy, rhythmic thud of his own heart. "You think because we share a border, you have a say in how I run my ports. The economy of my bando doesn't bend for anyone. Least of all you."

His hands stayed at his sides, but his breathing hitched. The smug, infuriating smirk vanished from his face, replaced by a dark, intense hunger that made my thighs ache. His gaze dropped to my mouth, heavy with a silent, desperate demand.

"Then break me," he challenged, his voice dropping into a rough, gravelly register that vibrated straight through my palm. "Stop talking about it, Boss, and do it."

The sheer arrogance of his surrender snapped the final thread of my control.

I didn't think. I grabbed him by his open collar and shoved him backward. His back hit the heavy mahogany table with a solid thud, scattering a neat stack of financial folders across the floor. Before he could even blink, I stepped into his space, crowding between his thighs, my hands instantly gripping his shoulders to pin him down.

"You are infuriating," I snarled, my face inches from his.

"And you are beautiful when you're trying to destroy me," he growled.

He didn't wait for my permission this time. His heavy hands locked around my waist, his long fingers digging deep into the fabric of my suit trousers, pulling my hips flush against his. The sudden, hard heat of him pressing against me wrecked whatever logic I had left. We hated each other. Our families had bled for decades to keep our borders intact. If my underboss opened that door right now, it would be a death sentence for both our empires.

But as I looked down at his dark, obsessive eyes and those perfect, irresistible lips, the only empire I cared about ruling was the one right in front of me.

I leaned down and slammed my mouth against his.

The kiss wasn't gentle. It was a violent collision of teeth and tongue, a desperate war for dominance where neither of us wanted to yield. He tasted like expensive bourbon and pure, unadulterated sin. I bit his bottom lip hard enough to draw a sharp groan from his throat, and the sound only made me crave more. He arched into me, his hands moving up my back, ripping at the seams of my jacket as if he wanted to tear the clothes right off my body.

"Mine," he muttered against my lips, his grip tightening until it was borderline bruising. "Tell me you hate me."

"I despise you," I gasped, instantly capturing his mouth again, my fingers knotting into his dark hair, pulling hard to force his head back so I could map the line of his throat with my teeth. "I am going to ruin you."

"Do it," he choked out, his hands shifting down to slide underneath my blazer, his warm palms searing against the bare skin of my waist.

I bit down on his collarbone, hard enough that he let out a low, ragged sound that echoed off the high ceiling of the boardroom. His hands gripped my hips like iron vices, trying to lift me, trying to bring me completely over his lap to surrender to the heat.

But I wasn't about to give him what he wanted. True power isn't just about taking what you want; it is about knowing exactly when to deny it.

I pulled my mouth away from his throat, my breathing shallow and uneven, but my eyes completely focused. I wrapped my fingers around his wrists, using every ounce of my strength to pin his hands down against the mahogany table.

He didn't fight me. He let his arms go heavy under my grip, his chest heaving, his dark eyes wide and wild with a desperate, unfulfilled hunger. He was completely at my mercy, waiting for the impact.

Instead, I slowly slid off him, stepping back out from between his thighs.

The sudden absence of my body hit him like a bucket of ice water. He blinked up at me from the table, a look of pure, frustrated disbelief crossing his features. His lips were swollen, his hair was a ruined mess from my fingers, and his open collar was completely stretched out. He looked beautifully undone, and I had done it.

"What are you doing?" he rasped, his voice incredibly deep, thick with friction and a desperate need to reclaim the space. He made a move to sit up.

"Stay," I commanded, my voice dropping into that cold, absolute tone that made my soldiers tremble.

He froze. Every muscle in his broad shoulders tensed, but he stayed flat on his back against the scattered papers, his gaze locked onto mine, tracking my every movement. He hated that I had the control, but the sheer thrill of submitting to my authority kept him anchored to the wood.

I stood over him, smoothing down the front of my silk blazer, fixing my cuffs with deliberate, slow movements. I took a deep, steadying breath, forcing my pulse to slow down, forcing the cartel boss back to the surface.

"We are done negotiating for tonight," I said, looking down at him with an icy smirk. "The northern docks remain mine. If I see a single one of your ships near my waters, I won't just block the trade lines. I will let your syndicate starve."

He let out a low, dark chuckle that sounded more like a growl, his eyes burning with a dangerous blend of hatred and absolute obsession. "You are a sadist."

"I am the boss," I corrected, leaning down just enough so he could see the utter lack of regret in my eyes. "And don't you forget it."

I turned my back on him, walking toward the heavy double doors. I paused for a fraction of a second, adjusting my collar one last time before wrapping my hand around the brass handle. When I opened the doors, my face was a mask of pure, unadulterated disdain.

My underboss and his lead bodyguard immediately straightened up, their hands moving toward their jackets as they looked past me into the room.

"Everything settled, Boss?" my underboss asked, his eyes scanning my face for any sign of trouble.

"We're done here," I said coldly, walking right past them without looking back. "Let's go. The East Side has nothing left that I want."