Submitting to my Ex Uncle Chapter 17

Celeste felt it before she saw him.

There was shift in the air, and heaviness pressed at her spine.

She turned, and there he was.

Grigor Ivanovich.

He stood there, poised like a king surveying lands he once ruled. His presence was neither loud nor grand, yet it devoured the space around him.

His silver hair glead beneath the chandelier lights, and his sharp eyes ice-blue and cruel landed on her like a mark.

He smiled.

Dominic wasn’t smiling. His posture didn’t change, but his silence hardened. Grigor raised his glass in a mock salute. With his eyes still on her.

Grigor’s smile faltered for a mont, as he shifted his gaze to Dominic. He nodded at Dominic. Then he turned, disappearing into the crowd like fog fading into night.

Only then did Dominic breathe.

Celeste stood frozen.

"Was that—?"

He didn’t answer.

Instead, he offered his arm, quietly, like nothing had happened. She slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow.

Whispers followed behind them but it wasn’t enough to get their attention.

The air inside the auction hall was thick with perfu, old money, and too many secrets dressed in diamonds.

Celeste sat beside Dominic in the secluded VIP box, high above the floor where fine art and priceless antiques were passed between the rich and ruthless.

Her dress clung to her, dark, and glossy, with a slit that ran high along her thigh.

The slit was too high, and she hadn’t thought of it, until now. Dominic had sent the box hours ago and she didn’t check it on purpose.

She only got cautious when she caught Dominic looking.

His eyes were filled with the kind of look that stripped layers away, and whispered things in the dark.

He didn’t speak. He simply just watched, and it made her forget how to breathe.

The bidding began. Murmurs of outrageous figures floated around them, but Dominic didn’t move. He did not even to raise his paddle. He wasn’t here for the art.

His arm rested on the back of her seat, casual to the eyes of others, but to her, it wasn’t. She found it hard to breath with his presence that close.

She could feel the heat rolling off his skin.

His hand dropped after a little pause. Slow and deliberately, his fingers grazed the inside of her bare arm.

She stiffened in anticipation. The anticipation started in the belly and spread around like sothing shaful and sweet.

Her thighs clench without her realizing it. Her heart knocked against her ribs, and her throat went dry.

His hand slid lower, down, down, and down, until his fingertips ghosted over the curve of her knee, and then into the slit of her gown.

Skin t skin. She inhaled sharply. Not loud enough, but he felt it. He felt the jolt in her breath, and the slight arch of her spine.

Still, she didn’t look at him. She kept her gaze straight. She had no idea how to face him with the sa amount of desire and not feel ashad.

Her eyes stayed fixed on the stage, even though she couldn’t hear a damn thing the auctioneer was saying.

His fingers moved again. Featherlight up to her inner thigh, as if tracing a line no one else could see.

And God... she hated how much her body responded. How heat blood low and deep. How every inch of her went tight and aware.

She should stop him. A voice in her head scread she should, but she didn’t. The ache between her legs felt louder than the voice in her head.

She swallowed, and her lips parted, as her nails dug into the velvet armrest. The slit of her gown parted wider with every inch he stole.

He hadn’t even kissed her.

But this felt more intimate than being naked.

Still, he said nothing. He didn’t even look affected by what he was doing. He looked completely normal, like he was just looking at the weather.

He kept stroking softly, and cruelly, like he had all the ti in the world.

Then— He leaned in. His lips brushed her ear, not for a kiss. He taunts her.

"You’re wet," he murmured.

She bit her bottom lip to keep the sound in. She won’t mind shalessly nodding in acceptance.

She bit her lower lip, and slowly turned to him.

Her eyes t his, and what passed between them in that second wasn’t civilized. The burn would hurt both of them if the fire extends.

"If you keep touching like that," she whispered, barely moving her lips, "I’ll co right here."

His jaw tightened. His fingers paused... just for a second.

Then his eyes dropped to her thighs, and a low sound rumbled in his throat. Almost a curse. It sounded more like a growl.

He leaned closer, his mouth brushing her cheek now.

"Then I’ll take you out of here," he said, voice dark and wrecked, "and fuck you sowhere they can hear it."

She shivered. She loved and raw and unfiltered he sounded. He wouldn’t do anything she doesn’t want to do but at the sa ti, she wanted to push him, and see how long he would last pretending he doesn’t want her.

He withdrew his hand, and she almost whimpered. She felt a sharp burn in her p*ssy when he pulled away.

The next bid was called. Applause followed as the buyer was thabked for his generosity. Celeste heard them, but she wasn’t present in her body at the mont.

She was already undone.

Dominic just leaned back in his seat like he hadn’t just lit her body on fire in the middle of the goddamn auction.

And God, he looked too good to be true. She couldn’t even believe he was a decade older than her.

His black tuxedo was cut to precision, hugging the breadth of his shoulders and the strong line of his chest like it had been stitched onto him.

The crisp white of his shirt contrasted sharply with his sun-kissed skin, while the open collar revealed just enough of the hard ridge of his collarbone and a hint of his toned chest beneath.

He hadn’t worn a tie.

Everything about him rejected pretense. His style was clean, unapologetic. Commanding without trying. From the expensive silver tipiece hugging his wrist to the subtle sheen of his black dress shoes, every detail whispered wealth, but it was the kind born from legacy and power, not show.

His jaw was cut like marble. They were sharp, angular, and with the faintest dusting of dark stubble that gave him an edge too dangerous to soften. A single muscle in his cheek twitched when he was thinking—like now—and she’d learned to look for it, and to read it.

Even with everything, it was his eyes that truly undid her.

That ruthless, steel-gray gaze that pinned her to the present, even when she wanted to disappear.

There was sothing old in his eyes. Not aged. Just... ancient. Like he’d lived lifetis before this one. Like he’d conquered cities and won and wars and was simply tired of pretending he hadn’t.

When he turned those eyes on her again, she forgot where she was.