Submitting to my Ex Uncle-Chapter 210

The doctor’s hands moved with brisk precision, wrapping the gauze around Dominic’s shoulder as the faint scent of antiseptic filled the room.

Celeste stood a few feet away, arms crossed. She hadn’t said much since he got into this room with a doctor. She couldn’t.

"That was a risky spot, Mr. Cross," the doctor murmured, adjusting the bandage carefully. "You should be careful next time."

Dominic didn’t reply. His jaw flexed, as his eyes found Celeste across the room. He didn’t like her hearing that. There was something about the way he looked at her that made her fingers curl tighter against her own arms.

The doctor cleared his throat, breaking the silence. "I’ll take my leave now." His eyes darted between the two of them, sensing the tension. "If the wound reopens, call me immediately."

Celeste nodded. Dominic only gave a short nod in return with his eyes still on her.

When the doctor finally left, the silence that followed was heavy enough to press against her ribs.

Celeste turned her head slightly, studying the neat roll of bandage across his chest. A bruise peeked from the edge of it with a faint purple against pale skin. He’d lost color. His skin wasn’t its usual bronze warmth. It was paler now, and tired.

He should be resting, she thought. Not standing there, still looking like he was ready to start another fight.

"You should get some sleep," she said finally, her voice softer than she wanted it to be.

"I could say the same to you," Dominic answered, his tone low, and roughened by fatigue. "You haven’t sat since I came in."

She ignored that. "There’s a room ready for you. Second door on the right."

He tilted his head, a faint, stubborn curve tugging at his lips. "I’ll stay here."

Celeste’s eyes flickered like they had never shared a room. "Here?"

He shrugged one shoulder. "It’s late."

"It’s your estate," she reminded him dryly. "You could sleep anywhere. This room isn’t your style."

He didn’t move. "I’m staying here."

There was no point arguing when he spoke like that. So she just turned away, tying her hair into a loose bun and walking to the other side of the bed.

She didn’t bother to look at him again. She simply pulled the duvet up. Then she lay down, with her back to him.

Dominic stared at her.

The soft rustle of fabric followed. The sound of Dominic removing the loose jacket that hung off his shoulders. Metal brushed wood as he dropped his watch on the nightstand. Then came the dip of the mattress as he sat, he then stretched out beside her.

The silence grew.

For a moment, she thought that was it. She thought that maybe he’d finally fall asleep, and she could let her mind rest too.

However, that was when she felt him.

He made a slow surprising movement beneath the duvet. The warmth of him, drawing closer.

Before she could turn, he slid under the duvet, with his arm brushing her waist lightly. And then, he had his face pressed against her stomach.

Celeste froze.

Her breath hitched, as her fingers tightened against the sheets. "What are you doing?" she asked, her voice sharp but low.

His answer came muffled, with his words brushing against her skin. "What do you think I’m doing?"

She swallowed hard. "Dominic—"

He hummed softly. "You worry too much."

"You’re badly wounded." She pushed the duvet off his head, forcing him to look up. His eyes met hers from below. He had a lazy, dangerous gleam in them that made her pulse stutter.

His voice dropped, teasing. "You think I’d forget that?"

"I think you’re an idiot for even trying this." She leaned forward slightly, inspecting the edge of the bandage around his shoulder. Her eyes scanned for red, or any sign of blood seeping through. "The doctor said you needed to rest."

"I am resting," he said simply.

"Not like this."

He tilted his head, as his lips curved faintly. "You have a better suggestion?"

"Yes," she said coldly. "Your side of the bed."

He didn’t move. His hand found the fabric of her shirt, as his fingers idly brushed it like he was testing if she’d push him away.

Her voice hardened. "Dominic."

He looked up at her again. His eyes held that same quiet, unreadable gaze that made her heart do strange, frustrating things. His lashes were damp, and his breathing was slow.

"I’m fine," he murmured. "The doctor exaggerated."

Celeste frowned. "Exaggerated?"

He nodded. "He always does. He likes the sound of his own advice."

She stared at him for a long moment, expression flat. "So, what now? You’ll ignore the wound until it kills you?"

His lips curved again, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. "If it ever gets that bad, I’ll let you know."

Her jaw tightened. "You think this is funny?"

"No," he said quietly. "But I like seeing you care."

She blinked once. Twice. Her expression didn’t change, but something inside her chest did.

A part of her that wanted to scream, and another that wanted to touch his face.

"Go back to your side of the bed," she said again, more firmly this time.

He didn’t argue. But he didn’t move either.

For a few seconds, neither of them spoke..

Her gaze dropped again, unbidden. His chest rose and fell, and she could see the neat white bandage wrapping his muscles. His body was built, with sharp lines softened only by exhaustion. The pale color of his skin made the bruises stand out even more.

"You should sleep," she murmured. "After all, you didn’t plan to have me here."

Dominic’s jaw flexed. "I—"

"There’s nothing," she cut him off quickly, her tone clipped. "Don’t start."

He went silent.

For a moment, she thought he might push again. Ask what she meant. But instead, he only exhaled slowly, pressing his face against her stomach once more.

He surrendered.

Celeste’s hand hovered in the air, unsure. Then she let it drop, her fingers brushing through his hair briefly before she caught herself and stopped.

"I love you. Now, go to bed. Rest, on my behalf." she whispered.

A faint hum came from him. It was half a laugh, and half a sigh. "Did you just bribe me?"

"You need to rest, Dominic."

"Maybe." His voice was soft now, barely there. "But don’t remain mad at me."

Her lips parted, but no words came. Because he was right. She had been mad.

Celeste stayed quiet for a long moment.

Dominic hadn’t moved. He still lay half against her, with his cheek pressed against her stomach. The warmth of his breath brushed through the thin fabric of her shirt, every exhale sending small, dangerous ripples through her body.

"Dominic," she murmured again, quieter this time.

He looked up.

His movement was slow. His dark hair brushed her skin as he lifted his face. Their eyes met, and the space between them seemed to shrink without either of them moving an inch.

"You don’t get to make me worry like this," she whispered, her voice trembling slightly despite her best effort to keep it steady.

"I didn’t mean to," he said softly.

His hand came up, slow and deliberate. His fingers brushed against her jaw. The touch was careful, almost reverent.

Dominic leaned up, closing the space between them. His lips met hers.

The kiss wasn’t sudden. It was slow, like he was testing if she’d let him.

His lips were warm, tasting faintly of breath and medicine. He kissed her like a man who’d been holding back for too long. Every second deepened.

Celeste tried to stay still, to fight it, and to remember every reason why she shouldn’t. But the longer it went on, the less she could.

Her fingers trembled where they rested on his shoulder. She felt the faint pull of the bandage beneath her touch, the solid warmth of him, the rise and fall of his chest against hers.

When she finally kissed him back, it was barely a breath, but it was enough.

Dominic exhaled against her lips. For a moment, they stayed like that. Neither willing to pull away.

Then she did what she always did. She pulled back first.

Her lips were swollen, and her breath uneven. She stared at him. "That’s enough," she whispered.

He didn’t argue. He only smiled faintly, like he’d won something she didn’t want to name. "Now can I rest?"

Celeste blinked, still dazed. "Go to your side of the bed."

Dominic’s eyes softened. "You also need to sleep."

"I’m not the one who’s wounded."

He held her gaze for a long, quiet second — then finally nodded. Slowly, and reluctantly, he shifted away, rolling onto his side.

The distance between them felt heavier than his weight beside her.

Celeste let out a slow, unsteady breath. Her lips still tingled from the kiss; her heart hadn’t calmed. She turned away from him, pulling the duvet tighter around herself.

Behind her, Dominic’s voice came low, sleep-rough. "Can I hold you? Please."

Celeste closed her eyes. "No, Dominic. I even wanted a different bed for you because of how rough I sleep." Her throat tightened. "I would never turn down a cuddle, but I need to."

He chuckled softly. The sound held half pain, and half warmth. "The wound won’t reopen." He protested.

"Sleep, Dominic."

He exhaled. "Yes, ma’am."