Dominik
Rolling my wrist, I give a quick flip of my hand and the yo-yo extends smoothly down the string.
Reaches the bottom, spins for a moment, then starts climbing back up. When it reaches the top, I perform the same motion again.
I do this as I pace back and forth across my living area, unable to settle down. Tonight’s been the most emotionally charged evening of my entire life.
My team pulled out a spectacular win to launch us into the Cup finals. The fucking high in that moment was incredible.
I proposed to my girlfriend, convinced she was feeling the same for me that I was for her. She turned me down flat, and I came to the realization I didn’t know anything when it came to Willow Monahan. Fuck her and her risk aversion.
I left her in the owner’s box, and I didn’t look back. As I made the journey down to the ice, surrounded by team executives and two State troopers, I told myself over and over again to put her out of my mind. Now was my time to celebrate with my team and bask in all the glory that came from a hard-fought battle.
But I couldn’t.
Couldn’t fucking put Willow out of my head.
My entire body seemed to vibrate with this low hum of anger, tempered only by an internal hollowness over how quickly I’d fallen from such a high.
Not once during all the times I’d replayed that moment when I’d asked her to marry me and saw that horrible look on her face did I regret asking. I’m not an overly impulsive guy, but I do listen to my gut.
And my gut was telling me to go for it. I took the jubilation, gathered that energy, and hoped to fuck I portrayed it in just the right way that she couldn’t say no.
Without any doubts, I knew I was in love with Willow, and I was ready to commit my life to hers. Thus, I’ll never regret asking her.
I do find fault with myself for failing to read her correctly. Truly, I thought she felt the same. It was all there… her bringing her family into our circle and the way she stood by my side as a partner when I invited the team over. The way we make love and the way we fuck. Two vastly different things, but both filled with trust and deep intimacy that has never felt this way to me before.
Our conversations. We can talk for hours, and she knows me better than anyone.
I thought I knew her better than anyone, but that’s something I’ll continue to castigate myself over.
I continue to flip the yo-yo as I pace the length of the room, wondering where in the hell I go from here. My grandpa taught me how to master a yo-yo in the brief time I lived with him following my parents’ deaths. When I went off into foster care, it was the one object I managed to maintain possession of. Things tended to get stolen in foster or group homes, and I was small and easily preyed on when I first arrived. But I could always keep the yo-yo in my pocket and I’d learned to pull it out, mindlessly flipping it when I needed to think.
As I pace, I come to the realization I’ll have to talk to Willow, but I have no clue what to say.
Throughout the presentation ceremony following the game, I managed to keep my cool. I was charming, gracious, and jubilant with my team. We posed for pictures and accepted the trophy, which is actually a silver bowl named after a former president of the league. Someone popped champagne on the ice, and I got sprayed right along with my team.
After, I went to the locker room and gave the team a little pep talk. I hope it was heartfelt enough because even though I think I said the right words, I was still spiraling from Willow shooting me down.
I then went and gave a short press conference with the coaches.
And because I wasn’t ready to even look at, much less talk to, Willow, I slipped out of the arena unnoticed. I walked two blocks down, called an Uber, and had it bring me home. I’d left instructions with the limousine I’d hired to take Willow and her family wherever they needed. I suspected there would be some bar hopping or partying tonight, but hopefully not too much. The first game of the finals starts tomorrow, after all.
My doorbell rings and I freeze, the yo-yo spinning out of control before tangling. I take the string off my finger, then set the toy on the coffee table.
There’s no doubt in my mind it’s Willow, and I’m not sure what to do.
I truly didn’t expect her to come here because I gave her no invitation to do so. And yet, how could I not know she’d come?
Of course, she’d want to talk about this.
With a sigh, I move to the door. I’ve never been one to shirk away from things that must be done, and, yes, we need to talk.
However, this feels premature because I’m still processing my feelings.
I unlock the door and pull it open, unsurprised to find her standing there with an incredibly worried look on her face. She wrings her hands but doesn’t speak. I assume she’s waiting for an invitation inside.
Finally, she bursts out, “You left the arena without a word! I waited for you forever. Almost everyone had left the arena before I finally went out to the limo, only for the driver to tell me you’d left.”
“Look, Willow,” I start, but she cuts me off.
“We need to talk about this, Dominik. You can’t just walk away and not finish this… this…”
“Conversation?” I ask incredulously. “Because as far as I remember, the conversation was over. I asked you to marry me, and you said ‘no’. I really don’t know what else there is to talk about.”
She pushes past me into my home. I’m ultimately okay with that because it would be rude to keep her on the porch when she feels the need to discuss this. With a sigh, I turn to follow her in, shutting the door behind me.
Willow spins on me. “We can make this work, Dominik. Just because I said ‘no’ now doesn’t mean I won’t get to ‘yes’ eventually.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “You think?”
She totally doesn’t catch my sarcastic tone, her face morphing into a relieved smile. “Yes. I mean… we’re on a good path. If things continue the way they have been, then I believe it’s possible. I mean, I think you got caught up in the moment tonight. The excitement of victory. I get it, and I’m really flattered. It’s just bad timing is all. You need to know, Dominik, that you’re the only man I’d ever consider stepping back into the game with again.”
“This isn’t a game, Willow,” I snap, causing her to flinch, the smile sliding off her face. “And I wasn’t caught up in the moment. I’ve been thinking about a future with you long before I proposed. I asked you to marry me, not because I was excited we won the game, but because I love you and I thought you felt the same way about me. So I repeat… this isn’t a game. This is my life. It’s my heart.”
She looks like I just physically struck her, because while I didn’t come out and say it, my words have cast her as the villain.
Her head drops slightly, her gaze going to the floor. Her voice is small. “It’s my heart, too. And it’s scared.”
A growl of frustration rumbles out of me, and I whirl away from her. Those words should appease me. I should have some measure of empathy over her history that makes her fearful, but fuck that… I have history, too. I’ve worked past my issues, and I decided she was worth the risk.
Take the reverse of that… she clearly doesn’t think I’m worth the risk.
I spin to face her once again. “I proposed and you said no. But more than that, I said I loved you, and you gave me nothing in return.”
Her face flushes with guilt.
“Do you love me?” I demand.
“I… um… I don’t know what to call it,” she finally mumbles. “I care for you so much, more than I’ve ever cared for someone before. Is it love? I don’t know… or else I would have said yes with no hesitation, right?”
She has a fucking great point, and I think I have my answer. “I can’t do this, Willow. This is all wrong now—”
“No,” she exclaims loudly, causing me to jerk. Then she’s standing in front of me, hands clenched into the material of my shirt. The look on her face is desperate… almost feral. “You can’t give up on us just because we’re not exactly in the same place at the same time. It’s not fair.”
I cover her hands with mine, attempting to pull them away, but she’s fast. Lightning quick, she’s pulling me by the neck down toward her as she rises on her tiptoes. Her mouth touches mine, and she whispers. “We have something good, Dominik. Don’t forget that.”
I’m angry at Willow, of that there’s no doubt. She hurt me and I want to hurt her back, but there’s no denying the touch of her lips against mine ignites something deep within me. Take the heart out of such matters, and I’ll never get past the fact that just the slightest touch from her turns me on.
I’d hate myself for it if it didn’t feel so good.
Still, I put my hands on her shoulders in a half-assed attempt to push her back to maintain some dignity.
It’s dirty, though, the way she plays. Her tongue slips into my mouth and she drops a hand to my crotch, cupping me gently at first, but then roughly squeezes.
My body fucking fires on all cylinders because Willow isn’t often the aggressor, and the fact she’s massaging my cock causes all rational thinking to disappear.
I groan as my hand covers hers, not to push her away but to force her to stroke me through the material of my pants.
“See,” she murmurs against my mouth, digging her teeth into my lower lip. “We have something strong right here. Don’t forget about this.”
Sex.
She’s right… we’ve always had great sex. It’s been incendiary between us, always fucking better every time.
Still, I hesitate. This only muddies the waters.
Willow must sense it because her hands start deftly working at my belt, button, and zipper.
My head falls back as she takes me in her hands and starts to jack me.
“Christ,” I mutter, then I groan as she starts to fall to her knees.
Her intended purpose is to take me in her mouth and if I let her do that, she’ll have all the power.
That’s unacceptable.
I get a hand in her hair, grip it tightly, and haul her back up. She winces and smiles at the same time, and I hate that triumphant look on her face.
But fuck if I don’t love it that she loves I can control her.
I maneuver her backward, right onto my couch. Giving her a rough push, I immediately grab her legs to pull her boots off, then her jeans and panties.
I’m pissed and fevered for her at the same time. Something so fucking dirty about me only taking her clothes off the bottom half of her body. I love Willow fully naked, but I also love just her pussy bare and right there for my use.
And I do feel the need to use her.
Perhaps even to minimize what this is between us.
It’s her fault, really. She sparked this fire.
I slide a hand between her legs, and I’m rewarded with silky wetness. When I drive two fingers in her, she almost arches off the couch in her response.
Fuck her for making me want this so badly.
She moans, gyrates her hips, and reaches out for me. “Now, Dominik.”
Yeah… now.
My cock already freed from my pants and swollen to painful proportions, I fall between Willow’s spread legs. She takes me in hand, guiding me to her sweet spot, and I thrust inside.
Her face morphs yet again, this time into beautiful bliss. It’s an expression I always take great pride in creating and yet right now, I can’t even stand to look at it. It hurts my heart too much to know this part between us is perfect, but nothing else is.
I squeeze my eyes shut, dip my head, and push my face into her neck. Wrapping my arms around her tightly, I fuck her hard.
Willow squirms, cries out, and digs her nails into my ass.
She gets there before me… pussy tightening, back arching. Willow orgasms hard, and her cry of relief grates on me. She is having no problem making this connection with me, yet with every thrust, I feel further and further away from her.
Numbness sets in, creating almost a black void between us. So very weird… feels fucking fantastic, the friction of my cock pounding away inside of her. My balls start to draw up, and I know an orgasm is imminent because it would be impossible not to come inside this fantastic-feeling creature.
But when it finally does happen… when I pour into her with a groan of relief that it’s over with, I don’t feel much at all.
And for the first time in my life, I’m painfully aware of just how much emotion is tied into sexual intimacy. I’d already put up a wall around myself the moment Willow shot down my proposal. I’m not sure if it makes me less of a man or what, but fuck if that wasn’t the most unsatisfying sexual experience of my life, and it has everything to do with the fact I love this woman and she doesn’t love me back.
“Goddamn it,” I mutter as I pull out of her, lurching backward off the couch. I straighten, tuck my traitorous dick back into my pants, and pull my zipper up.
Willow’s smile is mellow and satisfied. But then she takes me in… the way I’m stumbling backward and the frown creasing my brow as I study her where she’s stretched out on my couch. Naked from the waist down, filled with my semen, and replete from a great orgasm.
“You need to leave,” I say.
There’s a flash of deep hurt within her eyes as she puts the puzzle together. My words, my body language, my expression.
There’s a stab of pain in my chest when, for the first time ever, I see Willow’s eyes fill with tears. Her lower lip trembles. “Was it that bad?”
I don’t want to hurt her.
Wait… fuck yes, I do. She hurt me badly, and I need to give it back.
“That was hollow,” I say truthfully. “I know you think we still have great sex between us, but apparently I don’t. It’s not enough.”
“Ouch,” she mutters glibly as she rolls off the couch. Her face is red with embarrassment as she hastily pulls on her panties, then her jeans. I watch helplessly, my conscience telling me to stop being a dick, but my own hurt feelings are vindicated that she now feels as badly as I do.
I know I’m going to regret this.
I know I’m acting rashly.
And yet… I wouldn’t stop this train wreck for anything in the world. My wall is still firmly in place, and I don’t intend to lower it again. It sucks to love and not be loved in return.
Willow sits on the edge of the couch to pull on her boots. The silence is oppressive, and I feel so displaced in my own home. I can barely stand to look at her—not for what she’s done to me, but for what I just did to us both.
“You really don’t want to talk about this anymore?” she asks as she stands.
I shake my head. “I don’t think there’s anything to talk about.”
“I think you’re wrong,” she murmurs as she turns away from me. I watch as she walks to the front door and grabs the knob. Peeking over her shoulder, she regards me balefully. “I’m shocked… Dominik Carlson is an absolute quitter.”
That punches deep. I’ve never been called that before in my life. In fact, I’m very much defined by my winning attitude.
I hate myself even more that she’s right.
But this is all new. This fresh hell of emotions I’ve never experienced. I don’t know for sure I’ve completely given up, only that I’m tired of trying to figure things out.
As such, it’s best not to even prolong further conversation, so I keep resolutely silent. Her expression fills with disappointment, then she walks out of my door and out of my life.
I immediately miss her when she’s gone.