“I’m not going to kiss you.”
Dom freezes facing the door he just finished closing. I’ve shocked him.
Maybe. I don’t know.
And that’s the problem with Dom. I never know. These past few hours, I’ve been trying to figure out if Dom is attracted to me.
When I stepped over the threshold to our room, I settled on an important realization.
It’s not my job to figure it out.
It’s Dom’s.
Dom needs to decide if he’s hot for me. Then it’s his job to tell me that.
“You’re not going to kiss me,” he repeats. Dom faces me, expression unreadable. As usual.
“Nope. To clarify, I will participate if kissing occurs.”
His brows dip. “How does that clarify things?”
I plop onto the daybed, bouncing on the squeaky springs. “Here. I’ll simplify it even more.” From across the room, I hold his gaze with mine. I do not cower or shy away. I do not rely on alcohol to make me brave. I do not guess or hope. I simply ask, “Dom, do you want to fuck me?”
Shit. I meant to say “kiss.”
Really, I did. I swear!
But also, I would like the answer to the question I asked, too.
Dom’s thick brows creep up and there’s a touch of slackness around his mouth.
There’s also silence.
Maybe it’s a count of five. Maybe it’s a count of fifty. There are no accurate or inaccurate clocks in my eyeline for me to measure the passage of time.
All I know is I reach the point where his silence becomes an answer.
“Got it.” I veer my stare toward the window, focusing on the snow and wishing we had separate rooms.
“Maddie.” The mattress dips as Dom settles at my side, which is annoying because he could easily not put his tempting body right next to mine as he rejects me.
Again.
What’s this, number four? Will I ever learn?
“Dom.” I mock his low voice because I will never be a fully mature adult.
“Look at me.”
“Nah. I’m good.”
Lies. I’m not good at all. Even when I’m trying to keep an emotional wall between Dom and me, I still find a way to leave myself vulnerable to his rejection. When the lights go out, I’m definitely sneaking downstairs to sleep on the couch.
“Maddie—”
“Stop saying my name!” I whirl and glare at him. “I’m the only person in this room! Who else would you be talking to? Just say what you want to say.”
The fucking asshole has the nerve to grin at me. Then he cups the back of my neck in a gentle, yet firm hold and pulls my face to his, pausing when only a breath divides us.
“If I tell you I want to fuck you”—he speaks the words so close our lips brush—“can I kiss you, too?”
Oh.
My pulse thunders, and Dom has to feel my rapid heartbeat with his hand almost fully wrapped around my neck in a possessive, erotic, and yet somehow comforting gesture.
“Well, if you insist that there’s a certain order to these things.” My sarcastic comment comes out breathless. “Keep in mind, we can shuffle what people might label as the traditional sequence of events.”
“Maddie Sanderson.” This time Dom growls my name, and I shiver at the sound of it. “How dare you suggest I do things out of order? I might malfunction.”
I’m in the middle of a laugh when Dom kisses me.
He kisses me.
Finally.
And as I might have expected with Dom, he takes full control of the action. His mouth claims mine as his thumb presses against my chin, tilting my head into position with a single finger. My lip that he labeled as “pouty” gets thoroughly chastised with a tonguing and reprimanding bite.
What’s more, he doesn’t suffocate me with his kisses. There have been so many times I had to stop a make-out session because my lungs protested the depleted oxygen. But not with Dom. He ravishes my mouth for a moment, then allows me uninterrupted inhales as he focuses on my cheeks, the edge of my jaw, the soft spot just below my ear. Then he comes back for another round of ravishment before letting me breathe again.
Dom is so good with only his mouth that wetness gathers between my legs. I press my thighs together to heighten the sensation.
Somehow, he knows.
A heavy hand lands on my thigh, then sinks between them. Dom cups me over my leggings as his mouth continues to explore and demand. His touch is a weighty, all-encompassing pressure that I rock against. I go so far as to grab his forearm, wrapping my hands around the muscled limb and grinding like he’s a stripper pole.
“Hell,” Dom groans into my open mouth. “You’re soaked. I can feel it.” His hand presses hard, and his tongue drags along mine. “I want to feel more.”
When Dom slides his hold out from between my legs, I let out a pathetic whine. But a second later his fingers slip past my waistband and delve through my curls, a hot demanding touch against my sensitive folds.
At first, it’s amazing.
Everything I could ever want.
His strong fingers approach where I ache, promising pleasure only he can give me.
But then everything about this moment becomes a little too familiar.
Suddenly, I’m back on the swing on the Perry’s porch, Dom kissing me slow, his hand going where only mine had been before. The way he’d touched me that summer was world-altering. He stroked and explored until my body fell apart for him.
And as I trembled in his arms, Dom tucked me close, kissed my neck, and told me I did good.
Then the next day he chose someone else.
Slamming back into the present moment, I shove Dom’s hand away, rip my mouth from his, and scramble off the bed.
Distance. I need space.
But standing, seeing his lips swollen from kisses and his cheeks flushed and his eyes hungry, does nothing to ease the amount I crave him. Or the way I fear what he could do to me if I let him in again.
“Maddie?”
“I can’t do that,” I blurt, and Dom stiffens.
His face begins to shutter, all the wanting he showed me getting forcefully repressed.
My gut clenches, regret clawing at my insides.
“You don’t have to,” he says. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”
“I know,” I growl, frustrated with him and myself. This was going so well a moment ago. “And I still want to do things. Just…can you not finger me?”
Dom pauses his emotional withdrawal, tilting his head to study me. “You don’t like it?”
Physically, I love it. Mentally, it’s tied up with some shit I thought I got over.
Even if he fingers me tonight, it doesn’t mean he’ll leave me for Rosaline tomorrow, I lecture myself.
Still, I just can’t. It’s too close to repeating the past.
“I want to do something else,” I say instead of answering his question.
“Whatever you want, Maddie. If you want to cuddle, we can do that.” He spreads his arms. “This doesn’t have to be sexual.”
Great. Mr. Responsible Asshole strolled his way into the building to remind me that orgasming with a man I hated not too long ago—and live on the opposite side of the country from—may not be the smartest idea.
“Could you shut up and take your pants off?” I snap.
Back off, phone sex operators, Maddie Sanderson is coming for your job.
Dom’s brows dip as he stares at me, and I wait for him to refuse. To insist we change course. To talk.
Then his long-fingered hands settle at his waistband, where his thermal has ridden up a few inches. I spy that stretch of skin on his lower belly that I want to suck on like sour candy. Dom rubs the fabric, and that’s when I see the decent-sized bulge pressing against his jeans.
“These pants?” Dom asks, as if he needs guidance.
I gape.
The asshole is taunting me. I can see it in the way his lips firm, pressing away a smile.
I click my mouth shut before I accidentally grin. “Yes, Dom. Those pants.” I try to sound unaffected. “Take them off.”
“Why?” He drags a thumb under the waistband, but even though we can both see his arousal through the material, he doesn’t follow my order.
“Because I want to see if you stuffed a bunch of socks in there for a confidence boost, obviously.”
As Dom barks a surprised laugh, I stalk back over to the daybed. Then I stand between his spread knees and loom over him as much as I can manage, glaring into his melty brown eyes.
“I want you to take your pants off, because I want to make you come.”
Because he’s had one of my orgasms for years, and now I need a return. To be balanced.
To prove this isn’t some pity hookup.
I need Dominic Perry to fall apart at my hands. Because it seems like I’m the only one ever crumbling to pieces in this pair.
“What if I want to make you come?” he asks, reaching out to palm my thigh before dragging his hand upward until his touch is under my sweater and caressing the overheated skin of my waist.
I’m going to need these clothes off soon so I don’t pass out from heatstroke. Maybe we should crack the window and let some of that snowstorm in.
But first, his question requires an answer.
“Dominic Perry. I’m offering to lick and suck your cock until you come in my mouth. That is a high-quality orgasm offer. I don’t hand them out to just anyone.” Leaning in, I place a gentle kiss on his lips and enjoy the ragged way he exhales. “Now, do you want me to retract my offer, or do you want to take your pants off?”
Leaving him to what I hope is an easy decision, I step back, cross my arms, and raise a single eyebrow in challenge.
Dom’s chest rises and falls in slow, heavy breaths.
And finally, the man undoes the button on his jeans and tugs down the zipper. But since he is a man of order, Dom reroutes, pulling his shirt over his head in one smooth move.
I bite my lip to keep from groaning at the sight of his bare chest. Plenty of nights over these past months, I’ve lain in bed thinking of the time when he pulled me into the pool and I ended up wrapped around him. I would imagine dragging my nails down over his taut skin as he tugged my sleep shorts to the side and slipped inside me while the water cradled us.
But I don’t need to imagine tonight, because he’s reclined in front of me, toeing off his shoes and shoving down his pants and briefs. In the quiet room, I hear the slap of his erection popping free and hitting his stomach. Dom’s tip is ruddy, and I wonder if there’s any pain mixed in with his pleasure. If he’s so hard that he’s desperate for me to ease him.
The idea has me licking my lips. But before I approach, I return the favor and take off my clothes, too. Quickly, because I’m not in a teasing mood.
Bare, I fall to my knees in front of him.
“Hell,” Dom mutters, and I love the irresponsible words I make him say.
As I grip his base firmly with one hand, I let the other slide down my body. As I set the head on my bottom lip, I part my intimate folds. As I lick the precum off his tip, I find my needy clit. As I draw him in with deep, wet sucks, I press and rub myself.
He tastes heady, not like any food, only like sex and wanting and years of need. From the corner of my eye, I watch the way his fingers fist the soft comforter, knuckles turning white.
My clitoris hums with a pulse of its own as I stroke. Moans spill from my throat and vibrate against Dom’s cock as I suck him down slow and breathe deep through my nose.
“Maddie.” He says my name with disbelief. “Are you…Fuck. You’re fingering yourself right now?” He chokes on his question when I spread my legs wider so he can see. “Goddamn it!”
That’s just the start of his irresponsible language. Apparently, when Dom gets turned on, he transforms into a sailor. He can’t seem to help his foul mouth as I swallow him as deep as I can and massage my clit just how I like.
Dom’s hips rock once with a particularly hard pull, then he stills himself, muscles quivering with the effort to hold back.
A sense of power mixes in with my pleasure, and I briefly understand Dom’s need for control in all things.
“I need to fucking touch you,” he growls even as his one hand fists my loose hair into a ponytail and the other cradles the back of my neck. Again, he doesn’t try to take over the rhythm—only holds on as I work him at my pace.
The raw craving in Dom’s words spikes my own arousal, and I let his cock slip from my mouth, the length slapping wetly against his stomach. Meanwhile, I dig my teeth into the salty-with-sweat skin of his hip bone as my sudden orgasm rocks through me. I gasp and whimper and try to remember to breathe.
“Fuck, Maddie. Let me feel.”
As the pleasure rolls and clenches through my nerves, Dom hauls me off the floor and across his chest. Then he shoves a hand between my legs like he did earlier, his large hot palm engulfing my vulva. His scorching, reverent touch lengthens the tail of the pleasure, and my hips writhe.
Dom doesn’t penetrate me or even try to stroke my clit. He just revels in the way my body shudders through the orgasm.
Once I settle into a shivering post-orgasm recovery, I realize my mistake.
Damn it. This wasn’t the plan.
“You were supposed to come first.” I grit the words out, pissed at myself for falling into this pattern again.
“How about I come next?” Dom asks, his face buried against my neck. “And then we stop keeping score and just do what feels good?”
Easy for him to say. He’s winning.
I wriggle out of his embrace and settle beside him on the smaller bed. His erection lays heavy against his stomach, the skin still wet from my mouth. When I grasp him, Dom’s body jerks and he grunts.
“Use my hand on yourself,” I tell him.
“What?”
“Jerk yourself off. With my hand.”
I’ve always thought masturbation was an intimate act. Getting to know exactly what your partner needs from a sexual experience.
I want Dom to be vulnerable with me. Crack open this part of himself so I know. So I have some kind of ownership over even this small portion of his pleasure.
The way he’s always had a claim to a portion of mine.
Dom’s hand engulfs my hold. I expect him to start to slide my grip down his shaft, then back up. Instead, his thumb nudges mine, guiding it to the tip. There he shows me how to draw small, firm circles until precum seeps out. My fingers grow slick.
“How am I doing?” I ask, my voice unnaturally husky.
“Perfect. You’re fucking perfect,” he mutters, then clenches his teeth against a groan as he finally starts to stroke himself, pressing my fingers into a harder grasp than I would have guessed. The hold almost feels angry. Punishing.
I love it.
Sitting up for better leverage, I brace my free hand against Dom’s chest and continue to work his shaft. His heart pounds hard and fast and I find myself timing my strokes to the beat.
“Maddie…God…Fucking Maddie.” Dom moans the words between pants, and when I meet his eyes, I find heavy lids and a dark gaze locked on my face.
“Come on, Dom.” I squeeze hard at his base. “Show me how you come.”
He says my name again as his abdomen tenses, then his cock jerks in my hand and streams of cum jut out to coat our clasped fingers and his stomach.
Finally.
I don’t bother fighting my grin as Dom lays in the frilly daybed, covered in his release, still clutching my hand. Seeing him wrung out like this is a special kind of beautiful.
Eventually he sits up, presses a quick kiss to my mouth, then disappears into the bathroom. I bite my lip to keep from giggling when I spot the tattoo on his ass.
Jelly butt.
Dom reappears a moment later with a damp washcloth for me, and I wipe the sticky proof of his pleasure off my fingers before climbing into the bigger bed.
A small spike of anxiety sets off a sharp pain in my chest.
What now? Will he retreat again? Tell me this was a mistake?
Dom strolls out of the bathroom again, chest clean, and crouches over his duffle bag. The man’s naked body is glorious and aggravating. My fear of what happens next starts to transform into defensive anger.
A biting comment rests on my tongue, ready to cut, when Dom finally faces me and tosses an item on the bedspread.
A condom.
“You still want me?” he asks, and I swear I hear a hint of the same vulnerability that was stirring up the insecurities in my own mind these past few moments.
To cover up how I almost imploded this special moment, I snatch up the condom and tear the foil pack open. “Someone thinks he has a fast recovery time.”
Dom plucks the rubber out of my hands, and I watch with wide eyes as he rolls it onto an already-hard dick.
“It’s you, Maddie. I need you more than once. A lot more.”
He looms over me, climbing onto the bed, his large body threatening to overwhelm mine. And while I might like this position in theory, in practice I know it’s a bad idea.
“Sorry, big guy.” I pat his shoulder. “You are not going on top. Learned that the hard way.”
He freezes. “What do you mean?”
I scoot out from under his imposing form. “I mean I was having sex with a guy on top, and I started having an asthma attack.”
“What happened?” He watches my retreat with narrow eyes.
I shrug. “Like I said. I had an asthma attack. Used my emergency inhaler. He freaked out and left.”
“He left you in the middle of an attack?” The muscle of Dom’s jaw turns white as he clenches his teeth.
I wonder if he has to wear a mouth guard to keep from grinding them at night.
“Well, it’s kind of freaky when the person you’re fucking starts gasping for breath, I guess.”
“That means you stop,” he snaps. “Not that you leave. Why are you not more pissed about this?”
The sexy vibes start to fade in the presence of his protective instincts. But I’m not in the mood to be coddled.
“I don’t know, Dom.” My voice is all bitter sarcasm. “Maybe because I’m used to people leaving me.”
Realizing how vulnerable that statement was after I said it, I try to roll away from him.
Dom doesn’t let me. He hooks his arms around my hips and drags my body back, settling me on his lap so I straddle him. His large palm wraps around my thigh as his lips press against my ear.
“I didn’t mean to yell.”
He begins to stroke me, his hand creeping toward my center. I grab his wrist before he can start fingering me, a spike of panic shuddering through me again.
“It can’t just be me,” I rasp. “We both need to be in it. I need you inside me. I can’t be on my own.”
Dom holds my gaze for a stretch, his thick brows furrowing, but eventually he nods. “Tell me what position works best for you.”
Truthfully, the best position is us both on our sides with him behind me. But I can’t stand the idea of penetration without looking into Dom’s eyes. I need to know that he is feeling everything that I am.
“Standing. Slow, steady thrusting. You using those vanity muscles to do most of the work.”
“Done.” Dom scoops me up easily and finds a free spot on the wall where I can brace my shoulders. His large hands support my legs wrapped around his hips, and I feel the press of him at my entrance. “Good?”
“Wow. Uh, fast. You did that fast.” Words fail me as I fully grasp that Dominic Perry is about to be inside me.
“Don’t worry. We’ll take this next part slow.” Angling his hips, Dom offers a gentle, shallow thrust that has him dipping just past my sensitive lips.
My body stretches around him, and my lower belly flutters and clenches until I’m sure this man could get me to come a second time with only the tip of his dick.
“And Maddie?” When he says my name in that deep, soothing voice, I drag my eyes away from where our bodies join and meet his stare.
“Yeah?” I whisper, worried a loud noise will shatter this dream of a moment.
“You should know”—he sinks deeper—“they’re not vanity muscles.” Another thrust and his hips meet my thighs as he buries himself fully. “I play in two rec baseball leagues.”
Then, holding my gaze, the man has the audacity to smirk.
Dom is teasing me as he fucks me, and nothing could be more perfect.
“You’re such an asshole.” I laugh, then groan as my giggles make my abdomen tense and somehow draw him deeper while forcing me to feel how entirely full I am.
“Hell, Maddie.” Dom’s fingers press hard into my ass, and I wonder if he’ll leave bruises.
I hope he does.
“You’re going to come to one of my games, right?” He slides almost all the way out, then returns to me with a grunt. “Cheer me on. Tell everyone the pitcher is your guy?”
“Oh god,” I moan. In part because he’s insufferable, but mostly because he feels so good. “You’re going to wear the letterman jacket when we fuck at some point, aren’t you?”
Dom grins and shakes his head, dark hair flopping into his face and sticking to his sweat-damp forehead. Color collects high on his cheeks as he works himself into me over and over. Then he leans forward enough to press a kiss below my ear before whispering, “No. I’m gonna fuck my girl while she wears it.”
That’s when Dominic Perry claims one more of my orgasms.
But who’s counting?