Chapter 27 Hannah
Hannah
I flip over onto my side and then my back and then my other side, a sigh escaping my lungs as I do my tenth circuit of trying to get comfortable in my bed.
But the comforter feels weird on my skin, and my mind is fixated on the reality that Dominic is in my living room. On my couch. So close, yet somehow so far away.
My mother is sound asleep; I know this because of the extra camera I strategically placed inside the house tonight before I helped her to bed.
Now I have a visual of her bedroom door and part of the living room and kitchen, and I get notified on my phone whenever she leaves her room in the middle of the night.
She only got up once this evening, a little over an hour and a half ago, and she traipsed through the kitchen and living room in her bra and underwear.
She spotted Dom on the couch, and the poor guy did everything he could to avert his eyes, to give her the privacy he always tries to give her, while still maintaining the NCIS-themed conversation she initiated with him.
I can’t stop thinking about the way he handled it—with respect, patience, and kindness.
Qualities I already know Dom has in spades.
I expected her to get up again, but a part of me wonders if she feels safe in her bedroom because she truly believes Tony DiNozzo is keeping watch from her living room.
And while he’s making her feel safe to sleep, he’s making it impossible for you to sleep . . .
I huff out a breath and shove the comforter off my body. I only have myself to blame for my current situation. I’m the one who invited him, damn well knowing how I feel about him. Damn well knowing that, whenever he’s in my vicinity, he makes me and my body feel things.
Things I’ve never let myself feel before. The very part of me that’s undeniably a woman—one with wants, needs, and sexual desires—is one I’ve long ignored.
I’ve spent what feels like my whole life focused on my mom.
Determined to take care of her. Focused on doing everything I can to give her the quality of life I think she deserves.
And I’ve sacrificed a lot because of it.
A sadness whispers to me in the quiet moments like this one, reminding me of everything I’ve given up.
At twenty-five, I’ve had only two relationships, and zero dates.
My first boyfriend was named Devon. I was seventeen and I loved him deeply, but after we graduated high school, he went off to college in California, moved on to bigger and better things.
I stayed in Nashville because I refused to leave my mom.
And with my second boyfriend—the last man whose touch I felt—I was nineteen.
He was a guy named Will, whom I’d met in one of my classes at MTSU.
We had been dating for a couple of months when he took me to my first real college party.
He was handsome and fit—he played lacrosse—and we ended up back at his dorm room, kissing and touching, and I honestly thought it was going to be the night I lost my virginity.
Hell, I wanted it to be the night I lost my virginity.
But my mom called—panicked, confused, scared—and the fear I heard in her voice had me tossing on my clothes and leaving Will and his six-pack abs behind.
Our relationship fizzled after that.
I’ve never regretted any of the sacrifices I’ve made. Still don’t regret them. But I can’t deny how much of my own life I’ve surrendered to take care of my mom.
But being with Dom? It’s making it harder and harder to deny that I’m more than just a caregiver—I’m still a woman, with desires I can’t keep pushing aside.
If only tonight I could tap into my long-standing coping mechanism and shove handsome, sexy, charismatic Dominic Dunn into my compartmentalization drawer and completely forget how I feel about him.
But it’s like I’ve shoved so much into that drawer that he can’t fit inside. Or maybe he’s too big, too great, too amazing to fit inside. I can’t be sure.
I sit up, placing both feet on the cool hardwood floor, and linger there on the edge of my bed. The light of the moon is the only thing that guides a path toward my door, and I follow it on bare feet until I cross the threshold into the hallway that leads to the kitchen.
Before I know it, I’m standing in the living room, in front of the couch, and looking down at a sleeping Dom.
His chest is bare, and I take time to savor my view of the impressive muscles of his arms and shoulders and stomach.
He’s beautiful, this man, so beautiful that I wonder how some lucky woman hasn’t already snagged him.
His eyes flutter open, and I don’t do anything but stand there, watching as his vision clears with a few long blinks and his confused gaze meets mine.
“Hannah? Everything okay?” he asks, his voice husky with sleep, but the deepness of his tone spurs a tingle that starts in my toes and vibrates up my body until it reaches the base of my spine.
My entire body reacts to him, a flush of heat rising to my cheeks and spreading down my neck. The ache low in my belly is impossible to ignore. And all I can think is . . . I want him. Badly.
Because I do. And I’m reaching a point where I’m tired of never giving in to the things that I want and desire.
“Hannah?” he asks again, and my mouth starts moving before I can overthink my words.
“I don’t want to sleep alone.”
The confession hangs in the air, vulnerable and raw, but I don’t take it back. It’s the truth, and I’m tired of hiding from what I feel.
And he just looks up at me. His eyelashes brushing his cheeks as he blinks and his gaze searching mine like he’s trying to solve a puzzle.
“Come with me, Dom,” I whisper, and not even a second later, I hold out my hand toward him.
He takes it.
And I just . . . lead him through the kitchen and into the hallway, and I don’t stop until we’re in my bedroom.
My room is still dark, only the light of the moon serving as a night-light, and I lie down on my mattress, pulling the covers back to make room for him, and pat the empty spot so he knows what I want.
He hasn’t said a single word since he sleepily said my name in the living room, but he gets into my bed, adjusting his big, muscular frame so that he’s spooning me from behind.
He feels good against me, but it’s not enough. I adjust my body so that we’re looking at one another over my shoulder, and the entire time, his eyes don’t stop searching mine.
Moonbeams bounce off his chest, and I turn to face him, my tank-top-covered breasts pressing lightly against his bare, hard chest as I reach out to trace my fingers along the ridges of his muscles.
I gently brush my fingertips across his shoulders and his pecs, and I don’t stop until they rest right above the waistband of his jeans.
I flip the buckle of his belt, and the faintest gasp escapes his throat. But his eyes, well, they fucking blaze in a way I swear I feel heating my own skin.
“Hannah,” he says, his voice raspy again, but it’s not from sleep.
“Dom,” I say, and let my truth into the air. “I want you.”