Chapter 41
Dominic
Cecily steps up beside me at the elevator. I've been thinking of her all night, the way she teased me in our hotel room and then left, jean skirt hugging the curve of her backside.
I hit the button for the elevator and curl my pinky around hers. She looks at me, the expression in her eyes reflecting exactly how I feel. Hungry.
I have to keep my hands in my pockets to stop myself from pressing her up against the wall, right here in the lobby within eyeshot of her family.
The elevator dings, the doors sliding open. "After you," I say, and Cecily steps on.
I push the button for our floor, and Cecily says in the sultriest voice I have ever heard, "I hope you have wicked plans for me."
I reach for her wrist, brush my thumb along the sensitive skin on the inside. "I plan to be so good to you that when you think about me tomorrow, you'll blush."
A tiny moan escapes that perfect mouth.
That's when I decide I don't want to wait. I want her, I need her, immediately. The door is closed, and the lift rises. I give it three seconds before I hit the emergency button. Cecily and I catch ourselves as the car comes to an abrupt stop.
"What—" Her question cuts off when I drop to my knees, pushing her against the mirrored elevator wall. Leaning in, I nibble at her mid-thigh, wrapping a hand around the other thigh.
"Dom," she says, breathless, as she realizes my plan.
"Just want to be certain you understand my definition of wicked."
"I think I do," she replies, running her hands through my hair.
"You teased me." I nip at her skin, nosing the hem of her skirt. "And now I'll be teasing you."
"Mmm," is all she can say.
I work my way higher up her thighs, swiping my tongue over the soft skin. Her skirt is too tight, a hindrance. "Pull up your skirt, Menace, I have work to do."
Cecily's nails brush my forehead as she hoists the fabric up to her hip bones. And there she is, covered in baby blue lace.
My finger dips under the fabric, running along the edge. "This fucking thong is what started this."
"You started this, Dom. You, and me, and hard feelings, and tequila."
I look up into her eyes, her heated gaze staring back at me. She's right.
Truth be told, I don't know how elevators work. Is there an intercom system? Can somebody's voice penetrate this moment? Ask us if we're ok, why we've stopped the elevator? Someone somewhere must have been notified the emergency button was pushed.
As much as I would love to settle between Cecily's legs, worship her the way I want to, there isn't time.
Hauling those criminally sexy underwear aside, I'm met with my first full glimpse of a part of Cecily my hand is well-acquainted with. She's lovely, and later, when she's on her back in bed, I'll learn every inch of her. Right now is about going from zero to one hundred.
I lean in, pressing my mouth to Cecily. She moans indecently. I don't know where our elevator has stopped, but if it is anywhere near a floor opening, somebody would know precisely what we're doing.
Hitching one of her legs over my shoulder, I make another pass over her. Once. Twice. She's so responsive, so ready, fingernails dragging over my scalp. I love how open she is, how much she's enjoying it. Making Cecily lose her mind is extra-special, she's—
"It's hot," Cecily says.
"I know," I murmur against her. If I get my way, I'll be coming up with more hot shenanigans for the two of us for the duration of this trip.
"No, no. Dom." Her panicked voice has me pulling away. "It's hot."
She's pointing down at herself. I look at her center, glistening and perfect, calling my name.
"Burning," she explains, pain in her voice.
"How—"
She gasps. "You were eating habanero salsa."
I pale. No. That can't be. But I was. Despite what I told Cecily about being able to make conversation with anybody, I was nervous to be at dinner with Glenn and Duke without Cecily as a buffer. I ate copious chips and salsa.
Letting go of Cecily's underwear, I cover her back up, tugging her skirt down. She's biting the side of her lip, pressing her legs together.
I feel terrible. All I wanted was to bring her pleasure, and instead I've brought her pain.
I hit the button for our floor, and the elevator moves. Problem-solving mode activated. "We need milk," I tell her, already thinking about the store I saw earlier. A quaint place called Mercantile.
"What the hell am I supposed to do with milk? Drink it?"
"Sit in it. It counteracts the capsaicin from the pepper."
The elevator opens, and Cecily steps off. "Are you coming?" She's grimacing, her knees pressed together.
"I'm going for milk. Lots of milk." I hit the down button. "Get undressed and wait for me in the tub."
It feels like forever, but it's probably only ninety seconds before I'm out front of the hotel and jogging toward Mercantile.
The place is still open. There is a refrigerated section in the back, and I hustle toward it, grabbing as many handles of gallon-size whole milk as I can carry.
"You're either having an emergency with a calf, or a cookie party," the woman at the register deadpans.
"I can neither confirm nor deny," I say with a tight smile as I pay with my phone.
"Good luck," she says.
I thread my fingers through the handles and thank her.
Bringing my arms into my chest as if doing a bicep curl, I hurry back to the hotel. If it weren't for the group of people gathered near the elevator, I wouldn't have to put on the brakes.
"Dom, are you aware you're carrying"—Duke stops to count—"six gallons of milk?"
"Cecily was thirsty," I explain, trying not to meet Glenn's shrewd gaze.
"For six gallons of whole milk?" Kerrigan joins in, picking up on the type of milk.
"I prefer whole," I lie.
"The rooms don't have big enough refrigerators," Kerrigan presses.
"Why is the elevator taking so long?" I ask, trying to keep frustration from my voice.
"There's only one elevator working right now," an employee says, coming up from behind us. "I had to call maintenance for the other one. We're not sure what happened."
I know exactly what happened. That elevator didn't stand a chance against a sex-starved married couple trying valiantly not to consummate their marriage.
Without a word, I stride toward the door labeled Stairwell.
All six gallons of milk are in the bathtub.
Cecily scrambles in, wearing only a soft-looking bra that more closely resembles a sports bra.
Her eagerness makes me feel worse about the situation.
If Cecily isn't arguing about something as absurd as sitting in milk, it means she's truly in pain. And it's my fault.
"Make room for me," I tell her, pulling off my shirt.
She finishes tying her hair into a knot on top of her head. "You want to sit in milk?"
"Not particularly." I drop my shorts. "I'd rather go through something unpleasant with you than watch you go through it by yourself."
Cecily leans forward, giving me space to slide in behind her. When I'm situated, she leans back, her legs long and running parallel with mine.
"I'm sorry," I whisper in her ear.
"Ten out of ten I do not recommend cunnilingus following hot pepper ingestion." She cranes her neck to look up at me. "But the milk bath is nice."
I trace the curve of her jaw with my knuckles. "Are you getting some relief?"
She nods.
"You wouldn't believe how bad I feel."
Her eyebrows lift. "Have you ever seen the movie Inside Out?"
"Yes."
"Do you remember Anger?"
When I nod, she says, "He gets angry, and fire shoots out of his head? That was my vagina."
I chuckle at the image. "She was angry and on fire? Deadly combination."
"Just on fire. Not angry. Before the burning, she was quite happy."
I feel myself stir. I can't help it.
Cecily notices. "You are very responsive to me."
My fingertip dips into the milk, and I drag it over her stomach, watching a drop slide down to the 'v' between her legs. "I've never been this attracted to anybody. There's something about you, Cecily."
"People don't say things like that to me, Dom."
A swell rises within me. I want to travel back in time and punch the face of every man who didn't recognize Cecily for what she is.
I press a kiss to her shoulder. Maybe I won't be punching anybody.
Maybe I'll sit here and be silently grateful for their mistake.
"Every person you come across all day long should be telling you how great you are. "
Cecily's body moves with a soft laugh. She's quiet for a moment, and then she breaks my heart by saying, "When I was a teenager, my dad told me it's not easy to love me. His exact words were You make it difficult to love you."
I hate the way Cecily's voice has shrunk, lost its characteristic strength. I hate the way she carries those seven words around in her heart, in her mind.
A lie. Cecily believes a lie. How can I show her how wrong her dad was back then? And still is today?
I hold her until her skin pebbles and I realize she's cold.
"How are you feeling down there?" I wince at the words. My fault, my fault. I'll make it up to her.
"Better," she says. She sounds tired.
"We should rinse off the milk. The sugar in it will make us sticky."
Cecily sits up, removing the stopper from the drain.
"No," she says when she sees me getting out of the bathtub. "Stay." She pulls the bra over her head. "Shower with me."
"Ok," I agree quickly. I'd never pass on the opportunity to wash her. To hold her under the warm spray.
It's precisely what I do. I'm gentle with her, and even more careful of the tender space between her thighs. She lays her head on my chest while I run soapy hands over her back, and my heart pulls a cartoon character move and beats a heart-shape straight out of my skin.
Cecily is opening up to me. This infuriating, sexy, stubborn woman is letting me in.
I know what it's like to earn my way. I attended college with kids who didn't need a job to pay for books, who weren't taking on debt to get an education. My collegiate strides pale in comparison to the satisfaction I feel at earning Cecily's trust. Her vulnerability.
I turn her around. Run soap slickened hands over her breasts. She arches into me. Moans. Nipples need extra cleaning. I don't make the rules.
When I'm finished, Cecily steps behind me. "My turn," she says, husky.
She runs her hands all over my body, with a reverence I can barely comprehend. This is a side of Cecily she keeps locked up tight. Caring. Sweet. I like when she's spicy, but I like when she's sweet, too. I fear I may like when she is everything.
Between the elevator before I knew she was in pain, the milk bath, and washing Cecily, I am painfully hard. Cecily's touch slides over my stomach, then lower. She grips me with one hand, dragging me. So slow. My head tips back, eyes finding the ceiling.
"Cecily." Her name pours from my lips, a groan. "Not fair, after what I did to you."
"It's not about fairness." Her words are soft against my back. The warm water hits my chest, and her hand continues to work. "It's about giving you what you need, when you need it."
Add generous to Cecily's ever-growing list of attributes.
I look down at Cecily's hand, watching her movements. "I can't believe I ever thought you were mean."
She smiles, and I feel the curve of her lips. "I'm still mean. And you know you like it."
I jerk in her hand. She's right. I fucking love it when she's mean. "You can do what you want, Chestnut, but when you're feeling better, I'm going to be so nice to you."
"Is that right?"
"I'm going to fuck my wife the way a husband should."
The words are out of my mouth before I consider them. I wait for her to falter, to chide me, to remind me what it is we're really doing. But it only spurs her on. She grips me tighter, pumps faster. Finally, she says, "You can't say stuff like that right now."
"You're right, you're right, I—"
"The blood flow hurts," she interjects.
The blood flow... oh.
"Sorry," I murmur, feeling bad but not for long because the pleasure is coiling tight, and then bursting, and my eyes squeeze shut.
"Fuck," I groan, bracing my arm on the wall.
Cecily lets the water run over her hand, washing away my spend.
I turn off the shower, and we both climb out.
Grabbing a fluffy towel off the rack, I dry her off first, then myself.
Cecily pulls on my T-shirt, and when she brushes her teeth once, I do it three times.
Anything to get the habanero out of my mouth.
She laughs at me, and waits for me in bed. When I pull on my pajama pants, she crooks an eyebrow and says, "I'm surprised you're not taking this opportunity to sleep naked."
I pull back the covers and slide in beside her. "I noticed you put on underwear. I figured if you were erecting a barrier, I should, too."
Should we talk about what I said? I'm going to fuck my wife the way a husband should. It would be easy to talk about, if I didn't mean it. But I mean it.
Cecily snuggles into my side, her head on my bare chest. She has unwound the knot she put in her hair, and now it flows like a river over my arm and the bed. While I rub her back, her fingers turn circles over my chest.
"Kerrigan asked me some questions tonight that made me think." Her tone is contemplative.
"What kind of questions?" I ask, my thumb stroking over her shoulder blade.
"She wanted to know what life looks like for me and you once this is over. She asked if we're going to say our goodbyes and retreat to opposite sides of the country." Her voice sounds despondent. Fearful.
It's exactly what we talked about. What we planned. But... "Is that what you want?"
Cecily pushes up onto an elbow, her face a handful of inches from mine.
"What if I said no?" Her head shakes, just a little.
"I don't know how it all works, Dom. I don't know the details.
I only know that you going back to New York feels like losing you.
And losing you feels like"—she shrugs—"loss. "
The soft glow of the nightstand lamp reveals the sorrow etched on her face, matching her tone. Perfectly matching how I feel inside.
"I don't want to lose you, Cecily."
She lays her head back down on my chest. "I don't want to lose you either."
We leave it at that. When Cecily's breath becomes rhythmic, I stretch out my arm and turn off the lamp. Even then, I cannot go to sleep. I stare at the ceiling, Cecily wrapped in my arms sleeping peacefully, and think about her admission in the bathtub.
For years, Cecily has carried around the idea that she is difficult to love.
I cannot imagine anything easier than loving this woman.