Chapter 12
It was the lightest touch.
Barely a peck. Barely a brush of his lips on the corner of my mouth. Barely anything at all.
And it still broke me.
Dominic eased back with smooth indifference, swiping a thumb over his bottom lip like his natural inclination was to erase the touch. “My turn. Truth to the power of nice-try: same question. What’s one thing you don’t want me to ask?”
Goose bumps bloomed over the back of my neck. Blood rushed to my skin, making it prickle.
You weren’t supposed to call chicken.
That was the one unspoken rule of the game. Neither of us had ever done it. Not once. Because forfeiting had always been, and would always be, the lesser of the two evils.
That was the deal.
My nails cut into my palms, my blood simmering. He wanted to do this with knives out? So be it.
I flicked my hair over my shoulder. “Your best bet is to stay on course, really lean into your lack of originality, and keep parroting my questions back to me. The boredom will eventually do me in. Truth to the power of I-don’t-care: what’s the most embarrassing thing you’ve ever jerked off to?”
The skin under his right eye feathered. “Explain to me how that’s even remotely on topic.”
“Topic is questions you wouldn’t want to be asked. Judging by your reaction, I hit the nail on the head.”
He struggled for a beat, debating. Then, “Chicken.”
This time, I was slightly better prepared. My heart still kicked when he leaned forward, and sparks danced over my skin when his lips grazed mine, but I retained control over my expression, keeping it blank. Didn’t even bother closing my eyes.
It was as though nothing had happened.
He did not like this. His eyes darted over my face when he pulled back, then narrowed.
“Your turn,” I reminded him, checking my cuticles.
He took his time, the gears in his head clearly churning as he tried to figure out whether I was putting on an act or if I truly was this underwhelmed by him. “Before we get any deeper into this, you’re the one who decided to divert the topic to sex. Just remember that.”
I lifted a shoulder. “Nonissue. Hurry up.”
A featherlight flutter swirled through my stomach as Dominic’s features hardened with a competitive edge.
It was game on. We’d officially leveled ourselves out of easy mode.
“What type of porn do you watch?”
“A variety, but I’m on a worshipping kick right now.”
“Of course you are. Everything else revolves around you, so why shouldn’t sex?”
He didn’t even consider that I might be the one who’d want to do the worshipping. Didn’t even cross his mind.
I smirked. “She was telling the truth, wasn’t she? Harper. You really couldn’t get it up.”
Color swept up his neck. “You know, most people in their twenties aren’t nearly this hung up on shit that happened back in high school.”
“You and I aren’t most people. Not when we’re together, at least.”
His brows went up. “Then what are we?”
“Poison.”
I wasn’t sure why he seemed so surprised by my answer. He must’ve had a similar thought himself at some point. None of this—none of what we were doing—was normal. Or rational. Or healthy.
But here we were, doing it anyway.
“You disagree?” I asked, quirking a brow.
It took a minute for his jaw to loosen enough to allow an answer. “No. I don’t disagree.”
And I wasn’t sure why his answer made my gut twist. He was only reaffirming something I already knew. “Great. Now, quit stalling, and either give me an answer or forfeit the game.”
He cleared his throat, his gaze sliding to the side. “She wanted to have sex, I turned her down, she took offense and spread the rumor to soothe her bruised ego. That’s it.”
My mouth parted, a million questions flooding my head at once. But before they could start spilling out, Dominic pushed the game forward. “My turn. What’s the most embarrassing thing you’re into? Something you wouldn’t want your worst enemy to know about.”
“Nothing I’m into is embarrassing. I have immaculate taste.”
He tried to hide the quirk of his mouth, but his head dipped a split second too late. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think a small part of him was actually enjoying the game.
But I did know better.
“My turn,” I said. “Do you still have trouble getting it up? Is it a medical thing?”
Whatever bit of humor I thought I’d seen flash over his face was now entirely gone. “I just said that’s not what happened,” he said gruffly, visibly annoyed.
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of. I don’t know why you’re getting so defensive.”
His hands were back on the counter. He took his time, clearly trying to come up with a question he thought would stump me. “What do you think about while masturbating? Number one fantasy, the one you always go back to, detailed.”
That one made me hesitate. Dominic’s lips quirked when I shifted again, and I so badly wanted to shock him with a cool, nonchalant answer… but no. Sorry. It wasn’t going to happen.
“Chicken.”
I leaned in, meaning to replicate the way he’d barely brushed his lips to mine. Except, for reasons unknown, he also moved. And what was meant to be a passing, inconsequential graze turned into a full, firm press of our lips, and…
Sparks.
A breathless amount of them. Stemming from the point of contact and cascading all the way down to my toes, making them curl.
There were butterflies in my chest.
Feathers swirling in my stomach.
And for the first time in eight years, the waves keeping me stagnant let up. I started to swim.
My eyes eased open. I pulled back, maintaining a blank expression as I swiped a loose knuckle over my lips. If I unfurled my fingers, he’d see how hard they were shaking. “Well, I can see why you chose the cricket.”
My brain started to assign a string of wishful, indulgent meanings to the glazed, dopey look Dominic was wearing. But I shoved them away.
We weren’t going down that path again.
Once was plenty.
“You taste like ashes,” I mused.
He frowned. First down at my mouth, then up at my eyes. Again, my brain started shouting, trying to tell me the shadows cast over his eyes meant this, and the angle of his mouth meant that.
It was all nonsense.
A trick of hormones.
“Ashes,” Dominic repeated slowly.
“A bit, yeah.” Maybe if I said it enough, I could trick my body into believing it. “Anyways, my turn. How many times over the last week have you—”
“Chicken.”
He’d been holding back.
He’d been holding back a lot.
I almost wept when his searing tongue swiped over the flimsy seam of my lips. I was tempted. I was so, so, so tempted to open up for him. Every inch of me yearned to do it. It was a deep, feral craving, and I’d die if I didn’t give in to it.
Everything in my body—every muscle, every instinct and urge was slashing at my willpower, trying to break it down. I was drowning in the eye of the storm, my body engulfed in flames for a man who’d rather chew on a cricket than touch me.
We were playing a new game, and hell would have to freeze over before I let him have the win.
My teeth clenched. Dominic peeled away a half inch.
“Ashes, huh?”
“Like licking the morning aftermath of a bonfire,” I bit back quietly, shivering when our lips brushed, and again when his tongue caressed my bottom lip.
“And you taste like bullshit.”
I quirked a brow. “You think I’m lying?”
“I think you’re too calculating to admit hating something in a situation where it can so easily be used against you.”
“That’s giving someone who never consumes anything that doesn’t have the word ‘Housewives’ in the title a lot of credit,” I argued.
He ignored that. “Truth to the power of your one and only reminder that if you’re caught lying, it’s an automatic forfeit: did you, or did you not, enjoy that kiss?”
“No,” I deadpanned, “I didn’t.” And he’d never be able to prove otherwise.
His eyes narrowed like my answer pissed him off. His lips tilted like it amused him.
“My turn,” I said. “What do you think you’ll enjoy most about intercourse when someone finally agrees to pity fuck you?”
“As with everything else, I imagine the lack of you in the equation will be my favorite part,” he bit back. “Preferred way to suck the life out of your victims?”
“The last guy I blew told me he saw god, so I’d say dick. Do you think blowjobs feel better for men who aren’t chronically flaccid?”
“No idea. You’ll have to ask someone who’s chronically flaccid. Who was it? The guy?”
“Chicken.” Because I knew better than to give him that information.
Again, it was only meant to be a peck.
But again, Dominic felt the need to torture me by escalating it. My hand flew to the back of his head, gripping a fistful of his hair so I could pull him off. But I didn’t put enough strength behind it, so it came off as more of a playful tug.
He groaned.
We both went rigid.
That was… unexpected. Frowning, I did it again. Sure enough, a low hum vibrated out of his chest, accompanied by the angry press of his fingers into my thigh. I started to smile against his lips, an evil sense of victory sprouting in the pit of my chest.
It was short-lived.
The second I started to pull back, itching to call him out on it, his tongue swept in and gave mine a playful lick.
I gasped, fisting the front of his shirt, his hair, and pulling another soft rumble out of him before he could start gloating. In return, he yanked me forward and twined his tongue with mine.
Fireworks.
Everywhere.
A whimper of pleasure slipped out of me, and it was Dominic’s turn to smile.
“God, the noises you’re making,” he panted before nipping at my lower lip. “Does it really feel that good?”
“You’re one to talk,” I retorted, heaving against him. “I’ve never had a guy be so vocal during a light make-out session. It’s just a few kisses, Dominic. Get a hold of yourself.”
“You were lying. Admit it.”
“No.”
“You’re dying for me to kiss you again.”
“I’d rather drink battery acid, quite frankly.”
“That would be slightly more believable if you didn’t murmur it while eye-fucking my mouth like you’d sell your soul for the opportunity to sit on it.”
A blush swept over my cheeks. “I’d sell a hell of a lot more than just my soul to watch you suffocate.”
His mouth quirked. “It’s your turn.”
“Yeah, no, this isn’t working. We’re just going in circles now. We need a new game.”
“What do you suggest?”
I barely needed to think, the idea came to me so fast. “Remember that time you sprained your ankle and claimed I still wouldn’t be able to score a goal against you? Even if I had all night and you were also blindfolded?”
The right corner of his mouth hooked up. “I stand by it.”
“Great. You get the ball. I’ll grab the blindfold.”
I went to slide off the counter, but the movement made him jerk back so suddenly that I froze. He’d grabbed the packaged leash off the counter and was now holding it inconspicuously in front of his hips.
“I’ll meet you outside. In a bit.”
… huh.
I left the kitchen without another word and on wobbly knees, ignoring the frantic flutters in my chest. I wasn’t going to overthink this, because there was nothing to overthink.
He’d still choose the cricket ten times over, and I’d be a fool to believe otherwise.
Some lessons you only needed to learn once.