19. Chapter 19 #2
I exhale and swipe up to exit the app, opening Messages. It’s the same: Jace, Melody, Zed, the team, me. And one unopened text from Clarissa Moreal—his mother. Why does he have her saved under her full name? The preview sits on the screen like a knife.
Clarissa Moreal: You’re a disappointment, Dominic. This is not who we raised.
My fingers freeze and my heart plummets at the bitterness in his mother’s words. I shouldn’t have seen that. I didn’t mean to read it .
I quickly lock the phone, feeling like I’ve seen something too private.
My stomach turns as I look up. Dom takes a slow sip of water, unaware I read the venom.
There’s so much I want to ask. Why is his own mother talking to him like that?
But he’s given me enough today; I don’t want to push.
Instead, I catch myself wanting to hug him.
I stand without saying anything and walk over, setting his phone gently on the table.
“Thank you,” I whisper, fighting the urge to hug him.
I turn to go back to my chair, but his hand wraps around my wrist and pulls me onto his lap. My legs swing before settling over his. His arm curls around my waist and my breath catches.
I look up at him, wide-eyed. His hand is splayed low on my back, the other resting on the table.
“Did you get your answer?” he asks in that deep, low voice that feels like it speaks straight to my bones.
“You let me stew. A simple ‘no, I don’t talk to other women’ would’ve done the trick.” I force a laugh, the sound soft and breathy against his collarbone .
He tilts his head to see my face and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “Would you have believed me if I did?”
“Probably not.” I shrug.
He nods once, like he expected as much.
He probably knows how loud the world has been for me, how easy it would be to assume the worst.
I shift on his lap. “So,” I say lightly, tilting my head, a smile tugging, “you’re not gonna ask to see my phone now?”
“No.”
“Really?” I arch a brow.
“Really.”
I pretend to think. “Huh. Because I might be talking to other men, you know.”
The words are barely out when his hold on my hips tightens. He presses me down so there’s no mistaking the hardening line beneath me. My breath catches as my body reacts to the feel of him.
His mouth dips close to my ear. “That’s a bluff you don’t want to try,” he warns.
My pulse jumps. I swallow, suddenly very aware of how little space there is between us. His grip firms, thumbs digging into my hips like a reminder of whose lap I’m on.
He doesn’t loosen his grip. My stomach drops through the floor as he pulls me down and grinds me against the growing length beneath him.
“I better be the only man in this entire goddamn world,” he says, darker now, “who knows what this little pussy feels like.”
He presses up harder. I fight back a whimper, placing a hand on his warm, solid chest. It makes resisting even more unbearable.
He pulls back just enough to meet my eyes. “And I intend to keep it that way.”
My body is all heat, ache, and need. All it took was the flex of his hips.
His phone buzzes on the table, but neither of us looks. It keeps buzzing, persistent. Dom still won’t take his eyes off me.
“Pick it up,” he says, calm.
“But it’s your phone,”
“Pick it up,” he repeats, slower. Not a suggestion.
I reach for it hesitantly, sliding the screen and lifting it to my ear. “…Hello? ”
A pause, then a crisp, professional female voice. “Hello. I’m calling for Mr. Moreal?”
Her tone is stern, all business. Definitely someone I shouldn’t be taking a call from while on this man’s lap.
I glance at him, wide-eyed. He’s still staring, amused and grinding me slowly on his cock as if nothing about this is inappropriate.
“U-Um,” I stammer. “Please hold… I’ll get him.”
I hand him the phone as he squeezes my ass with his free hand. He takes the call, putting the phone to his ear.
“Dominic Moreal,” he says, switching tones—sharp and professional. “Yes, thank you for the follow-up. I saw the brief come through last night.”
I try to rise, cheeks burning, but he pulls me back, firm and wordless. I barely hold in a moan as his cock presses against the ache between my legs, thick and hard even through clothes. My head spins.
He talks about board materials and confirmations. I don’t hear a word. He won’t stop moving me against him .
I brace my hands on his chest, trying again to lift myself. His arm locks around my hips like a steel band. He glances at me and raises a single brow in warning.
“Mm-hm,” he says, nodding and currently corrupting my life. “Appreciate the update, thank you. I’ll take a look before the meeting.”
Another beat, another drag of my pussy against him. “You too. Take care.”
He ends the call and the phone drops to the table. The second the line goes dead, the air shifts.
“You’re psychotic,” I accuse.
“If you think this is psychotic,” he murmurs, low and rich, “next time, I’ll have you answer the phone while I’m inside you.”
My stomach flips at the dark promise. His hand runs slowly up my thigh, leaving goosebumps in its wake.
My mind is already gone. I try to find a snarky comeback, but all that comes out is a broken exhale. That makes him smile. His hand trails from my jaw to my throat, thumb brushing the skin beneath it.
“I’d love to keep going,” he murmurs, voice low against my cheek. His lips press a slow kiss to the hinge of my jaw, then another just beneath my ear. “But I’ve got to be at the rink in twenty.”
I blink, dazed. “What?”
He pulls back enough to meet my eyes, amused. “Light practice. Can’t have anyone tearing a hamstring doing wind sprints when they should be stretching.”
He leans in, mouth brushing my neck in the softest kiss, one hand still on my thigh, the other warm against my lower back. His mouth finds the spot under my ear and kisses it, slow and warm. “I’ll be back soon,” he adds, running a hand up my back before lifting me off his lap.
He sets me on the patio and stands. I instinctively look down, my eyes trailing to the large imprint of his cock through his sweatpants.
He catches me staring and his smirk widens. He steps in close, grabs my chin between his fingers, and lowers his mouth onto mine.
Butterflies erupt in my belly. His lips are soft and teasing as they dance with mine. He’s a disarmingly good kisser—infuriatingly good at everything .
By the time he pulls back, I’m dizzy all over again. He smiles, brushing his thumb across my bottom lip. “Behave while I’m gone,” he murmurs, planting a soft kiss at the corner of my mouth.
“Try not to miss me too much,” I shoot back.
He chuckles, grabbing his phone from the table, and heads toward the house, tossing me one final glance over his shoulder. “I make no promises.”
And he’s gone.