Chapter 33 #2
Sure, I’ve already made her come with my hand, but that moment was a lapse in common sense.
I was thinking with my dick, not with my brain.
I wasn’t able to control myself the last time I touched her; so I don’t trust myself not to do it again.
If I let this go too far, too fast, it could blow up in my face.
Worse, it could hurt her all over again.
And the last thing I want is to be another regret she has to recover from.
This is the first time in my life I’ve ever opened up to the possibility of something more. I can see this woman as the endgame for me, so a quick fuck—my usual MO—isn’t something I’d ever be interested in with Emily. She’s an all-or-nothing kind of girl.
“Kiss me, Dom,” she whispers. Her voice is soft but certain, even as I hold my ground.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Em,” I say carefully because I know myself well enough to understand I wouldn’t stop at just a kiss.
A flicker of disappointment crosses her face, but it’s gone as quickly as it came. She lifts her chin instead, her eyes sharpening. “I never took you for a coward.”
My brows jump so high they nearly disappear into my hairline.
A low, dangerous rumble coils in my throat as I lean forward, shrinking the space between us to mere inches.
“I’ve been called a lot of things in my life, cupcake,” I murmur, my voice thick with intent, “but coward has never been one of them.”
Her lips curve into a daring smirk. “Prove it,” she whispers, the words charged with challenge.
Common sense screams at me to stand up and walk away—that would be the sensible choice—but the man inside, the one who’s spent his life clawing to prove his worth, won’t let me.
I close the tiny distance between us, pressing my lips to hers again. Her hands clutch my shirt, tight, desperate, and I fight the urge to grab her and pull her even closer.
My hands remain on the sofa, framing her as I try to hold myself back. I don’t trust myself to touch her anywhere else, not when being this close to her makes me feel like I’m slipping into the abyss.
Her lips are impossibly sweet, and every kiss is a drug I can’t quit. I catch myself getting lost in the taste of her, in the pull of her mouth against mine. She’s addictive.
Without me even realising, I let myself fall, deepening the kiss, and suddenly nothing else exists but her.
My free hand moves almost on its own, threading through her golden locks, tangling in the strands as I tilt her head slightly to get a better angle.
The tips of her fingers glide up to my shoulders, tugging me closer, and the rest of the world disappears.
Every fibre of me aches to lay her back, to feel her beneath me, and finally give in to the things I’ve been imagining doing to her for years. I can feel the pull, the heat building; every nerve ending is on fire, but I won’t rush this. I want to savour her.
She’s not like the others. She’s different, and I’ve never felt for anyone the way I feel for her. This might make me sound like a pussy, but I want this to mean something.
I want to show Emily she’s worth treasuring. That I’m not her ex, and I’d never hurt or take her for granted. She deserves more than that, and I’m determined to give it to her. If she’ll let me, that is.
When we finally pull back, just enough to breathe, her forehead rests against mine, and we both grin; the unspoken acknowledgment of everything we’ve been holding back is now hanging between us.
I draw back further; my hands travel up her calves, tracing each curve with care. I let my touch drift higher, unhurried, lingering just enough to make her aware of it.
“Whose shirt are you wearing?” I ask because if it belongs to her ex or any other man, I’m taking it outside and setting it on fire.
“It’s yours.”
I arch an eyebrow. “Mine?”
My hands pause as I study the fabric, and I realise she’s right. It is mine. There’s something about seeing her in my clothes that makes me want to puff out my chest like a damn caveman.
She nibbles the corner of her bottom lip and nods. “It somehow ended up in my laundry pile, so I kept it.”
A crooked smile tugs at my lips. My eyes don’t leave hers as my hands trace a slow, teasing path along her legs. “So I’m living with a kleptomaniac?” I tease, my voice lower now. “Do I need to start locking up my valuables?”
She lets out a soft laugh as my fingers brush higher along her inner thigh. Emily’s breath stutters, giving herself away. The barely there sound sends a jolt straight through me, causing all the blood in my body to rush straight to my cock.
My hands slip under the T-shirt, pushing it up around her ribcage as I go, completely exposing the plain white cotton underwear she’s wearing beneath. She doesn’t say anything as I spread her legs wider, but her breathing is coming in short, shallow spurts.
The small, visible wet patch I see on her underwear has precum leaking from my dick. There’s something satisfying in knowing she’s already turned on despite me only touching her legs. I’ve felt and tasted her pussy before, but this is the closest I’ve ever come to seeing it in the flesh.
I lean in further, moving my upper body between her spread legs, and my mouth salivates as I ghost my nose along her seam, inhaling her scent.
The tips of my fingers skim over the elastic of her underwear. “Can I touch you, mia tortina?” She nods her pretty little head and whimpers as I slowly massage her clit through the fabric. “I need to taste your sweetness, Emily.”
“God, yes,” she murmurs. “Touch me, taste me, do anything you want to me, Dom.”
My eyes move back to hers as my thumbs hook into the sides of her underwear. “Can I take these off?” I ask because I don’t want to do anything she’s not ready for.
It doesn’t escape me that a few minutes ago, this was the kind of thing I was trying to avoid, yet here I am, unable to stop myself from taking this further.
When she nods again, I shuffle back and slide off the sofa and onto my knees.
A low growl rumbles in the back of my throat as soon as I drag them over her hips and down her legs, getting my first view of her pink, bare pussy.
I use my thumb and forefinger to part her, pausing for a moment, to take her in, committing this sight to memory.
She’s glistening. Ripe and ready, and the things I want to do to her are endless.
My eyes flicker to hers, and although there’s a light blush forming on her cheeks, she’s smiling and has never looked more beautiful than she does in this moment.
I skim the pad of my thumb across her clit, and her body trembles, but I continue to observe her intently. As much as I’m dying to do this, I need to make sure she’s completely on board.
I never want her to think that this is why I brought her to my home. Yes, the attraction from my side, at least, was already there, but she’s here because I need her safe.
That’s always my main goal. It was never to take advantage of the situation so I could seduce her.
I glide my fingers through her slick folds, and she pushes her head further back into the cushion with a moan. She’s so fucking wet for me. So fucking perfect.
“Are you sure you want this?” I ask.
“Yes,” she answers without hesitation. “Give me everything you’ve got.”
I arch an eyebrow as I lean in and run my tongue from her inner thigh to her knee before moving to the other leg. I doubt she could handle everything I’ve got.
I repeat the motion, but this time with open-mouth kisses, pausing occasionally to nibble and suck her soft flesh into my mouth, giving her a taste of what it’s going to feel like the second my lips are on her pussy.
I keep going back and forth until her body is quaking and she’s near incoherent with need. “Please, Dominic,” she begs.
“What do you want, mia tortina?” I ask, my voice calm and controlled despite the desperation clawing at my insides. I need to hear her say it. I want her permission before I go any further.
“Your mouth,” she answers, sliding her hands from my shoulders to cup the back of my head. I chuckle as she tries to drag my face closer.
“Where do you need my mouth, Emily?”
Her hands fall from my hair to cup my face, tilting my head just enough for our eyes to meet again. “Everywhere,” she breathes, and I can’t hold back the grin that curves my lips as she gently strokes the scar running down the side of my face with the pad of her thumb.
She traces it slowly, almost reverently, as if it belongs exactly where it is. Her touch is soft and unbothered, and the way she looks at me makes it clear she doesn’t see the damage the way others do. She sees me.
Everything about this woman makes me want to break my own rules, to linger where I would usually pull away.
To give her more than I ever have with anyone else. To take that leap of faith and see where it goes, all the while praying she doesn’t throw it back in my face.