6. Elise
— ? —
Elise
That Night
He lays me on the bed like I’m something precious.
For a moment, he just stands there, looking down at me - hair mussed, shirt half-unbuttoned, breathing hard. The light from the hallway cuts across his face, illuminating the sharp line of his jaw, the darkness of his eyes, the way his chest rises and falls with barely restrained hunger.
“What?” I ask, suddenly self-conscious under the intensity of his gaze.
“I’m memorizing this.”
“Memorizing what?”
“You. Here. In my bed. Looking at me like that.” His voice is rough, strained. “I’ve imagined this, Elise. More times than I should admit. And now you’re actually here, and I just... I need a second.”
My heart stutters.
“Come here,” I whisper.
He doesn’t move. “I need you to understand something first.”
“What?”
“This isn’t casual for me. This isn’t rebound sex or revenge or any of the things people might assume.
” He holds my gaze with an intensity that makes me shiver.
“I’ve wanted you for six years. Six years of watching you across rooms, of forcing myself to look away, of lying awake at night hating myself for wanting my brother’s wife. ”
“Dominic-”
“So if we do this, I’m not going to be able to pretend it doesn’t mean everything. I’m not going to be able to go back to being just friends, or whatever we were before.” He swallows hard. “I need you to be sure.”
I sit up, reaching for him, pulling him down onto the bed beside me.
“I’m sure,” I say. “I’ve never wanted anything more.”
“Even though it’s fast? Even though you just-”
I kiss him to shut him up.
It works.
***
His hands are everywhere.
Sliding up my sides, tangling in my hair, cupping my face like I’m something fragile and priceless. He kisses me like he’s been starving for it - deep and thorough, his tongue stroking against mine in a rhythm that makes heat pool low in my belly.
“Too many clothes,” I gasp against his mouth.
“Patience.”
“I don’t want patience. I want you.”
“You’ll have me.” He pulls back just enough to meet my eyes. “But we’re doing this my way. Slow. Thorough.” His hand slides down my body, tracing the curve of my waist through my dress. “I’ve waited six years. I’m going to savor every second.”
The promise in his voice makes me shudder.
He starts with my zipper - drawing it down inch by agonizing inch, his knuckles brushing my spine. Every point of contact sends sparks skittering across my skin.
“Lift up,” he murmurs.
I do, and he slides the dress over my head, leaving me in just my bra and underwear. The cool air hits my skin, but I barely feel it, not when he’s looking at me like that.
“Jesus, Elise.” His voice is reverent. Wrecked. “Do you have any idea what you do to me?”
“Show me.”
He does.
***
He starts at my throat.
Open-mouthed kisses trailing down the column of my neck, pausing to suck gently at my pulse point. I gasp, arching into him, and feel his smile against my skin.
“Sensitive there,” he observes.
“Very.”
“Good to know.”
He continues his exploration, my collarbone, the curve of my shoulder, the swell of my breasts above my bra. Every kiss is deliberate, purposeful, like he’s mapping me. Learning me.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs. “I used to watch you at family dinners and wonder what you’d look like, spread out beneath me like this.”
“Dominic-”
“I’d go home and think about it for hours. Feel guilty about it. Promise myself I’d stop.” His fingers trace the edge of my bra. “I never stopped.”
He reaches behind me, unclasps the bra with practiced ease, and slides it off my shoulders. For a moment, he just looks - dark eyes drinking in the sight of me.
“Perfect,” he breathes.
Then his mouth closes over one nipple, and I stop thinking entirely.
***
He’s thorough. God, he’s thorough.
He spends what feels like hours on my breasts - licking, sucking, teasing. Switching from one to the other until I’m writhing beneath him, desperate for more.
“Please,” I gasp. “Dominic, I need-”
“Tell me what you need.”
“More. I need more.”
“More of what?” He bites gently at the curve of my breast. “Be specific.”
“I need you to touch me.”
“I am touching you.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Say it.” His hand slides down my stomach, fingers tracing the waistband of my underwear but going no further. “Tell me exactly what you want.”
“I want your fingers inside me.”
“Good girl.”
The praise sends a jolt of heat straight to my core.
He hooks his fingers in my underwear and drags it down my legs - slowly, deliberately, his eyes never leaving mine. Then he settles between my thighs, spreading them wider, and just... looks.
“You’re soaked,” he observes. “Already.”
“I’ve been ready since you first kissed me on the couch.”
“Mm.” He traces one finger through my wetness, barely grazing my clit. “I like knowing I do this to you.”
“Dominic-”
“I like knowing that when you’re this wet, this desperate-” he circles my entrance with one finger, not pushing in, just teasing - “it’s because of me.”
“Please-”
He slides one finger inside.
My back arches off the bed. He’s not even doing anything yet, just holding there, letting me adjust, but the feeling of finally having part of him inside me is overwhelming.
“More?” he asks.
“Yes.”
He adds a second finger, stretching me, filling me, and begins to move. Slow, deep strokes that curl against a spot that makes stars explode behind my eyes.
“Right there,” I gasp. “Don’t stop-”
“I’m not stopping. I’m just getting started.”
His thumb finds my clit, circling in a rhythm that matches his fingers. The dual sensation is almost too much - pleasure building and building, coiling tighter with every stroke.
“That’s it,” he murmurs. “Let me feel you. Let me see how beautiful you look when you come.”
“Dominic - I’m going to-”
“Come for me, Elise.”
I shatter.
It crashes through me in waves - white-hot pleasure that steals my breath, makes my vision blur, leaves me shaking and gasping his name. He works me through it, gentling his strokes as I come down, until I’m limp and trembling and completely undone.
“Beautiful,” he says softly. “So fucking beautiful.”
I reach for him blindly. “Your turn. I want to touch you-”
“Not yet.”
“Dominic-”
“Not yet.” He presses a kiss to my inner thigh. “I’m not done with you.”
***
He wasn’t kidding.
Before I can fully recover, his mouth replaces his fingers - hot and wet, his tongue tracing patterns against my oversensitive flesh. I cry out, hands fisting in his hair, not sure if I’m trying to pull him closer or push him away.
“Too much-”
“You can take it.” He seals his lips around my clit and sucks. “You can take everything I give you.”
He’s relentless. Merciless. Pushing me toward another peak before the first one has fully faded. My thighs are shaking, my whole body trembling, and still he doesn’t stop, just keeps working me with his mouth, his fingers, his low groans of pleasure that vibrate against my core.
“I can’t - I can’t again-”
“You can.” He looks up at me, mouth glistening, eyes dark with hunger. “One more. Give me one more, and then I’ll give you what you really want.”
“What I really want?”
“Me.” He slides two fingers back inside me, curling them just right. “All of me. Inside you. Filling you up until you can’t think about anything else.”
“Yes-”
“Then come. Come on my tongue, and I’ll fuck you until you forget your own name.”
I come so hard I nearly black out.
***
When I finally resurface, he’s hovering over me, completely naked.
I don’t know when he took off his clothes. I don’t care. All I can focus on is the sight of him - broad shoulders, defined chest, the trail of dark hair leading down to where he’s hard and straining and big.
Bigger than I expected.
“Okay?” he asks, noticing my expression.
“Very okay.” I reach for him, wrapping my hand around his length. He hisses through his teeth, hips jerking involuntarily. “I just... might need a minute.”
“We’ll go slow.”
“You keep saying that.”
“I keep meaning it.” He reaches for the nightstand, pulls out a condom, and rolls it on with hands that tremble slightly. “Tell me if it’s too much. Tell me if you need me to stop.”
“I won’t need you to stop.”
“Just in case.”
He positions himself at my entrance, the blunt head pressing against me, not pushing in, just there. Waiting.
“Look at me,” he says.
I do.
“I love you,” he says.
And then he pushes inside.
***
The stretch is incredible.
He goes slow, inch by agonizing inch, giving me time to adjust, checking my face for any sign of discomfort. But there’s no discomfort. Just fullness, pressure, the overwhelming sensation of being filled in a way I’ve never been before.
“You’re so tight,” he grits out. “So fucking perfect.”
“Move. Please move.”
He does.
Long, deep strokes that drag against every nerve ending. He braces himself on his forearms, caging me with his body, his forehead pressed against mine so we’re breathing the same air.
“I’ve thought about this,” he says, voice strained. “So many times. What you’d feel like. What you’d sound like. What face you’d make when I was inside you.”
“And?”
“Better.” He punctuates the word with a harder thrust that makes me gasp. “So much better than I imagined.”
He shifts angles, hitching my leg higher around his waist, and the new position lets him sink even deeper. I cry out, nails raking down his back, and he groans, a low, guttural sound of pure pleasure.
“There?” he asks.
“Yes - right there - don’t stop-”
He doesn’t stop.
He fucks me with single-minded intensity - hard and deep and exactly right. Every thrust hits that perfect spot, building pressure that spirals tighter and tighter.
“I’m close,” I gasp.
“I know. I can feel you squeezing me.” He reaches between us, finds my clit, and rubs in tight circles. “Come with me. I want to feel you come around my cock.”
“Dominic-”
“Now, Elise. Let go.”
I explode.
The orgasm tears through me, the most intense one yet, my whole body clenching around him as waves of pleasure crash over me. He follows seconds later, burying himself deep and groaning my name against my throat.
***
We lie tangled together, aftershocks still rippling through us.
His weight is heavy on top of me, but I don’t want him to move. I want to stay exactly like this - connected, intertwined, his heart pounding against mine.
“That was...” I trail off, unable to find words.
“Yeah.” He lifts his head, looking at me with something like wonder. “It really was.”
“I think you broke me.”
“In a good way?”
“In the best way.”
He pulls out slowly, carefully, and I whimper at the loss. He deals with the condom, then immediately pulls me back into his arms, arranging us so my head is on his chest, his fingers tracing patterns on my back.
“Stay,” he murmurs.
“I wasn’t planning to leave.”
“Good.” He presses a kiss to my hair. “Because I have plans for later.”
“Later?”
“Mmhm. Round two. Round three.” His hand slides down to cup my ass. “Maybe round four, if you’re up for it.”
“I might need a nap first.”
“Sleep.” He pulls the blankets over us. “I’ll wake you up in a few hours.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
I close my eyes, smiling.
For the first time in months, maybe years, I feel completely, utterly at peace.