11. Elise
— ? —
Elise
That Night
The drive home is charged with electricity.
Dominic keeps one hand on the wheel, the other on my thigh, his fingers tracing slow circles against my bare skin where my dress has ridden up. Every brush of his fingertips sends sparks shooting through my nervous system.
I can’t stop replaying the confrontation in my head - Margaret’s venomous words, Connor’s desperate excuses, the way Dominic stepped between us like a shield.
A gold-digger who couldn’t keep her husband satisfied.
“Stop,” Dominic says quietly.
“Stop what?”
“Thinking about what she said. I can see it on your face.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine. You’re spiraling.” He pulls the car over, not at his apartment, but at a quiet overlook where the city spreads out below us like scattered jewels. “Come here.”
I unbuckle my seatbelt and climb across the console into his lap. It’s awkward and cramped and I don’t care. I need to be close to him. Need to feel something other than the cold echo of Margaret’s voice.
His hands settle on my hips, steadying me.
“Look at me,” he says.
I do. His eyes are dark in the dim light, intense with something that makes my breath catch.
“Margaret Reid is a miserable woman who has spent fifty years enabling her son’s worst impulses.
Her opinion means nothing.” His thumb traces my jaw.
“You are brilliant. You are strong. You are the most incredible woman I’ve ever known.
And I’m going to spend the rest of tonight making sure you believe it. ”
“Dominic-”
“Let me take care of you.” His voice drops, roughens. “Let me make you forget she exists.”
“Yes,” I whisper. “Please.”
***
We barely make it through his apartment door.
His mouth is on mine before I can take off my coat, hot and demanding, his tongue sliding against mine in a way that makes my knees buckle. I fumble with his shirt buttons while he walks me backward, his hands already working the zipper at my back.
“Slow down,” he murmurs against my lips.
“I don’t want slow-”
“I know what you want.” He catches my wrists, pins them gently against the wall on either side of my head. “But tonight isn’t about fast. Tonight is about you understanding exactly how perfect you are.”
The words send heat flooding through me.
“Dominic...”
“Do you trust me?”
“Yes.”
“Then let go. Let me lead.” He releases my wrists, but I keep them where they are, pinned by the intensity of his gaze. “Good girl.”
The praise makes something clench low in my belly.
He notices. Of course he notices. He notices everything.
“You like that,” he says. Not a question.
“Maybe.”
“We’ll explore that.” His smile is wicked. “Later. Right now, I have other plans.”
***
He takes his time undressing me.
My coat first, sliding it off my shoulders and letting it pool on the floor. Then my dress, unzipped inch by torturous inch, his mouth following the path of the fabric down my spine.
“Beautiful,” he breathes against my skin. “Every inch of you.”
“You’re still wearing clothes.”
“I’m aware.” He turns me around, drinking in the sight of me in just my underwear. “I’m enjoying the view.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Life isn’t fair.” He traces the edge of my bra with one finger, watching goosebumps rise in his wake. “But I promise to make it up to you.”
He guides me to the bedroom - slowly, stopping every few steps to kiss me, to run his hands over my body, to whisper things against my skin that make me shiver.
You’re incredible.
I can’t believe you’re mine.
I’m going to worship every inch of you.
By the time we reach the bed, I’m trembling with need.
“Lie down,” he says.
I do, settling against the pillows, watching as he finally, finally, starts to undress.
His shirt first, revealing the planes of his chest, the dark hair trailing down his stomach, the tattoo on his ribs that I’ve traced with my tongue a hundred times.
Then his belt, his pants, until he’s standing at the foot of the bed in just his boxers.
He’s hard. Straining against the fabric. But he makes no move to join me yet.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Looking at you.”
“Why?”
“Because you spent six years with a man who didn’t see you. Who looked right through you like you weren’t even there.” He kneels on the bed, crawling toward me with predatory grace. “I want you to understand what it feels like to be seen.”
He starts at my feet.
I didn’t expect that - didn’t expect his hands kneading the arches, his thumbs pressing into the sore spots from hours in heels. It shouldn’t be erotic, but the care of it, the attention, makes something loosen in my chest.
“Connor used to come home and not even notice if I’d changed my hair,” I say quietly. “I could wear a new dress, spend hours getting ready, and he’d look right through me.”
“His loss.” Dominic presses a kiss to my ankle. “My gain.”
He works his way up. My calves - strong hands massaging muscles I didn’t know were tense. The backs of my knees, which turn out to be devastatingly sensitive. I gasp when his lips brush the tender skin there, and he smiles against my leg.
“Noted,” he murmurs.
My thighs. His fingers trace patterns on the soft inner skin, moving higher, higher, but never quite reaching where I need him.
“You’re teasing me,” I gasp.
“I’m savoring you. There’s a difference.”
“The difference is I’m going to combust-”
“You’re going to wait.” His voice is firm but gentle. “You’re going to let me take care of you. And when you finally come, it’s going to be because you know - really know - how incredible you are.”
He reaches my underwear and pauses, looking up at me for permission.
I lift my hips.
He slides them down my legs, slow and reverent, his gaze fixed on me the whole time. Then he kneels between my thighs, his breath hot against my center.
“You’re soaked,” he observes. “Already. Just from this.”
“I’ve been ready since you pinned me against the wall.”
“Mmm.” He presses a single kiss to my inner thigh. “Tell me what you want.”
“You know what I want.”
“I want to hear you say it.”
“Dominic-”
“Say it, Elise.”
“I want your mouth on me.”
“Good girl.”
And then his tongue is on me, and I stop thinking entirely.
***
He’s merciless.
Slow, deliberate strokes that build me up inch by inch. He learns me - what makes me gasp, what makes me arch, what makes me fist my hands in the sheets and cry out his name.
Every time I get close, he backs off. Changes the rhythm. Leaves me hovering on the edge until I’m practically sobbing with need.
“Please - Dominic - I can’t-”
“You can.” He looks up at me, mouth glistening. “You’re doing so well, sweetheart. So perfect. Just a little more.”
“I need-”
“I know what you need.” He slides two fingers inside me, curling them against a spot that makes my breath catch on a gasp. “I’m going to give it to you. But first, I need you to understand something.”
“What?” I’m barely coherent.
“You are not small.” His fingers move in a slow, devastating rhythm. “You are not inadequate.” His thumb circles my clit with perfect pressure. “You are not any of the things she said. Say it.”
“I’m not small-”
“Again.”
“I’m not small - I’m not inadequate - I’m - oh god-”
“Keep going.”
“I’m brilliant - I’m beautiful - I’m - Dominic, please-”
“Come for me, Elise. Let go.”
I shatter.
It rolls through me in waves - pleasure so intense it’s almost painful, my whole body arching off the bed, his name torn from my throat. He works me through it, extending it, until I’m trembling and oversensitive and completely undone.
“That’s one,” he says.
“One?”
“We’re just getting started.”
***
He kisses his way up my body, my stomach, my ribs, the valley between my breasts. He removes my bra with practiced ease, then takes one nipple into his mouth, sucking gently while his fingers roll the other.
I’m already building again. Still sensitive from the first orgasm, every touch amplified.
“You’re so responsive,” he murmurs against my skin. “So perfect. I could spend hours just doing this.”
“I might die.”
“What a way to go.”
He switches sides, giving the other breast the same attention. I thread my fingers through his hair, holding him close, gasping at every flick of his tongue.
“Dominic - I need you inside me-”
“Not yet.”
“Please-”
“Patience.” He nips at the curve of my breast, soothing the sting with his tongue. “I told you - tonight is about worship. And I haven’t finished worshipping yet.”
He slides back down my body.
“Again?” I gasp.
“Again.”
This time he doesn’t tease. He devours me - mouth and fingers working in tandem, pushing me relentlessly toward the edge. I come faster this time, harder, his name a broken cry on my lips.
Before I can recover, he’s there - finally, finally - settling over me, the blunt head of him pressing against my entrance.
“Look at me,” he says.
I force my eyes open. His face is above mine, beautiful and intense, his whole body trembling with restraint.
“I love you,” he says.
“I love you too.”
He pushes inside me.
***
The feeling of him filling me - slow, inch by inch - steals my breath.
He’s big. I knew that, but somehow I never get used to it, never stop marveling at the stretch, the fullness, the way he fits inside me like he was made for this.
“Okay?” he asks, fully seated.
“More than okay.”
He starts to move.
Slow at first - long, deep strokes that make me feel every inch of him. He holds himself above me on his forearms, his eyes locked on mine.
“You feel incredible,” he groans. “So tight. So perfect. Mine.”
“Yours,” I agree.
The word seems to snap something in him. His pace increases, hips snapping forward with more force, hitting a spot inside me that makes me see stars.
“That’s it - right there - don’t stop-”
“Never.”
He shifts angles slightly, grinding against my clit with every thrust, and I’m climbing again - impossibly, impossibly climbing toward another peak.
“I can feel you getting close,” he pants. “Come on, sweetheart. Give me another one. Let me feel you.”
“Dominic-”
“You’re so beautiful when you come. So fucking beautiful. I want to see it again. Can you give me that? Can you be a good girl and come for me?”
The praise pushes me over.
I cry out, clenching around him, and he groans - a sound of pure, raw pleasure - before his own rhythm stutters and he follows me into oblivion.
***
Afterward, we lie tangled together, sweaty and breathless and utterly wrecked.
My body feels like it’s been taken apart and put back together again. Every muscle loose. Every nerve ending still humming with residual pleasure.
“I can’t move,” I announce.
“Then don’t.”
“I might never move again.”
“That seems impractical.”
“You’ve ruined me for movement.”
He laughs, pulling me closer, pressing a kiss to my damp forehead.
“How do you feel?” he asks.
“Destroyed. In the best way.”
“And Margaret?”
I search my mind for her voice - that cold, venomous gold-digger - and find nothing but static.
“Who?” I ask.
His smile is slow and satisfied.
“Mission accomplished.”
***
Later, much later, we’re lying in the dark, my head on his chest, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on my back.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
“For what?”
“For tonight. For the restaurant. For... this.” I press a kiss to his chest, right over his heart. “For reminding me who I am.”
“You never forgot. You just needed someone to say it out loud.”
“Still.” I prop myself up on my elbow, looking down at him. “That was... intense.”
“Too intense?”
“No. Perfect.” I trace the line of his jaw. “You’re kind of incredible, you know that?”
“I’ve been told.”
I smack his chest lightly. “Don’t get cocky.”
“Too late.” He grins, pulling me down for a kiss. “I’ve been cocky since you agreed to date me. This is just confirmation.”
“You’re impossible.”
“You love it.”
“I love you.”
“Same thing.”
He rolls us over, pinning me beneath him with a grin that promises trouble.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Starting round two.”
“I don’t think I can survive round two.”
“Only one way to find out.”
And then his mouth is on mine again, and I stop arguing.
Because he’s right.
There’s only one way to find out.