Chapter 7
Chapter seven
Erotic Arrhythmia
Dominic
Did she understand that this was about to be a very dangerous situation?
Surely, she came down for my cock because she was about to get it, whether she wanted it or not. I was too on the edge of cumming all over her right now.
Teyonah stood there, wearing red silk pajamas—loose pants, a button-up top with the first few undone.
Her hair was down, spiraling around her shoulders in a halo of dark curls, the kind I’d dreamed about wrapping around my fist.
And she was smiling.
Not that polite, strained smile she wore for the neighbors who always came by, not the weary one she gave her kids when she’d used up every ounce of energy at work but still wanted them to feel loved.
This smile was relaxed, beautiful, and bright. It was the kind of smile that made me forget oxygen existed.
Her face looked different too, without the weight of the day pressing on it.
Lighter.
Softer.
Breathtaking.
Her gaze widened as she took me in, then slid—slowly, helplessly—down my damp muscular chest, over my sculpted abs, and then lingered where the towel bulged from my thick, aching erection.
Heat flashed in her gaze so quick I almost doubted it.
Almost.
Hmmm. You see how hard I am, but do you know that you’re the reason for it?
She lifted her view to me and cleared her throat. “I uh. . .am sorry.”
“Why?”
“You’re busy—”
“I’m not.”
“It’s late.”
I leaned my head to the side. “Is everything okay?”
“Yes. . .” Her gaze hit my cock again, she blinked and looked away.
I smirked.
She cleared her throat. “I should go. I didn’t mean to interrupt—”
“Stay. You’re not interrupting anything.” I stepped to the side. “Come in. Please.”
“O-kay.” She entered in, carefully, as if she were entering someplace sacred.
Her silk pants whispered as she moved past me, the fabric sliding against her thighs, clinging just enough to show the outline of her thick hips. The red top gaped slightly when she breathed, hinting at the swell of her breasts, the soft dark brown skin I wanted to bury my mouth in.
God, she had no idea. If I’d been a gentleman, I would’ve excused myself, put on pants, maybe even laughed it off. But I wasn’t interested in being a gentleman tonight.
I wanted her to look at me and see—not just the polite tenant who helped with the kids, not just the boy with books stacked too high.
I wanted her to see the man. The muscle cut sharp across my chest, the ridges of my abs flexing every time I shifted, the raw size of my thick cock fighting against the towel at my waist.
I wanted her to know how hard I was for her.
How heavy.
How much my cock ached.
When I shut the door, I got in front of her and shifted my stance deliberately, letting the terrycloth tug tighter across the thickness, making the bulge impossible to miss. My length twitched under the towel, an obscene throb that pulled her gaze down again before she could stop herself.
Yes. Look at it. Do you like the size of it? Do you want to touch it?
My shoulders rolled back.
Water still traced down my torso, cutting through the grooves of muscle I’d carved from years of training.
I wanted her to see that too—to know I wasn’t just tall, I was built to carry her.
That I could throw her over my shoulder if I wanted, pin her wrists above her head with one hand, lift her onto my cock and make her ride me until she forgot all her worries.
She was soft where I was hard, curves where I was carved.
That contrast was dopamine in my bloodstream, a chemical high I could never detox from.
Her body was made for my grip, my strength. And every inch of me wanted to show her.
She must have understood that fact too because for several minutes silence ran between us.
Normal people would’ve filled the quiet with nervous laughs or excuses.
A joke about the hour.
A question about the weather.
Anything to break it.
But we weren’t normal.
The silence between us wasn’t awkward.
It was thick.
Heavy.
Lust-filled.
Alive.
My cock pulsed under the towel, veins straining, as if it could sense her hesitation, her need.
She pressed her lips together like she was holding back a sound, like some part of her wanted to moan and betray herself.
Her eyes flicked up to mine, wide and dark.
We didn’t say it.
We didn’t name it.
But we both knew.
Something was happening here that went beyond tenant and landlord, beyond polite dinners and shared breakfasts.
Something raw.
Something neither of us was ready to admit but both of us were already drowning in.
And Christ—I wanted to be the one who dragged her under.
My pulse hammered so loud in my ears I almost wanted to grab her wrist, press her palm flat to my chest, and let her feel how arrhythmic she made me.
The hobby cardiologist in me catalogued the symptoms—spiked blood pressure, dilated pupils, shortened breaths.
But none of that science could capture the savage worship flooding me.
Her lips parted, and then she tried for a tease. “You should probably put some pants on.”
But her eyes didn’t move away from my muscles, betraying her true desires.
I let a slow smile curve my mouth, tilting my head as if I were amused. “If I put pants on, you wouldn’t keep looking at me the way you are right now.”
Her breath caught, but she didn’t flinch. “And you like when I look at you?”
“I do. I didn’t work out to get this body just to lift things. I like the beauty of the muscle, the discipline behind it. And I like the attention it gets me—especially when it’s your attention.”
Her brows arched, teasing but curious. “Why especially mine?”
“Because in the end. . .yours is the only attention that matters. Everyone else could disappear, but as long as your eyes were still on me, I’d feel alive.”
Teyonah’s breath hitched when I stepped closer, my size filling the tiny space of the apartment like a cage around her.
She had to tilt her head back to meet my eyes, curls brushing her silk-clad shoulders, lips parting just slightly.
Heat surged low. Blood flooded thick and insistent, making the towel strain and barely able to contain me.
I clenched my jaw to keep from groaning, to keep from grabbing her hand and pressing it there so she’d know exactly how bad she had undone me.
And then I saw it. . .
Her nipples pressed against the silk, dark tips tightening under the thin red fabric, hard peaks I couldn’t stop staring at.
I didn’t even hide the fact that I was looking at her breasts.
Mmm.
I wanted to tell her how every vein in my body dilated just for her, how my cock strained like it needed a tourniquet, how my anatomy textbooks never covered the organ that hurt most when it swelled with need, but she was giving me those lessons on that topic more and more.
She clearly noticed because soon she crossed her arms over them like she could hide her hunger. “So. . .I just came down to. . .uh. . .”
She’s fucking speechless and turned on.
I smirked because now I was finally getting the clear confirmations that I needed. No longer was this all in my head.
She wants me too.
All this time I’d been willing to fight my forbidden urges for her, willing to hold it all back like some caged animal pacing behind bars.
I’d told myself I could live with restraint, that I could bury the hunger in textbooks and cold showers. That I could respect the boundary, keep my distance, pretend the heat between us wasn’t real.
But it was real.
Right here.
Right now.
Her nipples were hard for me. Her gaze was stuck on my cock. Her breath was catching like she’d been caught in a lie. And she’d fucking forgot the whole reason why she’d even come down.
And Christ—if I’d been starving before, this was the scent of blood.
My veins lit up, my muscles locked, and every ounce of discipline I’d built cracked.
Hunger like this wasn’t rational, wasn’t polite.
It was savage, a pulse that told me to take, to claim, to ruin every inch of her until she understood who she belonged to.
My heart slammed in my chest, not with guilt but with excitement. A wild, thundering pulse of pure male triumph.
She really wants me.
Maybe she’d been trying to fight it for a long time too, but desire doesn’t lie. Silk doesn’t harden against nothing. Eyes didn’t linger where they shouldn’t unless the body was begging for it.
I straightened my shoulders, the towel straining even tighter at my waist, my cock jerking like it knew the hunt had started.
No more pretending.
No more holding back.
Now that I knew she was turned on by me, I would pursue.
Hunt.
Stalk.
Claim.
“First. . .I came to say. . .thank you.” Her voice caught, the words thinning out as she took a small step back, putting space between us.
But I followed.
One step.
Then another.
Closing what she tried to open.
I licked my lips. “Why are you saying thank you?”
She inched away and her back brushed the edge of my counter. There was nowhere left to retreat, not without making it obvious that she was running.
I tilted my head, watching her chest rise and fall, watching her fight against what was written across her own body. “There’s nothing you need to thank me for, Teyonah. I’ve done nothing.”
She took a steady breath and headed off in the other direction. “Well. . .”
I shifted into the predator, watching her moves and tracking her scent.
As if she was finding something to anchor herself, she gazed over the books. “I’m impressed with what you’ve done down here. It’s. . .nice and peaceful.”
“Good. You should come down here more.”
Her gaze swept the bookshelves again but then returned to my muscular chest, lingering beautifully long. “Maybe I will.”
“Mmm.”
She let out a nervous chuckle. That sound hit me like a skipped heartbeat, an arrhythmia only she could cause.
Silence brushed over us again for a few seconds.
Then she straightened, as if finally recalling her mission and hoping to get herself together.
“So. . .” She tucked a curl behind her ear. “The kids gave me a big surprise today.”