Chapter 13 The Rose on the Shelf
Chapter thirteen
The Rose on the Shelf
Teyonah
I came home late.
Too late.
The kind of late that sank into my arches and chewed the back of my heels where the shoes had rubbed angry, glossy spots all day.
My lipstick had quit on me hours ago, leaving the suggestion of color.
My shoulders were tight, mouth dry, head still crowded with my supervisor’s depositions and deadlines.
“Fuck. I am exhausted.” I let myself into the house and stood for a heartbeat in the hush.
It was the soft kind of quiet—no cartoon voices, no coins clattering from J’s pencil cup, no Oliver galloping a dinosaur over the back of the sofa. Just a single lamp burning in the living room, throwing a warm square over the rug.
Did Dominic put the kids to sleep too? Oh my God.
My heart warmed.
The phone call from earlier still ghosted along my skin.
I’d dialed with my pen in my teeth and a brief open in front of me because I knew I wasn’t getting out on time.
“Dom,” I’d said, already ashamed of the ask. “I will be late tonight. Can you pick up the kids—”
“I’m already on the way,” he’d calmly replied. “Don’t worry. Mondays are usually your busiest day.”
So simple.
He gave me no loud sigh.
No you-owe-me.
Just, I already got you.
Scott would’ve snapped, checked the time, not offered to help, and then asked what I planned to do about it as if our kids weren’t even his.
Dominic just moved and anticipated.
Meanwhile, the quiet after his statement of being on the way to get the kids pressed into my ear, heavy.
So much was unspoken in those seconds of silence.
We didn’t say anything about last night. We didn’t bring up the shaky little sound I’d made when his mouth found mine. We said nothing about him calling me Mommy and me jacking him off.
The nothing hummed with heat.
A second later, he whispered later and his voice was husky with lust.
I hung up and realized my panties were wet.
Only he could do that.
Now, in my doorway, I put my keys down quietly, like the house would wake if I clanked them.
The lamp hummed.
The roses I’d left by the fruit bowl had opened more and made the area elegant.
On the edge of the living room table lay an open children’s book—the one Oliver made me do all the voices for.
Aww. He read them a book before sending them upstairs for bed.
Guilt rose first, sharp and familiar.
I’d missed bedtime.
Then gratitude came, warm and messy, because Dom had stepped into the space I hated leaving empty.
Pride surged too, that ugly and necessary flame that said I was good at what I did today and that mattered.
And under all of it, the ache that had been swelling since the call—the ache that said I wanted him.
Not a theory.
Not a what-if.
Him.
I touched the book’s page with one finger.
Dom’s voice ran in my head doing Oliver’s favorite line and J’s quiet laugh rode under it.
Okay. Let me. . .get myself together.
It was now. . .later. . .I knew I needed to go downstairs and talk to Dominic—no more floating promises, no more hiding behind being busy. But I’d been in work shoes, the same dress, and recycled air all day. My skin was now tacky with other people’s breath and arguments.
If I was going to speak clearly, I needed to go to my bathroom and wash the day off me first.
I’ll take ten minutes.
Once I had hot water, a clean body, and a steady mind, then I would knock on his door like a grown woman.
It wasn’t avoidance.
It was me choosing to show up as the best version of myself.
Quickly, I padded down the hall and checked on the kids. Oliver was starfished across his bed, cheek shiny with sleep, arms locked around his stuffed dinosaur like it might try to sneak out on adventure without him.
I went to J’s room next. They were a neat little mountain under their blanket, one knee tented, mouth open in a soft snore that fluttered the tiniest breath against the pillowcase.
Their rainbow night-light glow made everything warm and harmless.
Minutes later, I stripped while I walked into my bedroom, undoing buttons, slinging my jacket on the chair, and loosening my blouse. Once the work outfit was off, my bra snapped away and I slipped out of my panties.
Oh God. Finally I can relax a bit.
I entered the bathroom and closed the door behind me.
Steam bloomed the second I turned the faucet, curling up the mirror and softening the lights until they glowed.
Tiles cool under my bare feet.
The water came down soothing warm and pounded into the knots along my shoulders.
God yes!
I tipped my face into the heated spray and let my mouth fall open and exhaled the rough parts of the day out.
Sighing, I turned to the right and glanced at my rose-shaped vibrator—Denzel.
The shower helped, but I was still jittery—and very fucking horny.
Lusty heat sat low in my belly.
At the thought of seeing Dominic soon, my nipples grew tight in the steam. My thighs pressed together without me thinking about it.
I wanted him so bad—his mouth, his hands, his cock.
But I wanted to be fair to him too.
If I went downstairs this worked up, “we need to talk” would turn into “do whatever you want,” and that wouldn’t respect him or me because in the end. . .we really did need to have a serious conversation about expectations and any of our concerns.
Basically, I wanted to do everything possible to make sure this situation didn’t get messy.
Therefore, I hadn’t decided to touch myself when I first entered the shower, but it seemed practical now.
Yeah. I may need to have a conversation with Denzel first.
Taking the edge off would let me look Dominic in the eye and say what needed saying like. . .we needed boundaries, clear words, and decent timing.
I studied Denzel.
I’d owned other toys over the years—sleek wands, glossy rabbits with too many promises—but none of them had been this. . .efficient.
The rose didn’t waste time pretending to be anything but what it was.
Small, discreet, a soft bloom in my hand.
It didn’t rumble my whole pelvis numb or make me wrestle with batteries. It just locked onto my clit and gave me the kind of steady, pulsing focus that felt almost indecent, the kind of sensation no man had ever quite managed with his tongue.
That was why Denzel stayed on my shower shelf and not buried in a drawer.
It was reliable, pretty, and always ready.
“Hi, Denzel. We meet again.” A stupid, breathless laugh escaped me.
For some reason, my hands shook a little when I picked it up.
In my head, I didn’t think about imaginary men or erotic situations.
My thoughts ran straight to Dominic—him at my stove making pancakes with those muscular arms.
And then the flash of his mouth on mine last night and the sight of his huge cock shooting sperm all over the place.
Damn. He is so sexy.
The warm water beat down on my body.
Holding the pink vibrator, I reached between my thighs, brought Denzel to where the ache for Dominic sat insistently, and then closed my eyes.
Yesss. . .
The little motor hummed against my flesh, and my body surrendered with a shiver that clawed up from my core and spread through my veins.
Mmmm.
I pressed it harder against my swollen clit.
The vibrations penetrated deeper, awakening a hunger that made me bite my lower lip.
Mmmhmm.
The speed intensified, matching the thundering pulse between my thighs.
My knees threatened to betray me.
Moaning, I slammed one palm against the slick tile.
My mind drowned in him
"God," My hips bucked against the vibrator's relentless pulse. Hot pleasure coiled tight at my core.
Then all of a sudden, the bathroom door creaked open.
Ah!
Frigid air sliced through the steam, raising goosebumps across my naked, vulnerable skin.
What the fuck?!
I jerked back and my shoulder slammed against the tile as my heart thundered.
The door shut.
Then he materialized through the mist, Dominic's massive, sexy frame blocking any escape.
I widened my eyes.
Oh shit!
His gaze burned into my exposed body.