Yearn

Chapter 16

Chapter sixteen

Salt and Surrender

Teyonah

As if he felt the exact second my body couldn’t take another tremor, Dominic finally switched the rose off.

The shift was jarring.

Without the vibration thrumming through me, every other sound rushed in louder—the hiss of water pounding tile, the hammer of my heartbeat in my ears, the ragged scrape of my own breath clawing its way out of me.

My pussy still jumped in aftershocks, clenching around nothing, as if my body hadn’t caught up to the absence of that relentless hum.

Then, with one sure twist, he reached over and turned the shower off.

Steam clung to us.

My body sagged, boneless, against him.

I felt wrung out, emptied and full at the same time, a balloon deflated yet glowing. My lungs stuttered some more, hiccupping through the last gasps of release. My skin prickled with cold now that the warm water wasn’t streaming over us.

Dominic kept his strong arms around my waist.

Thank God, because my legs refused to hold me. My belly still quivered with fading pulses, each one softer but still enough to make me whimper.

Dominic kissed my left cheek, then my right. “Teyonah.”

My throat locked.

More tears spilled before I could stop them. They were hot trails against my already burning skin.

It was ridiculous. Mortifying.

This wasn’t how I wanted to look—slack-mouthed, shaking, crying in a man’s arms.

For a second, shame bubbled up, trying to crowd out the softness of this moment. I’d spent years building armor, teaching myself not to break where anyone could see. And here I was—falling apart, messy and loud, no mask left.

I attempted to pull back and tried to swipe at my face.

But Dominic whispered, “No.”

I tensed in his hold.

“It’s okay.” He wiped a tear away with his thumb, and then to my shock, he lifted the thumb to his lips and tasted it. “Mmmm.”

My breath hitched. “Dominic. . .”

Another tear slipped down my cheek, leaving a glistening path across my flushed skin.

“Mmmm.” With a wicked smile, he leaned over and chased the tear with his tongue.

Oh my!

His tongue caught the droplet just before it could fall from my jawline. Next, his tongue traced the wet trail upward as if it were the finest champagne.

When he pulled back, his eyes were half-closed. “Your tears are mine, Teyonah. They’re beautiful. Do you understand?”

A shiver rolled through me.

God help me.

He was insane.

Who does that?

Who licks tears like they’re holy water?

Who drinks down shame and calls it beautiful?

Only a man completely unhinged, a man who had crossed the line from lover to worshiper, from partner to captor of my very soul.

And the worst part—the most terrifying, breathtaking part—was that I loved it.

Every ounce of me, every jagged corner I’d tried to hide, Dominic wanted. He didn’t just want my body slick with desire, he wanted the broken, embarrassing parts too—the sobs, the cracks, the stretchmarks, the places no one had ever dared to touch.

No man had ever looked at me like that, like even my tears belonged to him.

It should have horrified me.

It should have sent me running.

Instead, I trembled with something deeper. Because in his madness there was devotion. In his obsession, I felt chosen. Possessed. Cherished in a way that terrified and thrilled me down to my bones.

I had never been so utterly worshipped.

Not as a mother.

Not as a woman.

Not as flesh or fantasy.

Now standing here, letting him drink the salt of my grief and lust, I realized: this was what it meant to be loved by Dominic.

Not safe.

Not sane.

But utterly consumed.

And I wanted it.

And of course that made me cry again.

And once again, he licked that new tear, then the other. His tongue dragged slowly down my cheeks, groaning low in his throat like he was getting drunk on me.

“Oh, Dominic.”

His voice was dark with loving madness. “This is the body’s truth. Oxytocin flooding, prolactin dropping, the nervous system discharging trauma. Your body is cleansing itself.”

I shivered.

He continued to hold me up and lick the last of the tears from the corner of my lips. My whole body shuddered as he whispered against my mouth, “It means you’re mine in ways you can’t control. Even your tears betray you.”

“Dominic. . .” My voice broke on his name.

He kissed me—not just with his lips but with his soul.

Slow and consuming.

Drinking in my salt and surrender.

My heart crashed against my ribs.

His lips were warm and wet from my tears. He pressed deeper, claiming me with the slow drag of his tongue.

A soft gasp left me.

Dominic groaned, low and dark, and began stroking my mouth.

I clung to him and slid my hands to his soaked shoulders.

God, he’s so damn perfect.

He sucked gently on my tongue, then released it to kiss me again, open-mouthed and hungry, licking the corner of my lips where a new tear lingered.

Next, he left my mouth and then landed gentle kisses to my temples, then the corners of my eyes where more wetness clung. “You’re so beautiful.”

I sobbed harder at that, shoulders shaking. The tears weren’t sadness—they were surrender. Years of holding myself tight, years of swallowing every scream, years of acting unbothered when I was breaking inside. . .all of it cracked and poured out in his arms.

And he wanted it.

He wanted me.

He stroked down my spine. His hand spread wide as though he could cover every ache, every scar, every fault line in me.

My body melted against him.

When my crying softened and then finally stopped, he pressed his lips to my damp cheek and whispered, “I’ve got you, Teyonah. Always.”

“Thank you.” I drew in a shuddering breath. “I’ve got you too.”

We stood like that for a few more breaths.

The hot beat of it slowed.

My breathing came down.

Then, he let me go.

I found my footing.

The pipes ticked as they cooled.

“Come on. It’s already late tonight. We both have busy days tomorrow.” He stepped back, steadied his hands on my waist, and guided me out of the shower.

I was so unaccustomed to this behavior. “T-thank you.”

“For what?”

“For. . .everything. . .making me cum. . .helping this morning with breakfast. . .picking up the kids. . .giving them dinner and putting them to sleep tonight. . .”

“Isn’t that my job?”

“It’s not.”

“It is if I’m going to love you.”

Shock rocketed through me. “Dominic. . .”

“And that’s my plan, Teyonah. I want to love you. It feels too good.” He snagged a towel and wrapped it around me with so much care, tucking it beneath my arms.

The fabric was warm from the heater and soft against my trembling skin.

His fingers brushed my collarbone when he drew the edges together, lingering there and stroking the hollow of my throat with his thumb. “Are you warm?”

“Yes.”

“Do you need another towel?”

“No.” My throat went tight again.

He tilted my chin until I had no choice but to look at him.

His eyes were unguarded, no longer wicked, no longer teasing, just clear and steady.

“Teyonah, I didn’t come into your life to be another man who takes.

I came to give. All of me. Even the boring parts—groceries, bedtime, breakfast. All of it.

You don’t have to earn it. You don’t have to be perfect. Do you understand that?”

My heart ached.

“I. . .I don’t know how to do this. I’m not as experienced with life as you, but I believe that you don’t have to know how to do this. Let’s just try to be happy together.”

I exhaled a shaky laugh. “God, you’re going to ruin me.”

Dominic’s grin sharpened. “No. I’m going to love you until you stop feeling ruined.”

And somehow, impossibly, I believed him.

Minutes later, he led me out into the bedroom.

Both of us dripped water onto the carpet.

He sat me on the edge of the bed like I was a kid.

Then, he bent to one knee and unlaced his wet shoes, set them neatly aside, pulled off his socks with a quick, competent flick.

His clothes were off next, showcasing that amazing young, muscular body—shoulders broad, chest sculpted, every line dripping with power and youth.

My breath caught, and heat coiled low in my belly.

God, he was beautiful, almost too much to take in.

My pussy throbbed.

The aftershocks of my release hadn’t even faded, and already my body betrayed me, tightening, aching, whispering yes, yes, yes, just from the sight of him.

Even more, the domesticity of it undid me as much as anything that had happened in the shower.

It said a man had arrived in my bedroom and planned to stay.

Naked and wet, he came back to me and tugged the comforter down on the bed, then picked me up with ease.

I had no idea what would happen next, just that he planned on having us cuddle.

Minutes later after grabbing his own towel and drying himself off, he turned the lights off in the bedroom and climbed in behind me.

Mmmm.

His chest fit against my back. His arm slid around my waist and settled. His breath touched the back of my neck and made a small, involuntary shiver run through me that had nothing to do with cold.

We lay there with the wet seeping slowly into the blanket, with the room holding the after-image of steam, with my heartbeat gradually learning that I was not under attack.

This was comfort.

This was love.

Still, the mind did what the mind does.

It tried to find the dangers in this moment; it put on Scott’s face and imagined courtrooms and nosy neighbors and the ridiculous, tender evidence of a children’s book left open on a desk or him making me cum in the shower.

No. I like this. I want this. I’m not stopping anything.

My heart answered with the memory of warm syrup, of Dominic making J and Oliver laugh, of him helping me tonight when Scott would have never picked up his own kids.

A strange, quiet truth rose.

I didn’t just want this man’s mouth or his hands.

I wanted the daily, boring miracle of him—the checkboxes, the warmed syrup, the way his eyes tracked my face and the way his tongue licked my tears.

I wanted us, whatever that meant.

Anxiety rose.

I swallowed it down.

He tightened his arm the smallest degree, as if he’d heard the thought pass.

I sighed. “Dominic. . .”

“Yes. . .”

Heat rushed to my cheeks. “I like this. . .”

“Me too. . .”

“Stay in my bed tonight.”

“I didn’t plan on leaving.”

I gave a weak smile to the darkness. “Last night. . .I should have come back downstairs.”

“You were scared. I understand.”

I curled my fingers into the blanket. “Why do you understand?”

“Because. . .”

I felt his chest tighten against my back.

“Because I’m scared too.” He exhaled against my neck.

A shiver ran through me. “Why are you scared?”

“I don’t want you to hurt me, Teyonah. I don’t want you to break my heart by. . .never even. . .giving this a chance.”

Sadness poured over me. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. Just try to make this work. Push through any fears that come up. Know that I’m not Scott or any other guy that hurt you.”

“I have so much going on.”

“I don’t care.”

“I’m still married.”

“Fuck your husband.”

“Can we really make this work?”

“Doesn’t this feel good?”

“Yes.” I bit my lip and couldn’t say anything else.

“Then, that’s your answer.” He nuzzled against me.

We remained silent after that. There was so much more that needed to be said, but. . .there was fear in our hearts too.

Surely, we were probably both exhausted also. Medical school had been kicking his ass. Add the fact that he was helping me out with the kids and he was probably more tired and stressed than a normal twenty-five year old.

Minutes later, light snores left him.

His arm tightened reflexively when I shifted, as if even in half-sleep he wouldn’t let me go.

I closed my eyes and smiled.

Oh God. . .he’s really in my bed and I don’t want him to leave.

I already knew that when Ro heard about this she would scream with joy, while Cadence would murmur fears.

Holy shit. What am I doing?

The house made its night noises.

Two rooms over, Oliver and J snored too.

Damn. Will this be my life now?

For the first time in years, the thought of not running didn’t make me feel trapped. The thought of letting myself fall into a man’s plan didn’t feel like an erasure.

For the first time, surrender didn’t feel like defeat.

In fact. . .it felt like the beginning of something I couldn’t survive without.

Okay. . .I’m going to try to make this work.