Chapter 5
The soft smirk that graces Dominic’s lips makes me agree in a heartbeat. It doesn’t help that his golden skin and brown eyes combine with high cheekbones, making him the literal definition of a wet dream.
“Anywhere they want,” I say.
My voice is breathy, but I don’t apologize for it.
That smirk grows to a full smile, and my stomach heats, a thread of it drifting lower.
“Go ahead,” he says, holding out his hand—fingers still wrapped around the small tumbler—toward the machine. He tucks his other into his slacks, his watch perfectly placed so it’s just visible over the hem of the fabric.
Everything about Dominic screams old money. His clothes are clearly a designer label, perfectly tailored to his body but not over-the-top. The thin necklace he keeps tucked under the collar of his polo is probably worth more than I make in a month. That watch certainly is. His brown eyes are cunning just as much as they are deep. It makes me want to see what they look like heated, when he’s at the edge of his control, trying to hold back from rutting.
Not that he would do that to me. A sharp pang fills my chest and snaps me out of the moment. I finish the whiskey and set the empty glass on the small table wedged between the pinball table and the wall, careful to not touch the other cups already left behind by others.
My favorite table is tucked into the corner because it’s the least flashy of the twenty or so scattered through the bar. It’s themed after a pier, the colors muted instead of neon, the jackpots simple and straightforward. No flashy side games, no frustrating inner mechanics that are as much luck as they are skill. This table? It just sees you as you are and demands that to be enough.
There’s probably a parallel there somewhere, but I refuse to look too closely at it, especially tonight. Dominic takes a step, settling in behind me, looking at the table over my shoulder. The first two balls are worthless, my attention on the enigmatic man behind me rather than the table. On the final ball, by some miracle, I manage to focus on the game, unlocking the easiest of the jackpots available before missing one of the sharp rebounds and draining the ball. The table switches to second player, and Dominic hums, a low, sensual noise in the back of his throat that has me trying to remember how to breathe.
“Simple enough,” he murmurs just behind my ear, reaching around me to set the alcohol next to my empty glass. Goosebumps race down my neck, and I shudder in a breath. “Let’s see how I manage, then.”
I step to the side so he can take his turn, keeping a half-step to the left. For the first time I can remember, my eyes are locked on the player rather than the table while he plays. His forearms flex with each flip of the bumpers, his hair falls forward onto his forehead each time he leans over the table to see the upper portion better. Hell, even his throat ripples and moves as he clenches his jaw each time he gutters the ball. My body responds to all the details, my dick taking interest, and I adjust my weight, trying to take the pressure off without being conspicuous. By the time he drains the final ball with a sharp, quiet curse in what I’m nearly confident is Italian, my skin burns with how turned on I am, and the room has dimmed to a distant background.
“I am not used to losing,” he murmurs as he turns toward me.
I offer my easiest smile, trying to keep the depth of my interest in him hidden for a while longer. Plenty of people over the years have flirted with me but never once attempted to go on from there, have never asked me on a date or responded when I’ve asked for a second. There’s no guarantee he finds me the same level of interesting.
Or even more than that: he might want to designate as a pack.
“It’s very Beta of you,” I say, trying to ease into the question. He tilts his head. “We tend to be less concerned with winning and losing compared to Alphas.”
“True,” he murmurs.
He takes a step into me, and the incessant noise fades away in my mind, joining the din of the bar around us. The question fades with them. His brown eyes are flecked with gold, the lights of the pinball tables highlighting his sharp, high cheekbones and narrow jaw.
“One request, Jasper,” he murmurs. I cock an eyebrow in silent question. “You do not share this kiss with the rest of the world.”
Another piece of him clicks into place, right next to why he would have calluses from his family’s business while dressing like a businessman and his ability to figure out everything about me before ever meeting me in person.
Mafia.
The word flashes through me, nearly as fast and as hot as the desire a few moments before.
Of course I would manage to have a member of the mafia interested in me. Another moment of the Jasper Touch at work, breaking everything that I come into contact with. I force a deep breath, trying to figure out if the risk is worth it. Is this something he would even be willing to display openly at some point? Or will I always be the secret option in the corner while he goes off to be matched with an Omega?
I tip my head toward the front of the bar and shove my hands into my pockets, trying to keep my indecision off my face.
“Let’s take a walk then,” I offer, keeping my voice light, if a little breathless.
He purses his lips, gaze scanning me before nodding. His hand settles on my low back, and I can’t resist leaning into the touch. If one night is all I’m going to get with this man, then I might as well enjoy the pieces he lets me experience.
“Where did you park?” he asks once we’re outside, stepping off to the side to avoid another group trying to get into the bar.
“I took a ride share,” I say.
He nods and guides me to a parking lot at the end of the block, his steps sure, his shoulders relaxed. The walk helps clear my head, all those insidious thoughts quieting. Even if he never calls me back, I want to have fun in the moment.
The lot is nearly full despite it being a Wednesday night, and it takes a couple minutes to navigate the space to where he’s parked. A small, red Maserati sits amidst the more standard cars. Sport cars aren’t really my thing, but even I can appreciate the luxury of the vehicle.
Mafia. The word reverberates through me again.
Dominic turns to me and leans against the car, a small smile curving his lips.
“I still owe you a kiss,” he murmurs, his hands sliding into his pockets.
Fire licks through my veins, and I step into him until our chests brush and our mouths are a hairsbreadth apart.
“What if this isn’t the type of kiss I wanted?” I ask, letting my voice lower and my eyes flick to his mouth for a moment. I want to see his eyes darken again, want to see him lean over me in a sign of possession even if he didn’t realize he was doing it. “What if I wanted something… messier?”
He stills, his hands landing on my hips, his grip so light it’s practically nonexistent.
“I’d apologize for bringing this particular car,” he murmurs, his words gaining a heavier accent. “And then promise to make it work anyway.”
I hum, closing the last bit of space between us, letting our bodies touch from chest to hip. He growls low in his throat even as he cocks an eyebrow. I mess with the belt loops of his slacks, twisting them around my fingers as I try to decide what direction I want to take this.
When I don’t say anything, he whispers, “Perhaps I could give you a rain check for the kiss. You could redeem it later when it better suits your tastes.”
Damn, that’s the craftiest invitation to set up a second date that I’ve ever experienced. I grin.
“I accept,” I say.
And then I’m kissing him, soft and slow, trying to memorize the feel of his lips and the taste of his skin. He lets me lead for just long enough that I lean into him and let my thoughts fade away. The moment I melt against him, his hands dig into my hips, and he’s twisting us around, pressing me into the sports car and forcing my legs wide enough for him to stand between. His erection digs into my hip, and I groan. Before I can let my hands wander any lower than his chest, he pulls away, his breathing ragged, the smell of citrus overwhelming the space around us.
I made an Alpha scent.
The realization is startling enough that I don’t realize he’s pulling away until it’s too late to kiss him again.
“Let me take you home, Jasper,” he murmurs.