Chapter 17 Dominic #2
The thought puts an embarrassingly huge smile on my face.
One that sticks with me as I knock on the door of the master bathroom before entering and handling my business.
When I spot a spare toothbrush laying on the countertop between the sinks, the smile grows wider.
Clearly, Sloane was thinking of me when she woke up this morning and went wherever the hell she snuck off to while I was still sleeping.
After I brush my teeth, I pull on my clothes from last night and head downstairs.
It’s quiet on the first floor too, but I see Sloane sitting at her kitchen island sipping a cup of coffee.
Her curls are loose now, flowing freely over her shoulders, and she’s exchanged the shirt she slept in for a gray T-shirt dress that hugs her curves while exposing the smooth expanse of her legs.
I clear my throat so she isn’t startled by my sudden appearance in her living room, and delighted hazel eyes lift to mine, a shy smile curving her lips. My fucking heart stutters to a stop then starts pounding in my chest.
Sloane sets her cup down. “Morning.”
“Good morning, beautiful.” I close the distance between us with a few strides. The need to be close to her is a demand in my blood I don’t have to fight anymore. Sloane watches me approach with an expectant spark in her eye that makes me want to laugh.
She’s insatiable.
I snake a hand around her neck, grabbing a fistful of hair at her nape and tilting her head up so I can kiss her beautiful lips.
When I pull back, we’re both panting and breathless.
Before I release her, I brush my nose over hers three times like my mom used to do every night before she tucked me into bed and told me how much she loved me.
Watching Sloane’s eyelids flutter rapidly in response to the motion transports me back to the night we met, when just being in her presence compelled me to use one of the most loving gestures from my childhood to convey emotions I didn’t dare put a name to, and she looked at me the same way.
So much has changed between that night twelve years ago and today, but all of the most important things have stayed the same: I’m still so far gone for this woman, captivated by her smile, devastated by the sway of her hips, shattered by the thought of living without her and willing to do anything to stop it from happening.
Last time I was unprepared, completely blindsided by whatever circumstances had conspired together to keep us apart, but I’m not letting that happen again.
Not after living so long without her, not after finally getting the chance to taste her, not after letting a cozy-looking picture of her and James on Instagram fuck with my head, prompting me to strong-arm my way onto this project just to keep them apart.
My original plan for accomplishing that goal wasn’t even fully formed by the time I accepted his offer to finish the project, and when Sloane walked out on me on Tuesday, I thought it was all blown to hell.
But then last night happened and all the pieces fell into place thanks to a condition I’d never even heard of and a proposition I couldn’t stop myself from making.
Sloane runs a tentative hand down my chest and over my abs. “How’d you sleep?”
“Like a baby.” I release her hair and take a sip of her coffee. It’s still hot, but I only take one sip before handing it back to her with a frown. “Jesus, woman. Did you put any coffee in there at all?”
There have to be at least five spoons of sugar and half a carton of creamer in that cup. No one in their right mind would call this coffee, let alone sit around drinking it at eight in the morning.
She laughs. “That’s what you get for putting your lips on my cup.”
“Oh. All of a sudden you have an issue with where I put my lips?”
A flush creeps up her neck, giving her skin an adorable red tint that reaches her cheeks.
“Nope,” she says, popping the “p” with her lips. “I like everything you do with your lips.”
I nod, my lips quirking. “You don’t have to tell me, angel. Your moans last night were more than enough proof.”
Sloane shoves my shoulder, but she’s laughing as she pushes me away. “Shut up. Would you like your own cup of coffee?”
“I would love one.”
Her ass bounces as she hops up and prances over to the Keurig on the counter.
Both of my eyes are glued to her, tracking her every movement.
It’s no surprise that watching Sloane do even the most mundane task is riveting to me.
I could watch her do shit like this all day and not get bored. What’s worse is, I want to.
A few moments later, she’s sliding a hot cup of black coffee my way.
“Would you like some sugar and creamer, or do you like it black like your soul?” Her lips twitch, suppressing the urge to laugh at her bad joke, and I sigh.
This is the shit that breaks my heart. She’s probably made a thousand of these atrocious attempts at humor over cups of coffee, and I haven’t been around to give her shit about any of them.
She had Eric though.
The reminder helps a little but makes it hard not to begrudge my best friend every morning he spent waking up beside the woman we both love.
Drinking coffee that made his teeth ache and cracking corny jokes while they planned their day.
Part of me knows I have no right to be angry with Eric for having Sloane while I was alone, trying to fill the hole in my chest with all the wrong women, but the smallest part of me does.
Sick shit, right?
Being jealous of my best friend, coveting his wife, and stealing my way into the bed he’d still be in if he hadn’t been ripped from this world far too soon.
I would feel bad about it, but I’ve lived with the guilt of wanting her for years, and I’m past the point of regretting it, too far gone to feel bad enough to stop what’s happening between us.
And if claiming my angel means I’m going to hell…well, then, I’ll be a happy inhabitant when my time comes.
I roll my eyes to mask the dark thoughts flipping through my mind. “I’ll take some creamer if you have any left. I’m assuming you didn’t use the whole thing when you made your cup.”
She sticks her tongue out at me as she grabs the creamer out of the fridge.
When she saunters back over to me with the carton in her hand, I just stare at her, amazed by how beautiful and relaxed she looks.
No emptiness in her eyes, no slump to her shoulders, not a hint of regret or shame lining her features.
It’s the happiest I’ve seen her look in a long time, and my heart flips in my chest knowing I had something to do with it.
“What are you staring at, Alexander?” She sets the carton down and takes a seat with her body angled toward me.
My eyes go to her legs, admiring the golden inches of skin left on display by her short cotton dress, before coming back to her face. “You. Always you, angel.”
Sloane’s eyes go soft with emotion. “Why do you call me that?”
The question punches a hole right through my chest, because of course I can’t tell her about the white dress that clung to her like a desperate lover and the magnetic pull that locked into place the moment our eyes met.
I clear my throat, focusing my attention on pouring creamer into my cup, so I don’t have to look her in the eye when I skirt around her question.
“You don’t like it?”
Her brows furrow. “I didn’t say that. I just wanted to know why you chose that particular…term of endearment.”
I bite back a bitter laugh and mix in the creamer. Term of endearment, my ass. It’s not a nickname or some cute epithet used in the fit of passion when you don’t want to ruin the moment by calling the woman you’re balls deep in the wrong name. I call her my angel because that’s what she is to me.
The promise of God’s love in human form, a treasure from heaven walking here on earth, making the lives of every person she meets better. And that’s what she’s always been, even when her presence chafed against my skin and burned a hole in my heart.
All of those thoughts fly through my mind, mixing with thoughts of the night we met.
In all the time I dreamed about being with Sloane, I never considered how hard it would be to suppress the relentless memories that want to spill out of me.
The need to make her remember is a pounding beneath my collarbone, a demand that builds with every beat of my heart, but she’s not ready.
I shrug, turning my gaze back on her. “Just seemed fitting.”
Her lips part, but before she can say anything, the sound of her doorbell ringing echoes around us.
Surprise laced with panic has Sloane’s eyes stretching wide.
It would be comical if she didn’t look so afraid.
Indignation unfurls in my gut, stoked by the disappointment of having my morning with Sloane interrupted.
Whoever is at her door can go to hell in a handbasket. For interrupting us and for putting that look on Sloane’s face.
“Shit,” Sloane hisses, jumping up from her seat. “I forgot Mal and I were taking Mama to breakfast today.” Wide eyes flick from the door to me and back again. “Where did you park?”
I take a sip of my coffee, and Sloane’s eyes nearly pop out of her head. “In your driveway, like the rest of your guests.”
My voice is even. I’m going for nonchalance, because if I start freaking out, it will only add to the terror gripping her. The doorbell sounds again and all of the color drains from her face.
“Oh my God.” She turns to me, hopelessness creeping into the corners of her eyes. “Mal can’t find you here, Dominic. She can’t know about this. She’ll think… She’ll hate me.”
The last part is a broken whisper that etches itself into my skin and jump-starts the ferocious beast in my chest that exists for the sole purpose of destroying everything and everyone that’s ever put that look on her face.