Chapter 33 Sloane #2
I fight against his hold, wanting more than anything to wrap my arms around him and hold him closer to me—to let him feel how much I agree with what he’s just said—but his grip is too tight, so I opt for words instead.
“Oh God. Yes, Dom,” I breathe into his ear as he rests his head in the crook of my neck. “It all belongs to you.”
The responding growl he lets out is deep enough to rattle my bones, and I close my eyes just to absorb the feeling.
The raw, animal power moving through him as he slams into me over and over again.
Each thrust drawing me closer to the edge of my release.
Dom’s mouth is everywhere. Lips blazing a trail of pleasure from my jawline to my collarbone.
Teeth nipping at my earlobes and grazing lightly over the sensitive space between my shoulder and neck.
And I feel like I’m surrounded, completely deprived of any touch, taste, or smell that doesn’t come directly from him.
It’s the best feeling in the world.
When my walls begin to clamp down on him—little ripples indicative of an incoming wave of pleasure—Dom releases me and pulls out.
Ignoring the slight ache in my wrists from being restrained for so long, I lunge at him, showering him with kisses and pressing my sweat-slicked skin to his.
He lets that go on for five seconds before grunting at me and flipping me around so that my ass is in the air and my cheek is pressed to the mattress.
Rough fingers grip my waist and yank me onto his waiting erection, and we both moan at the change in position.
Sparks of pleasure skitter along my skin as I start to rock back onto him with slow, lazy strokes that drag his erection over my G-spot with every movement.
I hear Dom suck in air through his teeth, a telltale sign that I’m driving him crazy, and hide my satisfied smirk by pressing my face into the mattress.
But a sharp slap to my ass lets me know I didn’t do a good enough job.
“Hey!” I push up on my elbows and glare at him over my shoulder. He fists a hand in my curls and uses it to pull me up and back until I’m practically sitting on his lap. I turn my head and kiss his jaw. “What was that for?”
“You already know.”
He wraps his arm around me and pulls me closer until there’s no space between the hard planes of his chest and my back. His hand is on my waist, guiding my movements as I grind down on his erection and drive both of us closer to the edge of the cliff with every roll of my hips.
“I just like to see you come, Dom,” I whisper, biting back a broken moan. “Is there something wrong with that?”
“It is if you haven’t already.”
One of his hands slides down my body and comes to rest between my thighs.
I glance down and stare, riveted at the sight of his fingers parting my folds to find the needy bundle of nerves throbbing for him.
As soon as he does, my head falls back to rest on his shoulder and my eyes fall shut.
I surrender myself to the sensation washing over me, to the pure, unadulterated pleasure being given to me by the man I love.
Dom times every swirl of his finger perfectly with the movement of my hips, both of us working as one until I finally fall apart.
Stars shoot behind my eyelids as the orgasm slams into my body, setting off tremors deep inside me that trigger Dom’s release almost instantly.
He bites down on my shoulder, still working my clit with an expert’s touch, as he floods my core with the heat of his cum.
We both collapse onto the bed and Dom takes special care to keep his weight from crushing me into the mattress until he finds the strength to roll over onto his back.
Once he does, he pulls me into him, and I plant a kiss on his chest, smoothing a palm down his side.
My fingers brush over the small tattoo on his ribs and pause to trace the numbers: 08. 24. 09.
The month coincides with the death of his mom, but the year is wrong. Marie Alexander died in August of 2008, while this tattoo suggests the event significant enough to make him mark it on his skin happened a year later, around the time we started college.
I’ve been curious to know what it means ever since the first night he stayed here, but I’ve never felt like it was my place to ask.
I didn’t want to stumble upon some open wound and end up making things in our supposedly casual arrangement awkward, but things are different now.
I love Dominic, and I’ve bared all of my scars and ugly truths to him, and he gave me nothing but the gift of his acceptance and understanding.
Maybe I can do that for him too. Maybe being the one listening, instead of the one always opening up, will help me be brave enough to put words to the emotions swirling around in my chest.
“What’s so special about August twenty-fourth?”
His fingers stop moving, and I know in an instant asking him that question was the exact wrong thing to do. I sit up and find him already looking at me with an expression I can’t read.
“I’m sorry. You don’t have to tell me.” Really, you don’t. I have something more important to tell you anyway.
Dom blows out a long breath. “You remember when you asked me if I had any idea what it felt like to be shattered by someone and left alone to pick up the pieces?”
“Yes.”
His mouth turns into a flat line, and his eyes go empty and dark while his brain takes him to someplace far away from me. “Well, that’s the day I learned what it felt like.”
Shit. I should have known the only tattoo on his perfect bronze skin has to do with the woman who broke his heart into a million pieces. My heart twists in my chest, the ugliest, most bitter jealousy coursing through my veins for this nameless, faceless woman who owns more of Dom than I ever will.
She broke him and he still carries her in his heart.
She hurt him and he still wakes up every day with a reminder of her etched into his skin.
The way I want to be because I love him.
“Oh.” I lie back down, this time on the pillows beside him instead of on his chest, and he doesn’t even notice the change in my position.
His eyes are still dancing with shadows, his mind in some far-off place where the memories of the woman he actually loves live.
It hurts to watch him—to see him long for someone else when, just seconds ago, I was about to risk everything to have him—but I can’t stop myself from soaking in the sight of him.
Memorizing every crease in his forehead as he relives the love he lost and wondering if that’s what I look like to him when I think of Eric.
Probably not, because Eric is gone forever, and for all I know the woman in his mind is still alive and well, waiting for another chance to claim his heart.
Suddenly, lying in bed beside him with his cum dripping out of me feels like the worst thing in the world.
Seeing love light his handsome features and knowing with a sickening certainty that I’ve seen a lot of emotions play out on his face—annoyance, irritation, compassion, amusement, lust, pleasure, desire, need—but I’ve never seen love.
Not if it looks like this haunted, tender emotion that makes his eyes glow and rips my soul to pieces.
There’s no way I can tell him now. I’d just be setting myself up for heartbreak.
I sit up slowly, way too aware of the mixture of our orgasms leaking out of my body, and swing my legs off the bed.
When my feet hit the floor, it takes every ounce of self-control I have to take slow, steady steps to the bathroom.
I close the door behind me and lock it, allowing myself one minute to cry and grieve for the future that had seemed like such a clear possibility to me just moments ago, then I clean myself up and wash my face without looking at my reflection in the mirror.
When I emerge from the bathroom, wrapped in a robe, Dom is out of the bed and fully dressed. Even though my heart is broken, the stupid thing still stutters at the sight of him, pausing for a beat before flying into a full-blown gallop that only increases when his eyes meet mine.
“I have to go.”
He stands and walks over to me. Both of his hands go to my hips, and he squeezes me lightly in a gesture that does nothing to soothe the jagged edges of my heart. He’s leaving. We agreed to spend every night in bed together. It was his rule, and now he’s breaking it because of her.
This is worse than if he was rushing off to deal with Kristen and her nonsense.
At least I know who she is. At least if it’s her, I know who and what I’m up against. But how do I compete with this phantom of a woman who, from what I can tell, no one has even heard of?
Get a grip, Sloane. There’s no point in competing for a man you can’t keep. And only an idiot would try.
I wrap my arms around his waist and bury my nose in his chest, inhaling his scent like it’s the last time I’ll ever get the chance to experience it. “Why?”
Dom’s arms envelop me, holding me close to him as he presses a kiss to my messy curls. “There are some time-sensitive things that need my attention. I was going to try to handle them tomorrow, but they can’t wait.”
I tense as the lie hangs in the air between us. The knife in my chest twists deeper, and I pull away from him before the tenderness of his hold sets the sob building in my chest free.
“Right. Got it. Of course, you should go take care of your business.”
His brow furrows, confusion etched into his features over the quiver in my voice. “Are you okay?”
I wave a dismissive hand at him as I walk toward the bedroom door. “I’m fine. I’m sure I have some work I need to catch up on too.”
I don’t mention that we could work on whatever things we need to get done together. That we have spent more than one evening on my couch working and watching television while I sketched and he reviewed reports from his subcontractors and checked in with vendors.
Dom trails me down the steps, and I start counting the seconds until he’s out the door and I can finally release the avalanche of emotion swirling inside of me.
He breaks off, heading into my office to get his things, and I swipe angrily at a tear that slipped out without my permission.
When he comes back, I busy myself with fixing a glass of water I don’t want or need while he throws his stuff into his bag and grabs his keys.
“Walk me to the door, angel.”
I set the glass of water on the counter and follow him into the mudroom.
I watch him lace his boots and wonder if it’s appropriate to use a safe word outside of the bedroom.
If it’s still a valid way to indicate to your partner that something they’re doing hurts beyond belief, and you need them to stop everything to comfort you.
He stands, and his keys jingle in his hand.
The sound transports me back to the day Eric walked out on me, and an overwhelming wave of shame and grief washes over me.
On Monday, Dom lulled me to sleep with promises, whispering that everything was okay and he wasn’t going anywhere.
He said life owed me some good for all the pain I’ve lived through, and for a moment, for a life-changing, heartbreaking moment I thought that maybe he was right.
That maybe our relationship was life finally deciding to pay up.
But as I watch him throw his bag over his shoulder, I know he was wrong.
This is what I deserve. Not happiness. Not a second chance at love in the form of my husband’s best friend. But a reminder of my selfish habit of hurting people I claim to love without even realizing it.
When I decided to get an IUD, I didn’t know how badly it would hurt Eric.
I just knew I was afraid of getting pregnant.
When I decided to ask Dom about the tattoo, I didn’t know it would remind him of the woman who broke his heart.
I just wanted to prove to myself I could be a safe space for him the same way he is for me.
And maybe in some deeper, darker part of my mind, I was hoping I would find out that he isn’t perfect. That he’s just as broken as I am, so I could feel a little more confident in telling him how I feel. Because if he’s broken too, then maybe he won’t scoff at my love and throw it back in my face.
How fucked up is that?
All my life, I’ve grown up thinking my mother was the most selfish, destructive creature I’ve ever known, but it turns out I’m just like her.
So caught up in my wants and needs, I’ll completely disregard the feelings of the people around me to have them met.
Happy to exploit someone else’s pain just to satisfy my insecurities.
My feet are heavy, dragging like they have cement blocks attached to them, as I make my way to the door.
Dom grabs me the moment I’m within reach, bending down and grazing his lips over mine before giving me a soft kiss.
Absently, I wonder how he’s doing it, how he’s managing to act like he’s still into this when I know his mind is with the woman who branded herself on his heart long before I thought to want him.
“Good night, beautiful,” he says softly, releasing me from his grasp.
“Good night.”
I offer him a weak smile, hoping my face isn’t revealing anything about the pain curling around my breastbone.
I must be doing a good job of hiding it, because Dom just gives me a soft smile before walking out of the back door.
I don’t even wait for him to get in the car before I slam it closed and lock it.
Slowly, and with tears blurring my vision, I walk back into the kitchen and start to turn off the lights in the house. I grab my phone off of the counter and head back upstairs to climb into bed alone. I shrug off my robe, plug my phone into the charger, and fall into bed with nothing on.
My bed smells like him, which only makes the tears fall faster when I bury my face in the pillows just to stifle the sobs racking my body.