Dominic #2
She pauses, her body completely still above mine. For a second, I think I’ve said the wrong thing—that I’ve crossed a line from the physical to something she isn’t ready for. I slide my hands over her thighs, a silent reassurance, giving her time. She leans down to kiss me.
“I asked you here,” she says against my mouth. “This is my decision.”
“I know.”
She reaches between us, wraps her hand around my cock, and positions me at her entrance. Her eyes stay on mine as she lowers herself.
The first tight inch of her pulls a curse from me. I grip her thighs instead of dragging her down and let her set the pace.
“Take your time.”
She sinks lower, stopping once to adjust, then keeps going until I’m buried inside her.
For a long second, we don’t move, and all I can feel is the heat of her around me.
Her hands flatten against my chest. I can feel the quick beat of her pulse where my thumb rests high on her thigh.
I’ve pictured this too many times, usually with me directing every move.
Elena controls the pace now, and this is better than any fantasy.
She lowers herself onto me because she wants to, with the possibility of pregnancy understood between us.
Her eyes stay on my face as if my reaction matters as much as the way I feel inside her.
“Okay?” I ask.
“Yes.” She rocks her hips experimentally and closes her eyes. “Very okay.”
My hands stay loose on her thighs. “I want to watch you take me.”
Her eyes open.
I hold still and let her answer with her body.
She rises and takes me back inside. Pleasure crosses her face without her trying to hide it, and I feel it in every slow clench around my cock.
“You look so fucking good on top of me.”
Her next movement is harder.
I feel her body answer. “You like that.”
“You already know I do.”
“I want to hear you admit it.”
“Yes, Dominic. I like knowing I can make you lose control.”
My grip tightens on her thighs.
She rides me faster, learning the angle that makes both of us lose our breath. I let her lead until her rhythm starts to break and frustration pulls her brows together.
“You’re getting frustrated.”
“I want more.”
I wait.
Her fingers dig into my chest. “Take over.”
The trust in her voice undoes me. I roll us in one movement, keeping myself inside her. Elena wraps her legs around my hips, her body pliant and open beneath mine as I settle over her.
“Like this?” I drive into her once, deep and controlled.
“Harder.”
I give her what she wants, sinking deeper.
Her body shifts beneath mine with each thrust. She holds on to my shoulders, meeting me every time, and the restraint I brought into her condo burns away under the sounds she makes.
I lower my mouth to her breast and drag my tongue over her nipple. Her back lifts from the mattress. The change drives me deeper, and Elena’s nails press harder into my shoulders.
“Again,” she says.
I do it again, then catch her nipple lightly between my teeth while I thrust into her. Her pussy tightens around me.
“You like my mouth here too.”
“I’m developing a comprehensive opinion.”
“Then pay attention.”
I straighten over her, hook one arm beneath her thigh, and change the angle. The next stroke makes her cry out.
“That,” she says. “Keep doing that.”
I set a faster rhythm and give her exactly what she asked for.
I slide one hand between us and find her clit. She gasps when my thumb circles it.
“That’s it,” I say against her skin. “Let go. Let me feel you come apart for me.”
Her body tightens. She presses her lips together, holding back when she could let go.
“Dominic.”
“Say my name.”
Her eyes lock on mine.
“Dominic.”
The way she says it goes straight to the base of my spine.
The sound strips away the last of my restraint.
I thrust deeper and press harder against her clit.
“Dominic.”
“Let me hear it when you come.”
She comes with my name breaking into a cry. Her pussy clamps down hard enough to drag a curse from my mouth, and her nails score my back.
I keep moving through every pulse. Her mouth falls open, and the concentration leaves her face. When she looks at me again, I’m close enough that holding back hurts.
“Still want me to come inside you?”
“Yes.” Her legs tighten around me. “I want it.”
I bury myself deep and come with her name against her mouth.
My rhythm breaks. I hold her hips against mine and feel every pulse, fully aware of what coming inside her may mean. Elena keeps me there until the last of it passes, her mouth open beneath mine and one hand locked at the back of my neck.
We stay joined while our breathing slows. Elena’s legs remain around me. The urgency is gone, but she keeps kissing me, her fingers moving gently through my hair.
I expected her to pull away when the sex ended, to reestablish the boundary. She doesn’t. That small stillness, the warmth of her body still settled against mine, feels more significant than the orgasm.
I ease out of her and wait for her breathing to settle. “Are you all right?”
“Yes.”
“Any pain?”
“No.”
“You were still wet when you called me. You wanted me that badly.”
Color climbs her cheeks. “Orgasms have documented stress-relieving benefits.”
The clinical words drop into the space between us, erasing everything that just happened. The sound of her saying my name, the scrape of her nails on my back—all of it reduced to a variable in a conception model. I stare at her. “That’s your response?”
“Lower stress can support conception.”
“So this was medically responsible.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You’re building a case.”
“I’m pointing out that enjoying the sex doesn’t make it irrelevant to the arrangement.”
I leave the bed without answering. Arguing would only reinforce her frame.
In the bathroom, I wet a washcloth, then return.
I want to care for her, even if she won’t let me.
I clean her carefully. She watches me without speaking.
When I finish, I pull the covers over her and bring back a glass of water.
Elena takes it with both hands. “Thank you.”
I sit beside her. “You can say you wanted me.”
“I said I enjoyed it.”
“That wasn’t the same answer.”
Her fingers tighten around the glass. “The sex served the arrangement. Pleasure doesn’t change why we’re doing this, and neither of us should confuse tonight with a change in purpose.”
Her knuckles pale around the glass, the only sign of the effort it takes to hold her position.
She answers pleasure with the same practical language she uses for the clinic.
I see the fear behind the logic. I could remind her that she called while the clinic appointment was eleven days away, or ask why conception required the lingerie under her work dress and my tie on her living-room floor.
Tonight, I let it go.
“All right,” I say.
She studies me, waiting for the argument I’m not giving her. Then she sets the water on the nightstand and lies back.
I stretch out beside her instead of reaching for my clothes. Elena turns onto her side, and after a moment, her fingers press lightly against my ribs.
The second clinic appointment is still eleven days away. Elena has already filed tonight under the same purpose, with orgasms added as a practical benefit.
Her hand stays against me as her breathing evens out. If we end up back in the clinic waiting room, I’ll remember this bed and Elena saying my name while I came inside her.
I have no idea how she expects me to treat that like another sample. Not when I can still feel the faint tremor of her orgasm, and the steady weight of her hand against my ribs. Not now.