Dominic #2
Those two words strip away the last of my restraint. I close my eyes and hold her until her breathing steadies.
The fire has burned down by the time we move to the couch.
Elena sits facing me with one leg tucked beneath her. I take the opposite end and leave the cushion between us open.
She reaches across it and takes my hand.
“I’ve spent the last few days trying to understand why I ran,” she says.
“Daniel came back.”
“That pushed me into it, but he isn’t the whole reason.” She looks at our joined hands. “I knew you weren’t him. I’ve always known that.”
I wait.
“When I left Daniel, I decided depending on someone was the mistake. I’d let him into my career, my finances, my social circle—everything. Leaving meant rebuilding most of my life.”
“You rebuilt it.”
“Yes, and then I tried to make sure no one could ever hurt me that way again. I protected my money, my career, my body, and every decision about my future. None of that was wrong. Believing the right plan could protect me from every possible loss was.”
Her thumb moves across my hand.
“The donor binder meant I could have a child without trusting someone to stay. The contract let me have you without admitting I wanted a relationship. When one plan stopped protecting me, I replaced it.”
Her words are a clinical dissection of the last seven months, and they gut me. I was a contingency plan. A better version of an anonymous donor.
“Then I wanted a life with you that no contract could guarantee.”
“And I chose the ending I could predict.” She looks up, her gaze meeting mine. “I was wrong on Sunday. I loved you, and I still reached for the contract because I was scared.”
“You’d protected yourself that way for years.”
“I also hurt you.” She holds my eyes. “I’m sorry. I made you prove you wanted me over and over, then treated every proof like it had an expiration date.”
“I let you hide behind the contract.”
“You told me you wanted more.”
“Eventually.” I tighten my hand around hers. “I owe you an apology too. I knew you were afraid, and I let patience become an excuse. As long as I accepted every partial yes, I didn’t have to risk hearing no.”
“You asked when it mattered.”
“After months of expecting you to figure out that I was building my life around you. I should’ve told you what I wanted and asked direct questions instead of making both of us guess.”
“I don’t want to hide behind an agreement again.”
“And I don’t want to call silence patience.”
She shifts closer, removing half the distance between us.
“I knew you weren’t Daniel,” she says. “That was part of what scared me.”
“I don’t understand.”
“With Daniel, there was something concrete to escape. He threatened me. He used my work to keep me tied to him. Eventually, I could point to what he was doing and say it was wrong.”
Anger tightens through me, but I keep it out of my voice. “And with me?”
“You could love me. You could be good to me. I could let you into every part of my life and be happier than I’ve ever been.” Tears well in her eyes again. “Then you might wake up one day and stop wanting it.”
“Elena.”
“There wouldn’t be anything to blame. You’d leave because people leave, and I’d lose someone who’d never given me a reason to hate him.”
I understand now. She wasn’t afraid I would become Daniel. She was terrified I would become temporary. The pain of that thought is sharper than any anger I’ve felt. It’s not about him. It’s about the simple, brutal fact that people leave.
“I can’t promise you I’ll never hurt you,” I say, the words scraping my throat. “I already have. We’ll argue, and I’ll make mistakes. I’ll try to solve things you need me to listen to, and you’ll probably create a spreadsheet proving I’m wrong.”
“That depends on the severity of the mistake.”
“There’ll be conditional formatting.”
“Obviously.”
I lift her hand and press my mouth to her palm. “I can’t guarantee perfection or give you a future with no risk.”
“I know.”
“What I can promise is that you won’t have to guess whether I’m still choosing you. I’ll tell you what I want. I’ll tell you when I’m angry or afraid. If I screw up, I’ll own it and do the work to repair it.”
A tear escapes and traces a path down her cheek.
“I won’t quietly plan an exit because honesty is uncomfortable. I won’t treat leaving like the simplest solution. I will keep showing up, and I’ll let you see me choose our life.”
Her mouth trembles into a small smile. “That’s what I should’ve asked for.”
“You can still ask.”
She takes a breath.
“I love you.”
I stare at her, unable to answer for a second.
I’ve wanted to hear those words from her for longer than I’ve admitted even to myself. I imagined them in my kitchen while staring at the extra mug she bought, in my bed where the scent of her shampoo lingered on the pillows.
The real thing is quieter and messier. Her face is wet, my shirt is wrinkled from her grip, and I wouldn’t trade this for any fantasy.
“Say it again.”
“I love you, Dominic.”
She says my name, and it’s not an echo of the past or a shared secret. It’s a declaration.
I move closer until our knees press together.
“I love you too. I have for years.”
Her eyes widen. “Years?”
“My attempt not to make things more complicated appears to have been an unmitigated failure.”
“How did that work out?”
“Poorly.”
A small laugh breaks through her tears. “You’re impossible.”
“I chose wrong on Sunday,” she says. “You asked whether I wanted a real relationship and a shared life.”
“I remember.”
“My answer is yes.”
My heart beats hard against my ribs.
She turns our joined hands in her lap. “If you’re still asking.”
I cup her face.
“I’m still asking.”
Elena kisses me.
Her mouth is warm and immediate, a release of pressure I didn’t know I was holding. I pull her onto my lap, and she settles over me, her weight a solid, grounding anchor. Her hands tangle in my hair, pulling me closer.
I kiss her with months of restraint, of wanting, and my cock goes hard against her thigh as her breath ghosts across my mouth.
She rocks over me once.
“Fuck.”
“I missed that,” she whispers.
“Me swearing?”
“You wanting me.”
I hold her face between my hands. “I never stopped.”
Her next kiss is slower. When her fingers reach for the buttons of my shirt, I catch her wrist.
“There’s no agreement left to blame this on,” I say.
“I know.”
“No schedule. No plan. There’s no pressure for tonight.”
“I want to.”
I loosen my grip. “Tell me what you want.”
“You.” The answer is immediate. “I want you, Dominic. I want the whole irritating, notebook-carrying, control-freak man.”
The whole man.
Not a function. Not a solution. The words dislodge an insecurity I didn’t know I was still carrying.
My voice is thick. “Careful. That almost sounded romantic.”
“I’m working up to it.” She moves over my cock again. “I want to go home with you. I want our baby. I want to wake up beside you and figure out how we combine our lives without either of us disappearing inside the other.”
My throat tightens.
“And right now, I want you in bed.”
I release her wrist. “Then take me there.”
She climbs off my lap and leads me down the short hallway.
The bedroom is dim except for the lamp beside the bed. Elena pushes my coat from my shoulders and opens the first button of my shirt.
I cover her hand. “You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me if anything feels wrong.”
“I will.” Her fingers move to the next button. “I know how consent works, Dominic.”
“I’m having a moment.”
“I can see that.”
She opens the rest of my shirt and presses her lips to the center of my chest.
“I’m pregnant,” she whispers against my skin, the vibration of the words traveling straight through me. “With our baby.”
My breath catches. The simple fact of it, spoken here, now, feels more real than the tests or her earlier confession. I thread my fingers into her hair, holding on. “You’re trying to kill me.”
“No. I have plans for you.”
She pushes the shirt from my shoulders and backs me toward the bed. The backs of my knees hit the mattress, and Elena gives my chest one firm shove.
I land seated on the edge.
“Don’t move.” Her voice is low and steady.
“Yes, ma’am.”
She steps between my knees and opens my belt while watching my face.
“You like hearing me ask,” she says.
“Very much.”
“What about watching me take what I want?”
My cock strains painfully against my trousers. “Elena.”
“That wasn’t an answer.”
“I’m trying not to come in my pants.”
Her laugh is soft and real. “Better.”
She opens my trousers and pushes them down with my boxer briefs. I lift my hips enough to help, then grip the mattress when her hand closes around my cock.
“Fuck.”
She strokes me once and reaches the wet head with her thumb.
I reach for her.
Elena catches my wrist. “I said don’t move.”
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
“I missed making you lose control.”
She strokes me again, tighter, and I stop talking.
She releases me and strips off her sweater, bra, leggings, and panties with an unhurried confidence that makes my throat dry.
Her body is the same one I’ve memorized, but I map it differently now.
The curve of her belly, the slope of her hips—it’s not just her body anymore. It’s the home of our child.
When she steps between my knees, I place my hands on her waist, my touch reverent.
“Can I?”
“Yes.”
I press my lips beneath her navel and spread one hand over her stomach.
“Don’t be afraid to touch me,” she says.
“I’m not afraid of you. I’ve just known about the baby for less than an hour. Allow me a moment to lose my mind.”
“I’m still me.”
“I know.” I kiss her stomach again. “You’re still the woman who lied about ovulating so she could seduce me.”
“You believed me.”
“I trusted you.”
She winces. “I deserved that.”
“It wasn’t a weapon.” I look up at her. “I trusted you then. I trust you now.”
“I won’t lie to get you into bed again.”
“You won’t need to.”
Elena plants both hands on my shoulders and pushes me farther onto the mattress. I move back until the headboard meets my shoulders, and she follows, straddling my thighs.