18. Forgive Me, Father #2
His grip tightens, grinding me down against him, making sure I feel every blissful inch of him through the thin barrier of clothes.
The pressure builds, unbearable, and for a second I almost break against him.
He’s just as close, I can feel it in the tremor of his breath, the way his body bows under mine.
Then his voice rasps at my ear, desperate: “Kasia… we have to stop. Now.”
He loosens his grip and pulls away, very reluctantly.
Every nerve in me screams at the loss, my body still rocking in the echo of him, unsatisfied and mourning with the space he’s put between us.
With a frustrated groan I push off him, trying to catch my breath, while he drops his head back against the seat, eyes skyward, staring at the ceiling like he’s begging for strength.
The silence is filled only by our panting, both of us almost undone.
Finally, he glances at his watch, breath still ragged. “You’re lucky I was early.”
A slow grin spreads across my face. “I knew it.”
The tension cracks and we both laugh, a little broken and exhausted, like we’ve already burned through the date before it even started.
Dominik scrubs a hand over his face, mutters something under his breath, then finally shoves the door open and hauls himself out.
He circles around, pulls my door wide, offering his hand like a man dragging someone out of quicksand. I scramble for my shoes.
“Come,” he says, mouth twitching. “Let me actually take you on a date. Piotr would strangle me if this is how it ended. Taking his sister right here in the parking lot.”
I arch a brow, smirking as I slip my hand into his. “Does it matter what the sister wants?”
“No.” His grin flashes, crooked and sure. “He’d throw punches first, ask questions after.”
The laugh that bursts out of me is genuine, and it’s still tangled in my throat as we walk into the restaurant together, cheeks flushed, eyes bright, the air between us super charged.
The hostess seats us by the windows, candlelight flickering, the kind of soft glow that makes everything feel more dangerous than it should. Dominik orders a bottle of wine without even asking, confident, casual, and I catch myself staring at him like I haven’t known him my whole life.
The conversation starts easy, teasing, laughing about Piotr’s threats, about Mama fussing when she saw me dressed up but somewhere between the first sip and the basket of bread, I lean in.
“Why didn’t you ever ask me out?”
His glass stills halfway to his lips. For a moment I think he’ll dodge, but he sets it down and meets my eyes.
“I was too shy.”
I laugh too loudly for the fancy restaurant. “Shy? You? You never seemed shy when you were busy annoying the hell out of me.”
He smiles faintly, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “That’s different. Teasing is easy. But your family…” He shrugs. “Your parents were always the respected store owners, successful, the ones to be like. All their kids, examples for the rest of us.”
I tilt my head. “Not sure about Natalia.”
That earns a chuckle, softer. “She’ll land on her feet, you all do. You’re tough.”
His fingers trace the stem of his glass. “My parents didn’t expect me. Years of trying, nothing. When I showed up, they were older, already tired. Mama cleaned houses like yours. Tata worked construction until his body broke down. That’s where I came from.”
His jaw tightens. “What could I offer? A girl as smart as you, pretty? I was just some kid with dirt under his nails, working the same construction jobs with Tata to help pay bills. These big hands? Only good for that. Never worried about school or grades, always doing stupid shit with Piotr. If I’d asked you out, I figured you’d laugh. ”
I see the boy he was, the one who teased, who lingered, who I never realized was watching all that time.
I lean my chin into my palm. “You know,” I say slowly, “I always had the urge to hit you.”
His brows shoot up. “My knees remember.”
“Or laugh,” I amend, a crooked smile tugging at my mouth. “But never at you. I was useless, oblivious. Mama had to protect me from older men hitting on me, I thought they were just being polite. No compass for all that. I didn’t understand why you annoyed me and made me feel safe at the same time.”
His thumb drags the napkin edge, but his eyes don’t leave mine.
“I know now,” I say, softer, “that I must have always had a crush on you. Maybe if you’d said something, it would’ve clicked sooner.”
Something shifts in his face, relief, disbelief, a breathless kind of want. He leans in, voice low, rough. “Kasia…you don't have to say that to humor me, we're grown now.”
The restaurant, the noise, the candles, all of it melts away to just us. My heart hammers so hard it makes me dizzy.
So I blurt the rest, “I'm not just saying it. I was such a good Catholic I didn't realize that urge to hit you was another urge entirely.”
Dominik blinks, then chokes on a laugh, dragging a hand down his face. I shrug, heat climbing my cheeks. “Better late than never to confess.”
He leans closer, eyes lit with laughter but dark at the edges. “Confess? That’s not confession. That’s just inviting more sin.”
The waiter arrives with the mains, sliding plates between us like an unwanted truce.
I sit back hard, fork in hand, pretending to be civilized while Dominik hides his grin behind his glass.
Every brush of his knee against mine feels louder than cutlery, heavier than the murmur of the room.
By dessert, I don’t even taste a bite. All I can taste is him, waiting.