Page 38 of Restore Me

Weirdly, he’s not out there today.

I flick my gaze over to him only to find he’s already looking at me. I blush and hope he wasn’t watching when I took that last bite of cake because I’m ninety percent certain I have icing on my face.

“Thanks for the cake,” I say, feeling awkward now with his dark eyes glued to mine.

He shrugs, tapping his fingers rhythmically along the back of the sofa.“Don’t mention it.”

“Oh no.” I sigh dramatically and turn to face him. “Is this the part where you get upset with me for thanking you instead of just saying you’re welcome?”

Dominic winces. The muscle in his jaw starts to do that little tick, tick, tick, and panic slices through me as I wonder if maybe it’s too soon in our friendship—using that term very loosely—for me to be making jokes like that. But then a slow, lazy smile pulls at his lips.

“You’re welcome, Sloane.” He says my name slowly, drawing out the one syllable until it sounds like the slow glide of a zipper racing down the back of a woman’s dress at the hand of her lover.

I swallow and drag my gaze away from him. It doesn’t matter though. The image of his mouth curving around my name is seared into my brain. “I’m glad to know you are capable of forming those words with your mouth.”

“I’m capable of doing a lot of things with my mouth.”

What did he just say? Have we made it to the part of our fledgling friendship where we make bad jokes riddled with sexual innuendo already?

I rack my brain to try and find an acceptable response. One that toes the line just in case I completely misread his words and the panty-dropping smile was all in my head. Dominic-based delusions aren’t exactly a rarity for me these days. The vivid dreams and the very real, but highly inappropriate, responses to his touch are proof of my mind’s ability to impart brow-raising suggestions on just about everything the man does.

“Right.” It’s an effort to push the word past my lips. “I’m sure Kristen is more than satisfied with your…. mouth’s capabilities.”

Oh, hell. I send up a silent prayer, hoping for someone to summon me from another part of the house or for the ground to just open up and swallow me whole. Why the hell did I bring up Kristen? I don’t know anything about his ex-girlfriend besides what Mal told me a few months ago about them ending their relationship just to turn around and become friends with benefits. Somehow my brain retained the information without me even knowing it, updating the mental files I’ve always kept on Dominic but never had a reason to use.

Up until now. When I am so desperate for a comeback I have no problem sliding into this completely uncharted territory with him. The only upside to mentioning the woman he’s currently sleeping with is that it’s exactly what I need to stop my brain from ticking off the number of things his mouth has done to me in my dreams.

Dominic slides down the sofa, and the heat of his body envelops mine the instant he closes the distance between us. Our thighs touch. A muscular, denim-clad leg pressing into the skin bared by my sundress. Rough fingers grip my chin, turning my head and making me face the amused expression that’s taken over his entire face.

“Probably just as satisfied as James is with yours.” He murmurs, his eyes on my mouth.

I shake my head, ready to rid him of any notions about my relationship with James, but all I get out is a strangled noise before he swipes a thumb over the corner of my mouth and pulls back with a fleck of cream-cheese icing smeared across the pad of his finger. I watch shamelessly as he brings the digit to his mouth and, with a flick of his tongue that sends an arc of electricity down my spine, sucks it clean.

My mouth hangs open as my brain struggles to process what I’ve just witnessed. Dominic smirks at me, and I don’t know how to stop the heat from creeping up my neck and into my cheeks. He sees the whole thing, because of course he does, and it only makes me blush harder.

“Yo, Dom!” A voice calls out from outside, and I almost jump out of my skin when I turn to see Eric’s younger cousin, Julian, standing on the front porch. He pulls the door open and peeks his head through.“We need another person for this pick-up game. You playing?”

I look down at my hands and send up a silent prayer that Julian missed the entire icing exchange. He can’t go a day without gossiping with his mom on the phone, and the last thing I need is for Aunt Mary to be shouting to the high heavens that Dominic and I are having an affair when we absolutely are not. I would never do something like that to Eric. Not with his best friend, and especially not in his mom’s house.

Right, so what exactly does it mean when you let a man lick icing off of your face?

I blanch. That really happened. I sat here and let my husband’s best friend do that without so much as a protest. The same way I didn’t protest when he held my hand in the club, hugged me in my kitchen, or placed a light, but possessive, touch to the small of my back, which he’s prone to do every time he happens to be walking beside me lately.

My stomach twists into guilty knots with the realization, and I’m overwhelmed with the need to get away from this man whose touch makes me forget things I should be holding on to with both hands. Like where I am, who we are to each other, and the fact that just a few weeks ago we couldn’t stand the sight of one another.

“Yeah, man,” Dominic says to Julian. “Let me just grab my stuff out of the car.”

“Alright! I’ll go let everyone know we got a game.”

The screen door slams shut, and as soon as Julian’s head disappears, I jump out of my seat, sending the plate in my lap flying to the floor. Dominic catches it with one hand and rises to his feet. He’s still so close to me. Close enough that I can feel his abs flex when he sucks in a breath and looks down at me. His lips part, and I know without a doubt that I don’t want to hear anything he’s about to say, so I hold up a hand to stop him.

“Don’t.”

Surprisingly, he stops. He presses his lips into a hard line and watches me quietly as I take the plate and push past him, but I only make it a few steps before his hand flies out and grips my arm gently. His heated gaze stays on my face, and for a moment we just stare at each other. Then his grip is slipping down my arm. Down, down, down. Slowly ghosting over my wrist, then my palm, and finally my fingertips.

Every inch of skin that’s been exposed to his touch is on fire, and the whisper of a smile playing on his lips as he leaves me standing in the living room with a half-eaten slice of red velvet cake tells me that was his intention.

I just have no idea why.

---