Page 42 of The Dominator

Tenderness? Was I reading that right? I felt my face crinkle, confused. He grabbed me and pulled me against him. His heart hammered against me. I stiffened.

“I thought you were gone,” he said softly into my ear and squeezed tighter.

I didn’t know how to respond.

“I’m sorry about yesterday, baby,” he said into my ear so low it was barely audible.

Then he leaned back and his hand curled around the back of my neck. He looked at my face and his eyes travelled from my eyes to my mouth and then my eyes again. Then his mouth was on mine and he was kissing me like he’d kissed me at the beach.

I didn’t want to respond. He didn’t deserve having me respond after all he’d done so far. But for some reason, I did.

His tongue darted into my mouth and his other hand was on my rear. He was hard; I felt it. He was hard whenever he was against me. He gently took me down so my back was on the floor and his hand travelled underneath the bathrobe, underneath the shirt of his I was wearing He was rubbing a nipple with one hand while the other hand travelled up my body from my hip to my shoulder, resting to cup my head.

I looked up at him and chewed my lower lip. He didn’t have anger on his face at all. He was looking at me with some other expression; I didn’t know what it was.

And then he was grinding into me and kissing me, running his hands through my hair. I wanted to be afraid, but I was so relieved that he wasn’t freaking out that I just let him. It made no sense in the world, but I was letting him. His cross necklace was dangling over me, touching my throat.

Right now, he wasn’t the criminal, he was the guy on the date, and I kissed him back. His fingers were inside of me and rubbing me and before my actions registered in my brain I rubbed both of my palms up and down his arms to his shoulders and then one of my hands reached down into his track pants and I wrapped my hand around his cock and squeezed.

He moaned into my mouth and said, “Let’s take this upstairs.” I let go of him and he helped me to my feet and walked, holding my hand, out of the storage room, up the stairs, through the hall, past the kitchen, and back up the stairs to the master bedroom. The whole way I was staring at the muscular detail of his naked back, feeling so turned on. So inexplicably turned on.

Once the bedroom door was shut, he lifted me up gently under my arms and I wrapped my legs around his waist. He kissed my throat while walking the few paces to the bed and then put me down on it and climbed on top of me, kissing my mouth so passionately I was melting. Before I knew it I was out of his robe, out of his shirt and my panties, and he was deep inside me, making love to me. Yes, making love to me.

His lips trailed up and down my neck and shoulders, his hands up and down my body, and he was pumping into me slowly, looking at me like he was savoring it, repeatedly gazing with a smoldering look into my eyes. It was beautiful. It was probably what making love was supposed to be like. I’d fucked before but this was my first time being made love to.

But when the making love thought occurred to me, suddenly I felt like something inside of me was dying. Something inside me was crumbling because he was fucking with my head and because I knew this wasn’t the only side of him.

This was just one half of who he was. I think he knew I was dying inside, too, because I started to tremble and as a single tear rolled down my cheek, his thumb stroked my lower lip, then he kissed the tear away and hugged me tight, being even slower, even gentler, and he whispered, “Tia, baby, please. Please.”

I didn’t know what he was pleading with me for exactly, but it felt like he wanted me to just forget everything else except for what was happening right now. Could I? Could I let this happen, let this beautiful, fucked up man have me without any tears? I guess I couldn’t.

I had a huge orgasm and crying episode at the same time, so I held him tight, muffling my moans with his shoulder. He finished, too, moaning my name, and then he rolled to his side, sank his head into the pillow, blowing out a long breath, then he pulled my back against his front, spooning me.

I glanced back at his face and he looked like he’d been in a bar fight. His eye was rimmed with a deep purple bruise and there were four angry red and scabbed lines down one cheek and another scratch across his nose and part way across the other cheek. His bottom lip was a bit puffy and had a tiny cut that extended about half an inch below his lip. He was looking on the outside like I was feeling on the inside. I put my head back on the pillow. He nuzzled in and kissed me between the shoulder blades, wrapping his arms tighter around me.

I was surprised that all that had ended the way it did. I thought, if anything, him thinking I’d run away – which I’d never thought would be the assumption when I headed to the basement or I wouldn’t have done it – would’ve meant his anger again.

Until I could get out of here, I needed to think before acting; I needed to make that part of my routine now because life wasn’t the same as it was before. I needed to think about what he’d think about things I’d do before I did them. He could’ve been angry right now because he couldn’t find me. But that’s not what I was getting from him. He was unpredictable and to me, that meant he was even more dangerous than I’d even realized because I didn’t know what to expect next from him.

How, till I got out of here, did I stay on his good side? This side? How bad was he screwing with my head that I’d just allowed him to have sex with me, that I’d just participated?

After a long time, he said, “Hi.” His voice was breathy… maybe emotional?

“Hi.” I think my voice probably sounded empty or unsure. I didn’t know.

There was a long pause. Then he cleared his throat. “We have dinner at my pop’s today. I’d like you to dress like you’re going to church, okay?” He was tracing my ear with his finger and kissing the back of my head.

“Kay,” I said.

“You’ve got clothes like that or should I have something sent over?”

“I went to church nearly every Sunday for the past nine years. I’m good.”

“Okay. My sisters will make you their friend. Just because they’re my sisters doesn’t mean the rules don’t apply. Okay?”

“Kay.”

“I mean it.” There was an edge to his voice.

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