Page 65 of The Club

Rafael hasn’t moved. When I touch his hip, he doesn’t react.

I get up and walk on shaky legs to the bathroom. I turn on the low accent lights, go to the oversized tub, and turn on the hot water.

Rafael still hasn’t moved when I return. I pull him up and get him moving. I walk him to the bathroom and help him into the tub as it fills. His balance is off. Cum is spilling down his inner thighs.

I get in the tub behind him. With my knees up on either side of him, I tug him into the crook of my body. His arms are down, his hands resting between his legs, so I end up pinning his arms to his body when I wrap mine around him.

The rushing sound of the water soothes me. I hope it soothes him too. When the tub is full, I reach past him to turn off the water. Then I hold onto him again.

I kiss the back of his head. He takes a deep breath and lets it out.

I tell him quietly, “I’m right here.”

His hand comes up from where it’s been resting under the water. It closes on my forearm where it’s banded over his chest. Slowly, he relaxes. I pull him back so he can rest against me as I lean against the sloped side of the tub.

We lie there a long, long while.

When the water is starting to cool, I ask, “Can you sleep?”

His answer is barely audible. “I don’t think so.”

“Can we at least get back in bed?”

“Not yet. Don’t leave me.”

I press my cheek against his head. “I won’t.”

TWENTY

Rafael

I don’t know what kind of alternate reality I’ve stepped into, but Dominic Capelli is making me waffles. He’s using a whisk.

I’m sitting in his kitchen, wearing some of his clothes because mine were bloody, and drinking coffee that he made. I shift on the stool, chasing the soreness from where he was inside me.

I’m not ready to think about the sex we had, what I needed from him. My mind accepts that I like rough, dirty sex. I built my entire play room around it. I embrace that.

What happened last night was different. I needed it. I’m so fucking glad he did that for me, that he was able to. But it wasn’t just dirty. It was ugly. When I came, it felt ugly. Kind of awful. But it also felt like finally breaking through a window that I’d been screaming at.

And when I tumbled through to the other side of it, Dominic caught me. He could’ve left me. He was fucked up too. Looking back, I can see that. But he got me in that bathtub, and everything that had been so fucking ugly washed away.

We went back to bed after that. He never let go of me. We just lay there, breathing, letting it all fade.

And now he’s making me waffles.

He opens the waffle maker and pours batter into it with a sizzle. It’s six a.m. It’s way too early for me to be hungry, but I’m sure as hell going to eat that.

He closes the lid. “I have to work today.”

“I figured.”

There’s maple syrup in the microwave. He starts it heating. The door lights up behind him, rotating the pitcher inside.Dominic puts his back to it, leaning against the counter and crossing his arms. His white t-shirt pulls tight over his shoulders and biceps.

I love getting to see him like this, in a t-shirt and sweats, his short dark hair a little messy. His jaw is shadowed with stubble because he hasn’t shaved yet.

“What are you going to do today?” he asks.

“I hadn’t thought about it.”

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