Page 22 of Inspiring Dominic

My eyes widened. “Did I say something?”

“You were mumbling about a dream.”

Shit. I must still be half asleep.“That’s weird because I didn’t dream about you last night.”

He lifted an eyebrow, his trimmed beard—a little longer since we’d arrived in Cuba— doing crazy things to my lady parts. “Meaning, you dreamt about me another night?”

“Um…”

“Samara, you might as well just fess up.”

Laughing nervously, I adjusted Rosie to keep my hands busy as I confessed, “Well, I may or may not have dreamt your dick was a superhero.”

“Oh really?” He leaned against the bathroom counter, making it impossible not to check him out.

“Yep. In my dream, Dom’s Dick was on a journey to find Perfect Pussy Princess.”

“Okay, leading stars are Dom’s Dick and Perfect Pussy Princess,” he repeated with a slight laugh. “Please do continue.”

His dick rubbed against my stomach when I went to stand in front of him. “His quest to find her starts smoothly. However, when Dom’s Dick arrived at the castle, he couldn’t find Perfect Pussy Princess. So using his Superman strength, he brushed off his cape and fought every enemy he came across until he found her. There was just one problem when they locked eyes.”

“And what was that?” Dom asked.

I swallowed, admitting that, “He realized within an instant that she wasn’t the perfect princess he desired, but instead, she had flaws that could never be fixed.”

Dom’s expression went from playful to serious in a matter of seconds, his eyes searching mine when he asked, “After everything we’ve been through, you think I won’t accept your flaws as we continue to get to know each other?”

I glanced away, overwhelmed by everything I was feeling. “It was just a dream.”

“Some dreams stem from a version of the truth buried within the psyche.” He lifted my chin. “Samara, nobody is perfect and everybody has flaws. But to me, we’re perfect for each other because we own our flaws.” He gently kissed my lips. “Life isn’t flawless and neither are we. Next time you dream about Dom’s Dick and Perfect Pussy Princess, I expect vivid and poetic details that only a writer can paint the picture of.”

My smile was confident when I told him, “It’s a deal.”

He kissed me again as we stepped into the shower, our morning routine in full swing.

“I can’t believe we have to leave in a few hours,” I muttered as we lathered our bodies, each of us taking turns washing the other.

“Me neither, but I’m glad you agreed to come back to Rosewood Heights with me for a bit, even if it is for your story.”

“It’s not just the story,” I admitted, looking up at him.

“Following you to Cuba was more about you than catching Robert,” he divulged, staring at me intently, his eyes saying so much it was intoxicating.

“When you look at me like that, it’s hard to think straight.”

“I can’t help it,” he confessed. “And there’s something else that’s been on my mind for a while. Something I should have said before we even came to Cuba.”

“What is it?” I asked.

He gently touched the side of my face, his features unreadable. “Do you remember that question you asked me at the bar the first night we kissed?”

I squinted in confusion. “I’m not sure I follow.”

“I remember you,” he admitted. “That night at the bar you asked me if I remembered you, and right then and there I should have told you that I suspected I did, but didn’t allow myself to believe it was really you.”

My eyes widened as I searched his, unsure of how to respond, the hot water enveloping us in steam.

“It was six years ago,” he continued. “You were wearing dark jeans and a light blue hoodie, and you asked me for directions. We were in London, and I remember not knowing where the hell I was at myself, but I didn’t want to tell you that, so I pretended like I knew just to talk to you for longer. Pretty sure I sent you in the wrong direction.”

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