Page 33 of Down Knot Out
His fingers on the back of my neck rise to tangle in my hair. Our joined hands tighten with bruising force. Ten years of separation, of wondering, of missing, pour into the connection between us.
A small moan rises from my throat, and Dominic tenses, his heartbeat quickening when I press my hand flat on his chest. The frantic thunder matches mine, the rhythm creating a feedback loop of desire spiraling between us, building with every passing second.
The taste of him, the scent of him, the feel of him all floods my senses, and my legs tremble as warmth pools between my thighs. His hand in my hair applies gentle pressure, drawing me closer still, and I rise off the floor to straddle his lap, needing no space between us.
Time loses meaning as we relearn each other’s contours, the world beyond the circle of his arms ceasing to exist. There is only the press of hismouth on mine, the heat of his skin, and the rumble in his chest when I nibble at his lower lip.
We break for air, foreheads pressed together, sharing breath in the narrow space between us. His pupils are fully dilated, black with desire, and I wonder if mine look the same, pink irises reduced to thin rings around expanded darkness.
“Ten years,” he murmurs against my lips. “Ten years I’ve wanted to do that again.”
I untangle our fingers to cup his face with both hands, thumbs tracing the sharp line of his jaw. “No more waiting.”
Growling, he kisses me again, his arms around my hips, pulling me forward until the hard proof of his desire nudges my center. My hands slide into his hair, loosening what remains of his braid until the strands fall free around his face.
After so much holding back, I now have a decade of starvation to make up for. As if he feels the same, he licks his way into my mouth, and I moan again, my hips rocking over him.
Dominic’s hands span my waist, his fingers pressing into the soft flesh with just enough pressure to have me gasping. The sound triggers something in him, and his grip tightens, taking control as he grinds up into me.
The motion sends sparks skittering across myskin, goose bumps rising in their wake. The heat of him sinks through our clothes, all hard body pressed to my softer curves. His hands slide lower, fingertips grazing the strip of skin where my shirt has ridden up above my leggings before dipping beneath.
The sound of a doorbell shatters the moment, and we freeze, lips still touching, breathing ragged.
The doorbell rings again, insistent.
“Ignore it,” Dominic murmurs into my mouth, his fingers pressing into my hips. “They’ll leave it in the hall.”
For a heartbeat, I consider it, consider leaving our food outside so that the man beneath me can feed a different hunger.
Then the doorbell rings a third time, followed by a knock. They’re not going to leave it outside and go away.
“They want their tip,” I sigh, reluctantly pulling away.
“This is why we should have used the app,” Dominic grumbles as his hands loosen their grip, allowing me to slide off his lap. “We’re not done.”
“No.” I smooth my hair with trembling fingers and straighten my shirt as I back toward the door on unsteady legs. “We’re definitely not done.”
The doorbell rings again as I turn, leavingDominic on the couch, his hair loose around his face, his lips swollen from our kisses. The image burns into my memory. Something to revisit later, after lunch, after everything else disappears.
The second I sign the receipt and leave a hefty tip, the delivery guy leaves in a flash of cash with a mumbled thanks. As I carry the brown paper bag into the kitchen, my mouth waters at the heavenly scents rising from it.
Steam escapes as I open the bag and pull out containers, waffling on whether to dirty plates versus eating from the containers with the chopsticks provided. Clean up would be easier but eating messier.
“Need help?” Dominic’s voice comes from closer than I expected, and I turn to find him in the kitchen doorway, one shoulder propped on the frame.
“Plates are in the cabinet above the dishwasher.” My voice sounds steadier than I feel, and I pat myself on the back for being such a good adult in this situation.
He pushes off from the doorframe, moving into the kitchen with fluid grace. But as he reaches for the cabinet door, he squints and winces from the brighter lights in the kitchen.
Protective instinct unfurls within me. “You should be sitting down.”
Dominic ignores this, retrieving two plates and setting them beside the bag of food. “I’m fine.”
“The doctor said?—”
“The doctor said mild activity is fine.” His mouth quirks into the half-smile that used to melt my teenage resolve. “This won’t kill me.”
He steps closer, crowding me against the counter. The edge presses into my lower back as he places his hands on either side of me, caging me in with his arms. His scent intensifies in the enclosed space, wrapping around me like a physical touch.
