Page 52 of A Good Girl's Guide to Dominance
Laughing, I return to my seat by the island and watch as Rome moves about the kitchen like a trained professional. He grabs plates from the cabinet and sets them down side by side, then pours handmade ravioli in the center of each one. Thesmells filling my nose make my stomach rumble, but watching him work his magic in the kitchen makes my insides quiver. He grabs another pot and begins pouring from it, but his body blocks my view. I can only smell it, and it’s mouthwatering. After everything is put together exactly how he wants it, Rome spins around and presents me with a plate. My eyes bulge.
“Ravioli with Italian sausage ragout,” he says like it’s an introduction. “It’s a sofrito base of crushed tomatoes, mild and spicy Italian sausage, red wine, and a little bit of milk. Trust me, the flavor is like no other.”
My eyes remain wide as I look down at the exquisite dish. “Well, it looks absolutely unreal. I can't wait to taste it.”
Rome smiles as he brings his plate and places it next to mine, but instead of eating or even escorting me to a table, he begins quickly grabbing the pots he used to cook and starts washing them off in the sink. He scrubs one completely clean, dries it with a paper towel, and puts it in a cabinet under the counter before placing the others in the dishwasher. It doesn't take him long, but he cleans off every single thing he used, leaving nothing behind. It doesn't look like he used the kitchen at all. When he's finished, he grabs both steaming plates and looks at me. “Alright. Follow me to the dining room.”
With raised brows, I nod. “Lead the way, Sir.”
As I climb off my chair, I follow Rome down a short hall that leads to the dining room, and it is just as breathtaking as the other rooms in the house. A beautiful mahogany table sits in the center surrounded by florid black chairs, with a chandelier hanging over it like a floating centerpiece. Everything in the room looks more expensive than anything in my house. It’s stunning.
Rome puts our plates down and says something about going back to the kitchen, but I barely even hear it. My mind is on how unreal all of this is. The house, the man, his clothes, theway he cooks, how he cleaned everything immediately instead of leaving a mess behind that he would have to return to later. He is organized and in control of everything, never seeming to lose his cool or lack composure. In every way, he is methodical and planned out. It’s like he read the secret handbook on everything Dom-like and memorized each page. It makes me want to parade him around the world, taking him to every BDSM-centric establishment to show everyone that he is what a Dom is supposed to look like. Everything Rome does is precisely how I believe a Dom should act. Being a Dominant is more than just a title for him. It is his way of life. He dominates everything around him, owning it all without having to announce it or brag. He steps into the room and everyone takes notice—he even owns the people in his presence without needing to beat them into submission. I've never seen anything like it, and it makes me melt every time I'm near him. Although every submissive has their own definition and example of what a Dom is, Rome is everything a Dom should be.
When he returns, he's holding a bottle of red wine and two crystal glasses to go along with our meal. He pops the cork and fills each glass, setting them next to their respective plates before taking his seat. He picks up his fork and stops, looking directly at me.
“What?” I ask.
“You go first.”
“Go first?”
“I won't start eating until you do,” he says.
Good fucking god.
I battle with myself, trying not to smile as I lift my fork and push it into the ravioli. Rome doesn't move as I slowly bring it to my mouth. My taste buds explode with flavor as I chew, making my eyes widen with shock.
“Good?” he asks.
“Are you freaking kidding me?” I reply. “Rome, this is so good I could die.”
“Well don't dothat,” he says, finally lifting his own fork to his mouth with a smile.
“Honestly, what the fuck?” I exclaim, putting my fork down. “How did you get like this?”
Rome chews as he shrugs. “Get likewhat?”
“You knowexactlywhat I'm talking about,” I snip like I'm frustrated. “This isn't normal.Youare not normal, Rome, and there’s no way you don't know it. You live in this immaculate house that you manage to keep so clean that it looks like a model home. You dress like a model. You cook like a chef. You stood up for me in front of one of the most notorious gangsters in all of Philadelphia. You share fond memories of your mother and show her respect even when she's no longer with us. You clearly have money and know how to spend it like a grown man instead of using it to fill your place with games and toys. Oh, and let’s not forget that we’ve already slept together. You fuck like a porn star mixed with the world’s greatest Dom. It’s too good to be true. It just has to be. So, tell me what’s wrong with you right now before I get up and start opening drawers and cabinets to find it myself. Are you a drug dealer? Is that it? Are you secretly making meth like Walter White? Are you a hitman? Do you have a basement full of jars with people’s heads inside? What is it, Rome? Just tell me now and put me out of my misery, because it’s starting to look like you should be on the cover of Literally Perfect Magazine.”
“Is that a real magazine?” he asks, grinning.
“Stop it!” I say, pointing at him and trying to keep myself from smiling. “I need to know how you got like this. Your mother must’ve been an amazing woman, because her son is out of this world. Now explain while we eat this ludicrously delicious meal.”
Rome sips his wine before leaning back in his chair. “Well, first of all, I appreciate the compliment.”
“Oh my god,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Yeah, keep voicing your appreciation of my thoughts and words.That’llmake me less attracted to you.”
“I'm just being myself,” he goes on with a nonchalant shrug. “It’s true that my mother was a phenomenal woman who raised me as well as she could for as long as she could, and my father was no less incredible himself. He taught me all about hard work and putting other people before myself. He instructed me about business and how to keep my head on straight and my eyes on the prize. But the parts of my personality that make me a Dom are parts I can't explain. I don't know where it originates from. Admittedly, I've dated quite a few women, and I've learned something important from every relationship I've ever been in.”
“What was your longest relationship?” I probe.
Rome hesitates, swallowing hard. “Five years.”
“Oh, wow. Okay. How long ago was that?”
“Four, almost five years ago.”
“How did it end? Are you still on good terms with your ex?”
