Page 196 of By A Thread
More importantly, I was worried.
I knew as well as anyone what scars parents could leave on children. But I also wasn’t in the position to start a conversation about the future. Not yet.
Spinning around, I kicked high to the right. I danced and moved and crawled my way through the song and then another and another until my shirt was soaked in sweat and my muscles sang.
I kept going until I felt loose and strong. Until I felt happy again.
I took that happy home with me. The door to Dominic’s office on the second floor was closed, so I headed up to the bedroom and showered. Brownie was nowhere to be found, which meant he was probably staring lovingly at his grumpy dad.
The door was still closed when I came down in my robe. So I warmed up some dinner and ate alone in the kitchen. I gave it another ten minutes before I couldn’t take it anymore.
I knocked and then opened the door on his terse, “Yeah?”
He looked troubled. Brownie was sprawled at his feet, eyes mournful.
“Dom?” I paused in the doorway.
He looked up, and I saw the brightening in his eyes.
He patted his desk, and I crossed the room to him. I stepped between his open legs, and he dropped his forehead to my stomach, his fingers toying with the belt of my robe.
The knuckles on his right hand were split and bruised. But I knew it was his heart that had taken the most damage.
“Can I do anything for you?” I asked softly.
He looked up at me. His eyes and that shadow of a smile were sad. “Yeah.”
“Tell me.”
He gripped my hips and lifted me onto his desk. “You can ask me for something.”
“Anything in particular?”
“I want you to ask me for something only I can give you. Something you need. I want you to need me.”
If I’d had a shot at Paul Russo, I wouldn’t stop until his face looked like ground beef. Then I’d wax his entire head, toss a stick of dynamite down his pants, and kick him off a pier into shark-infested waters.
“What’s that look mean?” he asked, his smile warming now.
“You probably don’t want to know.”
His hands slipped inside the robe and skimmed up my outer thighs. That tiny, butterfly-light touch sent my attention-whore lady parts into a tizzy.
What could I ask of him? Something that didn’t involve nudity and borderline filthy orgasms.
“Will you take me out to dinner tomorrow?” I asked softly.
He looked up at me, surprised. “Of course.”
Dominic slid his hands up and over my hips, parting the robe. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to the top of one thigh. “I was hoping for more,” he admitted.
More? The man had given me a job, a piano, a finished house, a future that didn’t involve me working myself into an early grave. What more was there to ask for?
I shifted, letting him open the robe the rest of the way.
Bored, Brownie tip-tapped out of the room and down the stairs.
Dom’s eyes were glued to the apex of my thighs, and I watched, almost hypnotized, as he took two fingers and lazily slid them through my folds. I shuddered out a breath.
