Page 22 of Yearn
My ex-husband would never. He was too busy trying to make my life a living hell. If Rochelle or Cadence had done it, they’d have been sitting right there eating with me. And my children? They couldn’t even order a pizza, let alone buy rose petals or hire a chef. Add the fact that Dominic had been watching them all Sunday, and the answer was obvious—he was behind it all. My heart swelled with gratitude and tenderness.
Dominic had orchestrated a night that felt like a dream.
Then. . .you decide to jack off in the backyard? Does surprising people make you horny or something?
The absurdity pressed a laugh into my chest again, and this time it did not ask permission.
I let it go.
The laugh broke open the fear, and when it passed, curiosity stood where fear had been.
Oh Dominic. What am I going to do with you?
He’d been haunting my nights for weeks, slipping into my dreams like he owned them. Every damned morning, I woke with wet sheets and a pulse between my legs, all because of him—my tenant, my temptation, the man in my dreams that kept bending me over a hundred different ways. In fact, Dominic had been guest-starring in my dreams so often I should’ve been charging him rent for that too.
And it wasn’t just his big cock—it was the way he carried himself, strong, young, and confident like the world hadn’t broken him yet.
Plus, Dominic had the kind of shoulders I could lean on, and the kind of eyes that made me feel like I had never truly been seen before.
Even the way he moved around my kids—gentle, patient—was enough to make me look twice, though I had scolded myself every time for it.
In the end, he was too young, too fine, too close to my home, my sacred space. . .but that never stopped my eyes from finding him when he came up the stairs, sweat darkening the front of his gym shirt, big cock swinging in those gym pants.
This is what you get. This is karma.
My attraction to him had made me a naughty landlord.
I always hugged him longer than I should have, especially the night he told me about his parents. I tried to stop myself but. . .I held him, breathing in the clean soap and sweat of him like it was oxygen I’d been starved of. I had told myself it was comfort, but deep down I knew I was stealing a moment.
Every breakfast, it seemed, I found some excuse to lean across him, brushing my breasts along his arm as if reaching for the orange juice required full-body contact.
I swore I heard him groan a few times, but it could have been my overactive imagination lustfully wishing.
Once, when he carried in groceries for me, I let my hand rest a beat too long on his back—just to feel the flex of muscle under my palm, just to remind my pussy that not all hot guys only existed in books.
And whenever I thanked him for helping with the kids’ homework, my fingers squeezed his shoulder like punctuation—firmer, fonder, more lingering than politeness demanded.
And now, he had given me a front-row seat to his self-made peep show.
What am I going to do?
Chapter four
MILFs
Teyonah
I twisted the faucet shut.
This was too much. I needed to talk to someone so I could clear all the horniness and logic spinning around in my head.
Rochelle’s and Cadence’s faces flashed in my head.
Yes. Oh my God. I have to tell my girls. They will lose their minds.
Rochelle was my north star for joy. Granted, she was having a busy year making sure she had all the tuition payments to send her twins off to college this fall.
At 49, she would soon be an empty nester.
