Page 29 of Counterpoint
That teased a smile from Dom’s lips and his mood brightened like sunlight breaking through clouds.Yes, of course.
Something colorful, like you.
Are you trying to sweet-talk me?
Is it working?
Maybe. Depends on what you want.
What I want is you on my cock. I’ll settle for holding your hand and watching your eyes roll back into your head as you eat.
Instant hard-on. Fuck.Maybe we can skip dinner.
No. Part of the pleasure is making you wait, Dominic.
Another text came, but this one wasn’t from Adrian, but from Ray.Yo. We’re ready to go again. Where the hell are you?
He blew out a breath and clicked over to Ray’s thread.Not far. Be right there.A swipe got him back to Adrian’s texts.
I gotta get back to practice. I’ll see you tomorrow.He sent the text, then typed up another quickly.I love it when you make me wait.
Because he did. There was something utterly mind-numbing when he was in Adrian’s hands and under his control.
Good. Until tomorrow, beautiful Dominic.
Heat to his face. And maybe it was still there by the time he got back to the studio, because Ray smirked, Zav had his know-it-all smile, and Mish patted him on the back. “You’d be a lot more comfortable in a tank, honey.”
And a lot more Domino with all that skin showing. He stripped off his shirt and got back to work. Felt good, too, the burn in his arms as the day wore on and in his legs as he hopped around the studio, unable to stand still. The songs Ray had written—fuck, they were good. Better than the last album, and with the rhythms Zav dropped and the energy Mish put into the baseline, the album was shaping up to be something spectacular.
Playing these onstage? Oh fuck, that would be a delight. The screams, the vibe, the thunder of sound. He fucking loved being Domino then. Dom twirled around, flourishing the cord he was playing.
“Hey, wait,” Ray said, breaking across Dom’s thought. “What did you do there? I loved that.”
Dom found his footing and caught his breath. The amp cord was lazily wrapped around him on the floor—thank god he always used one that was long, or he’d trip himself up. “You mean this?” He played the embellishment again.
Ray let out a soft sigh. “Yeah. That’s it. Can we roll back and do that section again, without me singing?”
They all nodded, and Zavier twirled his stick and tapped out the beats before they plunged in again. Ray stood riveted to the floor, eyes closed, breath steady as he listened. When Dom hit the cord again, Ray’s shoulders dropped and his smile deepened.
When Ray’s whiskey eyes opened again, he met Dom’s gaze, teeth flashed in a huge grin. “That’s utterly perfect. You’re amazing, Dom. Best guitarist ever.”
Dom laughed. “Man, there’s a ton of others ahead of me on that list!” Though he appreciated his best friend’s words.
Ray shrugged. “Not to me.”
Buoyed—and a little embarrassed—by the praise, Dom worked even harder at being Domino, the guitarist Ray and the band needed.
And it worked, too. They pounded out another song, adding to it, embellishing it, getting it into their blood. “Fuck, I can’t wait to play these live.”
Ray grinned, and there was this little edge to it, one that meant he was hiding something. Dom whipped his gaze to Zavier and raised an eyebrow.
Zavier laughed loud and long. “You might as well tell them, Ray.”
“So, I’ve been working with Marcella to put together a little something.”
Marcella Crane, their new manager and an attorney. One that had gotten them a stellar new contract. Dom crossed his arms. “Oh?”
“We do sound the best live,” Ray said. “I was thinking of taking the album—most of the songs, anyway—on a trial run here in New York. A small surprise concert. Limited seating. Popup kind of thing.”
