Page 70 of Counterpoint
It was, as digs go, very gentle. Still, it hurt. “You free Saturday?”
The reply came instantly, and was warm and smooth. “Of course. You’re welcome here anytime, Dominic. Any evening, any day.” He paused. “Though, if it’s during the week, I’m likely killing brain cells from stress in a cube.”
Dom laughed. “Is it really that bad?”
“Sometimes.” Ruefulness played out in his voice. “When should I expect you Saturday?”
Dom dropped his voice low. “Early. Don’t bother getting dressed, ’cause I’ll just drag you back to your bed.”
“Sounds lovely.” The cheer was back in Adrian’s voice. “I can’t wait.”
Now it was six-thirty in the morning, Dom hadn’t had any coffee, and he was standing on Adrian’s steps, wondering if this was, indeed, too early. He rang the bell and waited. When he was about to ring it a second time, the distinct click of locks being thrown sounded, and the door cracked open to reveal Adrian, muss-haired, bleary-eyed, and blinking, and wearing nothing but a pair of boxers that were way too low-slung.
Damn, Dom would never get enough of seeing that body. “Hi.”
Adrian’s smile was the best thing in the universe. He opened the door wider and reached for Dom. “Come here.” A whisper, slurred with exhaustion.
He went, and wrapped his arms around this man he cared so damn much for. Kissed the junction where his neck met his shoulder.
Adrian drew him inside, kicked the door closed, and threw the locks. “Upstairs,” he murmured against Dom’s hair.
Dom let the duffel slip off his shoulder, let Adrian lead him up those stairs, strip every last piece of clothing off of him, and pull him down into his bed.
Felt like home. Dom closed his eyes against kisses and touches. Adrian’s hands—his whole body—were warm. He’d lost the boxers along the way, and their bodies meshed perfectly, molding and sliding until there was very little space between them. When Adrian took his mouth, Dom moaned and tried desperately to beg for what he wanted without using words.
Speaking would mean Adrian’s mouth wouldn’t be on his—and he needed to be lost in that kiss.
Maybe Adrian figured it out, or maybe he wanted the same thing, but it only took a little bit of time for Adrian to get the lube and a condom, and then he was pressing in, opening up Dom. Minimum prep, which was fine, because he needed the sharpness, the fullness, to grunt and cry as Adrian took him.
But it wasn’t the fast fucking he’d been expecting—no. It was something far more profound. Deep, long, slow strokes. Teasing kisses, smiles, and murmurs of endearments. His name.Babe.
He came with tears in his eyes and Adrian swallowing his own name on Dom’s lips. Those long strokes turned shorter and harder, until he, too, had fallen over the edge into bliss.
Perfect. Too much. Never enough.
I’m screwed.
Even more so when, after disposing of the condom and the tissues Dom had used to clean his chest, Adrian slid in next to him, wrapped his arms around him, and muttered three words.
“I love you.”
They were so soft, and Adrian fell asleep a moment later, so Dom didn’t even know if Adrian had realized he’d voiced them.
But Dom had heard them, and his whole world tumbled down, along with his heart.
* * *
Sunday morning, a week and a day after their trip to the Met, was just as lazy as Saturday, and once again, Adrian had made love to Dom, a contrast from the previous evening that had left bruises on his hips and scratches on Adrian’s back. Adrian had taken him dancing, and the club had been out of this world. Gay. Loud. Full of beautiful people.
Not a single soul recognized him as Domino. It was so damn liberating that he bumped and ground and teased Adrian—who everyone seemed to have known—without mercy.
They’d very nearly fucked in the bathroom because of that, though Adrian got close to bringing Dom off and had left him hard and panting. “That’s what bad boys get when they’re cock teases,” Adrian had growled into his ear.
When they’d gotten back, Adrian had wrapped those leather cuffs around his wrists again, tied him to the bedframe, and fucked him so hard, Dom must have woken the neighbors with his screams of pleasure.
Now they lounged on the couch, books in hand, claimed from the library two floors up. Over near the entrance to Adrian’s brownstone, the photograph he’d bought for Dom was all wrapped up and ready to go home with him. He had no idea where he’d put it in his big but empty house. And seeing the photo before the gallery workers had wrapped it for him had flipped his heart and mind over and over. To be tied like that. Held like that. His body craved knowing, especially since the experiment that other weekend had turned him inside out in so many ways.
They’d picked the photo up Saturday, after they’d gone to a production ofThe Tempestin Bryant Park, then stumbled upon an interesting lecture about immigration in the New York Public Library.
