Page 81 of Counterpoint
Yeah, they’d have to talk about how Dom kept the life Adrian knew out of the public eye, but like Zavier had implied, Dom could trust Adrian.
Had, and with more than his heart. Those times on his knees or tied up—Adrian never ever took advantage. Had always sought consent. Never pressured foranything, not even when Dom screwed up and said something about the band. Asked, sure. But never insisted.
His demands were always in what Dom realized were scenes—those moments when they both acted out roles for each other’s pleasure and need. When Dom submitted and Adrian took control.
But they also existed outside that dynamic, too. Friends and lovers. Reading partners. Museum hoppers. Boyfriends.
He really hoped Adrian would be okay with dating someone whose public persona was nearly always in the limelight.
The hope was there, buoyed by Zavier’s smile and his clap on the back, and Mish’s and Ray’s hugs.
“Hey,” Ray said. “You know you can call me anytime with anything, right? Just like always.”
Dom patted his best friend’s—his near-brother’s—cheek. “Yeah. I know, I just hate talking to you about the sex stuff.”
Ray made a face. “Ditto.”
They both laughed. As close as they were, there were a few lines they didn’t cross.
Dom headed back to his place first, to shower and change into something a little nicer. Classy pastel-red button-down, paired with a blue jewel-tone bowtie. Tan slacks rather than jeans, and a pair of brick-red dress shoes he’d spotted the other day. They matched his shirt nicely. He picked out a bottle of wine from his collection—something to drink later in the weekend, for when they ate in.
He fucking loved when Adrian cooked for them.
During the walk to Adrian’s, his heart was in his throat and his mind spun. He so wanted this to go well. He needed this to go well.
Ten minutes later, he climbed the steps and rang the bell.
As soon as Adrian answered the door, Dom knew something was horribly wrong. Yes, Adrian was dressed in one of his nicer dress shirts, sans tie, and his finer suit pants, but there was a remoteness that had never been in his expression before, not in all the weeks Dom had known Adrian. His gaze held no warmth, and his expression was masklike rather than full of joy and laughter. It was as if a wall had been built between them since Wednesday night, the last time they’d seen each other in person.
But there had been nothing remote in Adrian’s voice last night on the phone. He’d been dirty and wonderful, whispering wicked thing until Dom had spilled himself all over his chest, then sweet and gentle when they’d finished their goodnights.
“Hello, Dominic.” Cool words. No smile.
Oh shit. This wasbad. Dom had no idea what it was, but something awful had happened. Or was about to. He replayed all their recent interactions, but aside from Wednesday, when he’d deflected conversation about the band, he came up empty. That couldn’t be it, could it?
“Hey.” Dom gripped the bag with the bottle of wine he’d brought. “Can I come in?”
Adrian nodded, and stepped away from the door. No hug, no kiss. He just—walked down the hall.
Dom’s heart thudded against his ribs. So sosonot good. Fear bit in hard. This—this was the motions of a breakup. Oh god. He closed the front door and latched it, then made his way to the living room. Adrian stood by one of the chairs, his hand resting on the cushioned back. He stared at Dom, sad eyes roaming over him for a moment before they focused on the coffee table.
Dom followed his gaze and recognized the magazine that lay there. His stomach lurched and the bag slipped from his hand, the wine bottle hitting the rug with a thunk. Everything in Dom’s vision tunneled down to that cover.
Twisted Wishes. Domino. Adrian knew. Heknew.
He’d found out before Dom had had a chance to tell him. Explain things. Ask for him to keep Dom’s secret. Who knew who Adrian had told? Had he?Fuck.The press would have a field day. Be on his doorstep.
Oh god, he was gonna puke. Or have a heart attack. His chest heaved and it took every effort to rip his focus from the magazine to meet Adrian’s eyes.
“So.” Adrian spoke coolly and calmly, as one might talk to a stranger. “Who are you really?”
Shit. Dom reallywasgoing to throw up. He pressed a hand over his mouth and swallowed a bunch of times, trying to quell his stomach and heart. When the awful acid taste lessened, he lowered it and answered. “I’m who I said I was.” Because that was the truth, too. “I’m Dominic Bradley.”
“And yet...” Adrian nodded at the coffee table.
Yeah. “I’m him, too. Domino Grinder.” The name sounded harsh and wrong in the mess Dom’s voice had become.
Fire and itching crept along his skin, and he fought against the growing panic. But this was worse than he’d been in the studio. This wasn’t unfounded fears—this wasreal.
