And I am guilty. But I do things often, that I hope show Dominic I’m just as devoted to him.
My time, heart, and attention are distributed as equally as I can spare them, and somehow against the laws of monogamy and human nature, we work. We’re working, and I’m starting to believe them.
There’s no jealousy, no bickering, and no fighting unless the fight is mine. I’ve tried daily for the past few weeks to accept that my heart is split and fully capable of loving both of them, but I don’t see this arrangement as fair to either.
So for now, I’ll take what I can get.
Grabbing my purse, I haul ass down the stairs, leaving my cell phone behind.
I slip outside and smile when Dominic pulls up, his Camaro newly waxed and gleaming.
I slip in and fight the urge to kiss him.
“Hey,” I say, and he takes off. We ride for a few minutes in silence, my fingers aching to touch him. He smirks, keeping his eyes ahead, and I know he knows what I’m thinking.
I roll my eyes. “Asshole.”
“And here I put on a clean T-shirt just to be insulted.”
“We’re alone, you know,” I point out, knowing the minute we’re behind closed doors, he’ll be touching me, and I’ll be begging him not to stop.
“I’m driving. Show some restraint, woman. And we’re never alone.”
I glance around the cabin. “You got some imaginary friend in here?”
“Cecelia.” His face goes blank, and I wait for what seems like an eternity until he speaks. “We’ll be alone later.” It’s as close to a promise as I’m going to get and I decide it’s enough.
“I can keep my hands to myself, you know.”
“Sure you can.”
Smug bastard.
Lips twitching, he shifts, his muscular forearm bulging due to the firm grip he has on the wheel.
“When are you going to let me drive?”
“Easy, never.”
“Seriously?”
“Only one other person has a key to this car, and it won’t ever be used.”
“You know I’ll be searching Sean’s room from top to bottom, right?”
His chest bounces. “Good luck with that.”
“I will drive this car someday, Dominic. Bet on it.”
He takes me to Asheville, where we dine on an outdoor patio. The city is nestled in the heart of the Blue Ridge, but it’s far more populated than Triple Falls and likely the reason why we drove forty minutes out of our way. But dinner is delicious, and being with him in this capacity is equally as intoxicating. I love being on the opposite side of the table, studying his face, his dark lashes as he scans the menu before ordering for us both. He opens my doors, tips ridiculously, and smiles—really smiles—more than once. The man is no stranger to proper date etiquette, nor is he a stranger to the ways of a gentleman, which only makes me question his initial reception of me. When we met, he’d acted like an obnoxious pig to the extreme.
On the drive home, he lifts my skirt and exposes my panties, slapping my hand away when I try to push it back down. He gets satisfaction in knowing he can glance over and see me vulnerable, and though I feign annoyance, I love every minute of it. He spends the drive describing how he wants to touch me, where he wants to lick, and details exactly what he is going to do to make me come as I sit there listening, rapt, losing my mind, and growing wetter by the second. By the time he parks, I am close to orgasm. The minute he cuts the engine, I fly at him, and he welcomes me, a groan leaving his throat, letting me know he is just as needy for me.
And he is because he fucks me twice before he rolls a joint while I lay back in the seat, my head resting on the door, in nothing but my panties. From my vantage point I’m able to admire his profile, his physique, him. Music drifts from his speakers as I lift my bare foot and playfully massage his side with my toes as he readies the blunt paper.
“What is this?”
“David Bowie. Shhh,” he releases the weed into the paper and reaches for his dash to turn it up. “The first minute and a half of this song is money. Listen.”