“Not much of a challenge,” I mutter, swirling the liquid in my glass. “I gave it up to you within hours of our first meeting.”
Tipping his head back, he lets out a booming laugh, glancing at me over his shoulder. “Thank fuck for that. That was one of the best nights I’ve ever had.”
“I am a great fuck,” I agree.
“You are at that.” His voice sounds almost wistful as he rifles through the refrigerator.
“Then why don’t we dispense with all this wine-and-food foreplay and move straight to the bedroom?” I suggest—well, more like challenge. “I bet you have a great bed.”
Dominik backs away from the fridge, closing the door with his hip. He juggles a carton of eggs, a package of pancetta, and a wedge of parmesan cheese.
He’s also smirking. “We’ll get to the bedroom when I’m ready. I’ll fuck you when I’m ready to fuck you. But right now, I’m starved, so I’m going to cook dinner. Relax and enjoy your wine.”
Okay… I’m a stubborn and independent woman. I don’t like being told what to do, and I prefer to be in charge. Some—especially my brother—call me relentlessly bossy and overconfident.
But God help me, when Dominik makes the command decision we’ll have sex only when he says we will, my knees actually go weak. For some strange reason, I feel like baring my neck and letting him pin me down in submission.
And that is so not like me.
Which makes it even more surprising when I sink down onto the stool and take a long sip of the rich red wine.
“Tell me your thoughts on how you think the Vengeance will do in the playoffs,” Dominik says as he lays out all the ingredients on the counter before bending to open a bottom cabinet.
“You want to talk hockey?” I ask curiously.
He pops his head over the edge of the counter. “Why not? You’re more than capable of it, seeing as you come from a hockey family.”
“I guess I just didn’t think you’d care for my opinion,” I say guardedly.
Dominik rises, whatever he’d been after forgotten for a moment. Placing his palms on the granite top, he leans across the island toward me. “Willow… what do you think is going on here?”
“Um…” It’s all I manage.
“You were just expecting sex and nothing else, am I right?” he guesses.
“Maybe…”
“Well, like I said, I’m starved.” Dominik squats, disappearing momentarily to dig through the cabinet. “And if you want to just sit there in silence, go for it. If you want to engage in a bit of conversation, I figured hockey was a good place to start since we both know a little about it.”
I’m so out of my element. My best course of action might just be to run from the house. I most certainly don’t want good conversation as it makes him even more dangerous than I already suspected him to be. A sex only, no-strings type of relationship keeps everything black and white. Pleasant interaction outside the bedroom will only blur the lines. Add in great conversation, as I suspect Dominik is entirely capable of, and it makes the situation too confusing.
Yet… I find myself doing exactly as he’s requested. “I don’t think the Storm will give you any problems in the first round. They’re good, but they were plagued by too many injuries late in the regular season. I predict you’re going to sweep them in four because your team has more depth.”
Dominik straightens, a deep frying pan in one hand and a pot in the other, his eyes pinned on me. “More depth?”
“The stats are black and white,” I say, then proceed to rattle off all the important numbers that—at least on paper—make the Vengeance top contenders. “But, more than that, you assembled a group of men that either by your brilliance or by happenstance, have managed to solidify into a unit that is as much poetry as it is hockey. They just naturally flow with one another. It’s almost like they communicate by thought. I don’t know how you did it—and I’m sure everyone in this league wants your secret formula—but you’ve created history with this team, Dominik. I’m not just predicting you’ll sweep the first round, but that you’ll walk away with the Cup when it’s all said and done. Your team is just that magical.”
Dominik stares, head tilting ever so slightly as if he can’t figure out if I’m bullshitting him or not.
Lowering the pan to the countertop, he murmurs, “I really want to fuck you right now.”
A jolt of sexual energy pulses through me, not just from the words but from the underlying hunger within them. This is what I came for, right?
“But…” he drawls with a sly grin as he picks up the frying pan. “Good things come to those who wait.”
I want to growl in frustration. Want to strip out of my clothes and demand he take me right here. I know he’d do it, too, because he’d be powerless to resist naked me.