Swinging his legs from the edge of the bed, Dominic bends over and retrieves his bunched up clothes from the floor with my thong and my pants.
He climbs back on the bed and slides them onto me before getting himself dressed. The sight of Dominic takes my breath away all over again. His fingertips sweeping over me are so achingly erotic that my sore pussy actually protests with a conflicted need and arousal, the pang making me bite my lip.
“That was fucking amazing,” I say, breaking the silence that seemed to be so comfortable. I don’t want to be too comfortable. I might want to fuck him all over again, though I feel like I have absolutely no energy to even get up. I’m not really thinking logically now, so this whole distract myself thing is really a win.
“Yeah, Daphne, that was some kind of fucking,” Dominic says.
I think about his words, even though his mouth is pressing little kisses over my clothing. He kisses my pussy, my thighs, my legs, my breasts after he pulls my shirt back down.
He can’t possibly always fuck like this. I know that I never have. Fucking Dominic makes me reconsider just about anything I’ve ever considered a decent lay. I knew my birthday surprise had ended up being pretty damn boring, but even the sexual experiences that I thought were good in the past seem utterly garbage compared to this.
God, my whole body is spent from the sheer strength of the orgasms I had. He fucked me so deep that I’m going to be sore for days.
Guys my age don’t know shit about sex, you can trust me on that. Just look at the smug grin on his face all over again. The one that tells me, yeah, I fucked you so raw and I could do it again.
Fuck, he can’t keep looking at me like this.
I sit up finally and smile at him. I stand up to kiss him and for a second I think he might push me back on the bed and start all over, but he takes my hand and pulls me out of the bedroom. If I’m not mistaken, the urgency in his movement has everything to do with the fact that he’s afraid he’ll be just as naughty as me if we stay in there.
49
Daphne
So tonight, I get to face the firing squad. It was Ashley’s idea for everyone to get together and unwind over some drinks, but I know what’s going to happen. Carla has told everyone and their bellmen about Dominic and I. They’re all going to want deets—maybe even the bellmen for all I know—and when I say “deets,” I mean all of the deets.
I’ve watched Ashley and Lisa and Carla share dick pics with each other. They’re going to want to know how big Dominic is, and when I tell them that their boyfriends have nothing on Dominic, they’re going to think I’m full of shit. Which I don’t blame them; I had no idea a guy could be so huge until I saw Dom’s dick that first time.
Oh God, I don’t have any dick pics to share with them! I’m panicking for a moment, wondering if I should text Dominic and tell him to send me some, but then I force myself to breathe in deep. It’s going to be okay. Dick pics, or the lack thereof is not the problem. I’m focusing on it ‘cause … well, ‘cause I don’t want to think about what the real problem is.
The real problem is Dominic and I’s previous relationship, of course. You know, that one that lasted for eight years. They’re going to think that he’s some sort of lecher. That we’re in some sort of incestuous relationship. It doesn’t matter that we’re not related by blood. It’s going to be tough trying to tell them that this is legal.
Maybe questionable morally, but legal.
I plaster a confident smile on my face and step out of the Uber. Ashley is walking up at the same time, so we hug and chitchat on the way in and I pretend that everything is fine and I’m not nervous. They’re my friends. They’re not going to take me out back and start throwing rotten tomatoes at me, right?
The super hot waiter comes and goes, and my besties spend the whole time giggling over his hot ass and wondering aloud about the size of his dick, but I just can’t get into it. My smile has been so firmly plastered onto my face, it feels like it’s cracked and dried in place and will soon be falling off me in chunks.
“Okay Daph, you have to tell,” Lisa finally says, breaking through Carla and Ashley’s discussion over whether Prada or Jimmy Choo’s new line of shoes is more drool-worthy.
Everyone falls silent, and is staring at me.
I don’t want to tell them anything.
Except…they already know. Thanks to Carla’s eagle eyes (okay, so Dominic and I weren’t exactly discreet) and big mouth, half of Manhattan knows, and probably most of Long Island.
So this is just my chance to explain my side of the story.
No rotten tomatoes. No rotten tomatoes.
“Remember my ill-fated birthday present?” I ask. Everyone nods expectantly. No one is going to forget that story for a long time. “Well, I went down to the bar at Bemelmans afterwards and ran into Dominic. He’d just broken it off with a friends-with-benefits-who-was-getting-clingy—you know the type. We started chatting and…
“You guys, I’ve never felt this before. It’s seriously like sticking my finger into a light socket every time I see him. He’s so damn sexy; I have no idea what my mother was thinking, giving him up.
“Well, I do know—she doesn’t like dick. Something I just don’t even understand.” I take a deep breath. I'm absolutely, positively not going to freak out. These are my friends. They love me. They sometimes even like me. It’s going to be fine.
Totally fine.
“Anyway, I know what you guys are wondering—did we fuck when I was in high school? And the answer is no, absolutely not. Dominic wouldn’t cheat on my mom. It was never like that. I mean, I thought he was cute when we were in high school, but in like, an old dude sort of way. You know, how you think Brad Pitt is cute.