Just Breathe (17 page)

His hand runs up the outside of my thigh, past the curve of my hip, all the way up my side to my breast. His other hand gently brushes down my belly.

“Dominic.” My tone is both a warning and a plea.

“I want you so much. But I don’t want to rush.”

“It’s not rushing. We’ve got all night. Please.” No one’s ever paid this much attention to my body before, and as much as I love it, I need him inside me.

His weight shifts away from me. I hear the unmistakable sound of a drawer opening and closing, and the crinkle of a foil packet. Reaching toward the sound, I stroke his back, feeling like he’s been gone for too long, like he’s too far away. Strong fingers capture my hand, and he turns and presses a kiss to the inside of my wrist.

Maybe it’s the endorphins, maybe it’s the lust. But suddenly I’m not scared of him seeing me. I need to see him. “I changed my mind,” I whisper. “I want to see you.”

There are some fumbling sounds, and a click, and a gentle pinkish-orange glow radiates from the nightstand. The rock-salt lamp doesn’t illuminate the room, but its soft light washes over us on the bed. I sit up to get a closer look. My god, he’s beautiful. Lips slightly swollen from our kisses, hair sexily tousled. And his body is just—

Thoughts are cut off by Dominic’s lips claiming mine again, tongue stroking mine as he lays me back down, positioning himself over me. I can faintly taste myself on his tongue, and it turns me on tasting the pleasure he gave me only a moment ago. I open my eyes and see his are open, which makes me smile into the kiss and pull him closer.

He nudges my legs open wider with his knees, hands running all over me until I’m arching, and panting. Needing again.

He pauses and kisses me once more, deeply, like we’ve got all the time in the world.

Then he pulls back from the kiss and looks into my eyes as he pushes slowly inside me. Seeing the look of pure pleasure on his face, the bare openness in his eyes is so intimate, and fucking hot, that all I can do is moan and smile up at him.

My smile unleashes something in him. He grits his teeth and grabs my hips, and still moving slowly, thrusts harder, deeper. We fit together like we were created for each other. Every time he pulls out, the sheer need for him overwhelms me from inside the sudden emptiness, from his absence.

And every time he pushes back inside me, I feel like my very being is expanding, and he’s merging with me, pleasure making us more than what we are. Together.

I grab at his ass, trying to pull him even closer, deeper, and he starts circling his hips as he moves in and out, rubbing me in the sweetest spot that curls my toes, and makes me scratch down his back, but it won’t hurt because the sheer pleasure he gives me steals my strength.

He moves faster, and faster, and pleasure swirls me higher and higher, and if he stops right now I might die.

“Yes!” I say, or maybe scream.

Without stopping, he reaches down and lightly rubs my clit, and I start to shake, hips bucking wildly against him. Oh God, I’m going to come again. How? Jason never made me come twice in one night, I can’t believe this is happening, but the pleasure, the pressure is building in me, and how is he doing this, touching me
there—

“
Dominic
,” I cry, as an orgasm slams through me, muscles inside me clenching so hard Dominic cries out, and pauses his thrusting, rhythm thrown off by my tightness.

Sucking air in through gritted teeth, he pulls back and thrusts in a few more times before I feel him spasm inside of me. Then he’s gathering me in his arms, and carefully lowering himself to me, kissing my shoulder, careful not to crush me beneath him as we decorate the room with our heavy breathing.

He was wrong. I remember two other words from my vocabulary other than his name and yes.

“Holy shit.”

Chapter Eighteen

We lie intertwined for a few minutes, languid and satiated. Then we untangle our pleasure-heavy limbs.

“If you want to use the en suite bathroom, I’ll use the one in the hall.”

“Sounds good.”

He kisses me, lazily, sweetly, slowly. “It’s over there.” He points.

In the dim light, I watch his pale, perfect ass walk across the bedroom and out the door before wrapping the sheet around myself and heading toward the door he pointed to. What is it with men having that shameless nude pride? Pushing the door open, I shut the door behind me and fumble for the light. I never realized what a selfish lover Jason was until now. My body is humming; every cell feels alive like never before.

It’s incredible. Closing my eyes before I flick it on doesn’t make much of a difference; my eyelids still squeeze involuntarily at the sudden brightness.

Waiting for the blinking to pass, I pry open my eyes—and gape in shock.

This bathroom is bigger than my living room.

The floor and bottom third of the walls are covered in large, dark green marble tiles. Flawless horizontal wooden blinds, painted a brilliant white cover the windows. On the right there are double sinks in a dark green granite countertop, brushed chrome faucets. Across from the faucets, set up higher on a platform, is a huge bathtub. With jets. Past the sinks on the right, is a large steam shower that looks like it would comfortably fit six at a time. Since I can’t see it, the toilet must be past the steam shower. I walk past the sinks, trailing my hand over the impossibly fluffy white towels.

I could live in the luxury of this bathroom and be perfectly happy.

Finding the toilet, I do my business and make my way to the sink to wash my hands. I’m all flushed and dishevelled, so I finger comb my hair and splash some cool water on my face. Lacking a toothbrush, I rinse my mouth and scrub at my teeth a bit with a fingertip. I debate having a peek in the medicine cabinet, but I’ve already lingered too long.

But what the hell does Dominic do for a living? This is serious wealth. Rewrapping the sheet around myself, I leave the bright lights of the bathroom. Dominic is sitting with his back against the headboard, knees pulled up. He’s put on a pair of pale grey pyjama bottoms. He points to a pile on the bed.

“Here, try these.”

Pyjamas for me. A pair of super soft cotton bottoms like he’s got on, and an equally soft tank top. I sit on the bed and, using the sheet as a cover, pull the pants on first. They’re big, but have a drawstring waist, so it works if I roll up the bottoms a bit. Keeping my back turned, I slip the tank top over my head, inhaling the scent of his laundry detergent.

Now that I’m not naked, it’s time for a chat.

“Dominic, what do you do for a living?”

Please don’t say drug dealer, mob hit man, or industrial spy.

“Ah.” His smile is small. “I usually don’t like telling people what I do right away.”

“Are you ashamed of it?”

“No.”

“Is it something frighteningly illegal?” I press on.

“No! Just the opposite, actually. I’m a lawyer.”

“Oh.” Yay! He’s not in the KGB! Thank God for that. “What’s bad about that?”

“Come on, you’ve heard all the lawyer jokes. How we’re soulless and slimy, ruthlessly screwing everyone over for as much money as we can get.”

“Well, at the risk of sounding like an asshole, it looks like you’ve done pretty well for yourself.” I jerk a thumb toward the bathroom. “Your bathroom is bigger than my living room!”

He shakes his head. “No, I’m just starting out, only graduated and passed the bar two years ago.”

“What kind of lawyer are you? Do you strut around the courtroom, making passionate speeches for a jury?”

He smiles. “No, I’m in litigation. I actually try to resolve issues between the parties so they don’t have to go to court.”

“You must be good at it.” I look around his bedroom, though the light is still too faint to reveal much.

“You mean the house?”

I nod.

“Does it make you uncomfortable? Only you seem kind of stiff.”

I scratch my neck, disconcerted he’s hit the nail on the head. “A bit. I’m not used to all of this. I’m just a librarian.”

“A lot of people only care about money.”

“I’m not a lot of people.”

“I know. Would it make you feel better if I told you that my grandfather actually built this house?”

“Yes! My dad’s dad built things too—though no houses. Mostly cabinets and bookshelves.”

“Come on, I’ll give you a tour.” He holds out his hand. I take it and walk on my knees across the bed.

He leads me out the bedroom door, and down the hallway, turning right near the end.

There’s no door, but inside there’s the large kitchen/dining room. The stainless steel appliances are framed in black cabinets with long rectangular steel handles. The shiny floor is either granite or marble and is a light almost pinkish-white that contrasts well with the dark cupboards. The counter along the edges and the surface of the large, square island are a light whitish-pink as well. The island’s corners have a stainless steel detail along them, pulling the look together. The lighting is all recessed, except for three hanging fixtures—stained glass orbs that highlight the island. The back splash is made of thin horizontal rectangular tiles, in grey, black, and the same pale pink.

It’s the most beautiful kitchen I’ve ever seen.

Twenty-five feet away, the dining room wall is basically a giant window, looking out over the backyard, and river, painted in navy blue shadows and moonlight. The table is a tall chrome and glass affair, with black leather bar-style high backed stools.

It looks too perfect to be a home. I narrow my eyes at Dominic and head for the fridge. Pulling it open, there is indeed food inside.

“It’s real.”

“What?” He sounds amused.

“It looks like a friggin’ show home. I had to check that someone actually lives here. You’ve got to eat, and the fridge seemed like the best place to confirm that someone does, in fact, live here.”

He shakes his head. “Are you hungry?”

“No, but I am thirsty.”

He grabs a couple of glasses and fills them with cold water from a jug in the fridge. We lean against the counter sipping our waters, not touching, shyly smiling when we make eye contact. A large, lanky cat with the colouring of a mountain lion pads into the kitchen.

“Who’s this?” I watch him as he bumps into Dominic’s calf.

Dominic bends and scoops the cat up. “This is Grawlix.”

“That sounds familiar, but I can’t think why.”

“Grawlix are the symbols, like exclamation mark, star, dollar sign, used to replace swears when you’re writing.”

“Ah yes. Why’d you name him Grawlix?”

“Because he’s kind of an asshole.”

Struggling to free himself, Grawlix bats at Dominic’s hand, and stalks toward me on the counter when Dominic lets him go.

“Grawl! He’s not supposed to be on the counter.”

“What kind of cat is he? I’ve never seen one like him.”

“He’s an Abyssinian.”

Grawlix walks right up to me and bumps his head against my hand. Though his fur looks coarse, he’s silky to the touch, and presses against my hand when I gingerly pet him.

“How old is he? Have you had him since he was a kitten?”

“He’s about three. No, he’s a shelter cat. I gave a friend a ride there one day when her dog was found, and made the mistake of looking around. This jerk here hissed at me and batted at the grill of his cage like he was going to start something. I found out he’d been declawed by a previous owner.”

“Awww. Sometimes I really hate people.”

“I know, it’s barbaric. But I admired his attitude. They’d taken his claws, but he was still a little instigator. I stood there for a minute and he settled down. I walked around the room, looking at other cats, but felt like he was the one. When I walked back and put my finger in the cage, he licked it and decided to come home with me.”

“That’s adorable.” I stroke the centre of the cat’s forehead, and he purrs, a strange, broken sound. “What’s wrong with his purr?”

“He doesn’t do it that often. Must be out of practice.” Dominic grins. “No, he’s got a strange voice, purr included. All part of his charm. Want to see the rest of the house?”

“Sure.”

We leave the kitchen and walk back down the hall, and I see a guest bedroom with dark sage coloured walls, and a gorgeous four-poster bed.

“Did your grandfather make the bed too?”

“Yes. He did all kinds of woodwork.”

“What was his name?”

He smiles. “Dominic.”

I kiss his bare shoulder and walk back into the hallway to continue the tour. Another guest bedroom, this one in a light mushroom colour, with a gorgeous en suite bathroom. There’s a little patio outside with a wrought-iron table and chairs. In the darkness, I can’t see much past the table, but what I can make out of the garden is beautiful.

My eyes bug out when I see the main bathroom. The marble floor is darker, the pattern more distinctive, like cream swirling through a latte. The room is longer than wide. On the right is a gorgeous double sink, the counter stretching for about seven feet along the wall. It looks more like a dresser made of marble, dressed in the same shades of the floor, and a rich off-white. There are no hard angles, only gently curved lines.

Another amazing stand-alone shower is on the left. Past the shower and the vanity, the toilet is to the right. But it’s the amazing bathtub at the very end under the window that I’m goggling at. Made for luxuriating in, its perfection makes me jealous. My bathtub at home would hang its head in shame—if it had a head. Or feelings.

“Your grandfather built this? It looks so new.”

“Well,” Dominic admits. “I may have upgraded a few things. Come on.”

The living room is large with a high ceiling, maybe twenty feet with a large window along the wall. The view in here is the same as in the dining room. The walls are a purplish-taupe, couch and chairs are dark grey and have clean, modern lines. Boxy and devoid of personality. There’s an absolutely gorgeously ornate fireplace, mantle carved in a beautiful dark wood, in the middle of the far wall. A baby grand piano sits beside it.

“Do you play?”