Just Breathe (21 page)

“I feel like there are some holes in your logic.”

The boat slows and he leads me to the lower deck. We’ve arrived at the dock behind his house. At least I hope it’s not just his dock. That’s hard to wrap my mind around, old money or not.

The boat pulls away as we take in the gorgeous remnants of the sunset through the tall trees on the riverbank. Dominic takes my hand as we turn and walk up the dock, then up the slope of his back yard. I love his garden so much. It’s neat, and clearly well kept, but not manicured to the point where it looks artificial. It’s a bit wild and free, the plants relaxed and allowed to do their thing. I loved the movie The Secret Garden; I liked the book too, but I loved everything about that movie, and wanted that garden so badly.

This is like a piece of that greenness. It’s magical.

And I may have had slightly more wine than I thought. Or I’m giddy from being with Dominic again.

Dominic enters the security code and lets us in through the side door leading into the living room. Something bumps my leg and I jump and gasp as Dominic flicks on a light.

A disgruntled meow throbs through the air. Grawlix.

“Hey, Grawl. Guess we startled you too.” He allows me to pet him three times, and then stalks out of the room, having acknowledged our presence. I squint after him. “He really is kind of an asshole.”

“I know. But I wouldn’t like it if he was needy. He’s my first pet and if he constantly hounded me for attention I don’t think I’d enjoy him.” Dominic locks the door behind us.

“If he was a human, he’d be a grumpy old curmudgeon who surfaced every once in a while.”

“Yes. ‘Hey, I’ve missed you. You suck at everything, and I hate the food you made me for supper. Thanks for being my pal. Talk to you in a couple days.’” He hesitates by the piano. “Do you think I could play something for you?”

My laughter dries up in my throat. This never ends well.

“I take that as a no?”

“It’s just—”

“Your condition. Fair enough.”

He seems disappointed, but like he’s really okay with it. He won’t force the issue because he respects me. He cares about me. “No, Dominic? Play me something. I want to try. And I really want to hear you play.”

“Are you sure? Because if you—”

“I’m sure.” I try to reassure him with a smile, hoping for the best.

He sits at the bench, gently uncovers the keys, and flexes his fingers a few times.

And begins.

My worry melts away beneath the pure, clean tone of the piano. Its position in the room is perfect for the acoustics, making it sound rich, and it echoes slightly like we’re in a concert hall.

But the music he plays makes my chest ache.

Notes spill from beneath his fingers and flow over my skin, rooting me to the spot while making my heart soar. The song is impossibly beautiful, but tinged in sadness. Or maybe that it’s affecting me so profoundly it only feels sad. No, not sad at all. Poignant. Resonating within me, feeling familiar but I don’t know why; I can’t identify it.

Dominic’s eyes are closed as he plays, head tilted slightly to the side. His
hands
. His hands are a ballet, a mesmerizing dance of grace. How did I doubt, even for a moment, that I’d be safe in those hands? My body, mind, my soul tremble with the beauty he’s unleashing into the air. Barely breathing, I move forward to lay my hands on the piano so I can feel it up close while I listen. The vibration travels up my arms, and I close my eyes, giving into the sound. I live and die a hundred times before the last notes fade from the piano.

Then I stand there for another lifetime, tasting the remnants of the song with every cell in my body.

“Elle?” Dominic’s voice is soft, and judging by the sound, he’s standing behind me.

I realize I’ve leaned over the piano and pressed my body against the surface trying to take the song into my body.

“Well, this is embarrassing,” I purr, turning my head to look at him. “Bet you’ve never gotten this reaction from a song before.”

His face is a picture. “It is a first. Did you like it?”

I stand up and turn around to face him. “Words haven’t been invented yet for how that song made me feel.”

“Yeah?”

“I had no idea you could play like that. You’re amazing.”

“And on that day, his ego grew three sizes,” he jokes.

“I mean it. And that song was gorgeous. It was just
everything
. What’s it called?”

“Elle.”

“What? I want to know what the song is called.”

“No. The song is called Elle.”

“Like my name!”

“Like you.” He bites his lip. “I wrote it for you.”

“You wrote that?”

“Yes.”

“For me?”

“Yes.”

I can’t believe it. The best song I’ve ever heard is
mine.
Pleasure seeps through me, radiating out of a smile I can’t stop from forming. “When did you write it?”

He takes my hand and looks away shyly. “A few days ago. It’s been so long since I saw you, and I got home late one night. The house seemed too big and empty, made me wish you were here with me. And I thought, ‘What would it be like if Elle was here?’ I found myself at the piano, and that song’s what came out.”

“God, it’s haunting.”

“I know.” His expression is serious as he tucks a lock of hair behind my ear. “It’s how I feel when I think of you.”

My words are gone, way out of my reach beyond the enormity of this moment. Trapping his hand with mine, I press his palm to my face. To see yourself through someone else’s eyes can be the biggest curse, or the greatest gift. Dominic’s gift is the most precious thing I’ve ever felt.

Echoes of that linger in his eyes. Tightening my grip on his hand, I lead him to his bedroom.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Closing the door behind us,
he traces my lips with his thumb, and leans down to kiss me, the rich taste of the red wine we drank lingering on his breath and mouth. Running my hands down his body, I tug at the bottom of his shirt. He reaches and pulls it over his head, and does the same to my top, and we find our way right back into each other’s arms, losing ourselves in the kiss even as we find each other in a close embrace.

We’re all silky movements; hands whispering across skin, arms sliding across backs, lips lightly melding to each other’s with slow exhalations. Tongues gently meet and brush together, freeing the softest gasps. It feels like it’s been forever.

I reach down and undo his pants, and he undoes mine, slipping them over my hips, down to the floor with a quiet crumpling sound as they land. His follow suit a couple seconds later. He pulls me close, I pull him closer. I hold him tight, he holds me tighter. We press against each other, mouths hungrily finding each other again, deeper this time. Pushing against him, he lets me walk him backwards until he’s sitting on the bed.

Breaking contact, I turn on the rock salt lamp and switch off the main light. Now is the time for softness, even in lighting.

“Move back,” I whisper. He does.

Climbing onto the bed, I straddle him, gently trailing my fingers up his arms. He sits up, wraps his arms around me, and kisses my neck. The soft strength of his hair greets my fingers as I slide them through, closing my eyes under the onslaught of pleasure beneath his mouth.

But passive pleasure is unbearable tonight.

Pulling away from him, I move down his body, and remove his boxer-briefs. Standing by the edge of the bed, I slip off my panties, unfasten my bra, and look down at him. His eyes travel the length of my body and return to my eyes.

“You’re perfect,” he breathes, and I don’t feel the need to cover up or hide from his gaze. In his eyes, I’m held so securely, I’m so beautiful I don’t feel shy. I feel free.

Climbing back on the bed, I trail hands up his thighs, take him in my hand as I stretch out above him, take his bottom lip gently between my teeth, and begin stroking my hand up and down his hard length. He moans, hips gently rocking with me, and his hands delicately claim my breasts. Sliding my tongue between his lips, I coax his tongue into my mouth and gently suck the tip.

His hands reach behind me, sliding down my back to grab and knead my ass, slipping forward, fingers brushing against the most intimate places of my body.

My body still hums from the music beneath my skin, and he lifts us up and lays me on my back. He stretches my hands up above my head, his fingers entwined with mine, gazes at me in a way that makes me feel more naked than I’ve ever felt.

Makes me feel more beautiful than I’ve ever felt. I’m completely safe with him.

It’s too much, and it’s not enough, and it’s completely perfect.

He bends and covers me with kisses, with feather-soft brushes of his fingertips. Every inch of my body is touched and known by him until I’m floating in a warm, undulating pleasure-filled haze.

The hands that made me drunk on his music have made me drunk on his touch. These hands that hold my heart, that I trust to keep me safe.

I don’t have to tell him I’m ready for him, that I want him now, need him now. He knows. He always knows.

He gets protection from the nightstand and turns back toward me. But even with the condom on, and obviously ready, he still kisses me unhurriedly, caressing my skin with his soft, skilful hands. Pulling him with me, I lie back, more than ready for him.

He wraps an arm around me and slides the other down my body, lightly stroking, pinning me to the spot because I can’t move through the want, the need.

He pushes inside me, achingly slow, the perfect sensation stealing the breath from our bodies. When he’s completely filled me, he doesn’t pull out; he pushes up a little harder, and I know why the French call it The Little Death, because I cling to him and die a little, forgetting everything except the exquisite torture of a pleasure so deep it verges on pain.

And then he drags out, plunges in again, and again, looks down and smiles, and I think I’d stay here with him forever if he’d have me. Pushing against his chest he stops, and lets me turn him over, and climb on top. I lean down, kissing him, brushing his hair back from his face, and then adjust the angle of my hips and push down on him.

New sensitive places are touched inside me as I rock back and forth, up and down, running my hands on his chest. Grabbing his hands, I lead them to my breasts. He massages them and sits up to take a nipple in his mouth. He rasps against the tip with his tongue, and then sucks once hard, driving a flash of heat through me and I gasp, and begin circling my hips as I move up and down on him.

He moans and wraps his arms tightly around me, pressing up into me as I push down, increasing the pressure, the strength of the thrusts. I’m so lost inside the delicious friction that I don’t realize we’re kissing until I cry out, breaking the kiss, shuddering in his arms as an orgasm slams through me.

He moves faster, harder, drawing out the ripples of heat coursing through me, and a moment later he grips me so tightly I can’t tell where he ends and I begin, and cries out, shaking inside me, forehead pressed against mine.

I’d be content to live on his lap like that, but after a bit, my hips start to hurt, so I shift my weight to get off. Dominic squeezes me, and I squeeze him back, affection surging through me. Kissing my neck, he lets me go.

“Bathroom,” I say.

“Me too.” He smiles and heads to the main bathroom while I use his. Washing my hands after, my eyes are bright in the mirror, skin flushed and glowing. What a perfect night. My body hums with contentedness, and peace. With the music Dominic made with the piano, and then the music we made with our bodies. Eager to get back to him, I don’t dawdle. Sheet firmly in place around me, I open the door.

He’s sitting on the bed in a pair of pyjama pants when I come out of the bathroom.

“Oh, I got you something.” He walks over to his dresser, pulls a dark green bag from it, and stands by the foot of the bed.

“What is it?” I move to him. “You didn’t have to get me anything.”

“I know, but it’s nothing. Open it. It’s practical.”

Reaching in, I swoon. It’s something satin.

“I love it!”

He laughs. “You haven’t even seen it yet. It might be hideous.”

“I don’t care, it feels amazing.” Tipping the bag upside down, the most perfect shade of liquid-silver material slides out onto the bed. I grab a thin strap and hold up the top. “Pyjamas?”

“As adorable as you are in mine, I thought you might appreciate the fit of these better.”

The stretchy, satiny tank has no lace details to scratch my skin. The pants look loose fitting. They feel perfect.

“You’re just assaulting all my senses with awesomeness tonight, aren’t you?” I grin.

“I didn’t plan on it, but I guess so.”

I slip the bottoms on, and slide the top on, smoothing it down my stomach. They fit perfectly and swaddle me in silkiness.

I love them because they mean he’s concerned about my comfort, which makes me feel all warm and squishy inside. But more than that, they mean even when I wasn’t here, he was thinking about me. That’s why women like little gifts. They show we’re not out of sight out of mind. Dominic thinks about me even when I’m not here. These and the song he wrote for me show me he cares.

“They’re perfect. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I love the idea of something I gave you being against your skin.”

It’s so thoughtful. There’s not even a tag to itch my neck.

“I had them remove the tag so it wouldn’t annoy you,” he says.

“This was a perfect night.” I hug him.

“Yes, it was.”

“Next time, I’m setting up the date, and you get to be the one in the dark.”

“Sounds good. Do I get any hints?”

“Nope.” I wriggle gleefully.

“I think I’ve created a monster.”

“You’ve no one to blame but yourself.”

“Then I’ll have to suffer the consequences.”

“Yes, you will.”

He turns me around and kisses the back of my neck, hands wandering lazily over the pyjamas. “This material really is delightfully silky, isn’t it?”

“Mmm.”

“And I can’t help but notice how quickly it’s taken on the heat of your body.” His hands move lower. “Especially here.”