Chapter 11 Dom

Chapter 11

Dom

Brianna’s red hair disappears behind the closed door for a moment before she rolls down the window and waves.

The glow of tail lights disappear in the distance and we stand there silently for a moment, the air thick between us. Then Indie turns away from me with her head down and pulls her phone out of her back pocket. A wall of curls hide her face from me.

“What are you doing?” I’ve given her space until this point, not wanting to intrude, even though it’s killing me to know what’s going on in her head.

“Calling an Uber,” she says flatly, still not letting me get a read on her.

I wanted her for myself, but never at the expense of her getting hurt. The thought that she’s upset has me moving closer.

“And where are you going?” She takes a step away but I don’t let her retreat. Placing a gentle hand on her arm, I turn her toward me.

“Poppy or Mia’s.”

Still, she refuses to look at me. “Hey, are you okay?” I don’t dare lift her chin so I can see her the way I want to. She shifts on her feet.

“I’m fine, Dom. I just want to get out of here.” No snark or sass, just resignation. Defeat—from her voice, to her folded shoulders, and her downcast eyes. Yet she hasn’t called a car.

“Come on.” Covering her hand with mine I lock her screen. “You know you don’t really want to spend the night with the happy couples right now.”

“Where do you expect me to go?” She slides the phone back in her pocket and I consider it a win.

“One of my perfectly good guest bedrooms. You can even take the one in the basement if it makes you feel better to have an extra floor between us.” I point down the street. “My truck is right there. I know you don’t like me, but right now, you don’t have a lot of appealing options.”

“That seems like a stretch. All it would take is a call to any of the girls and they would happily take me in for the night. No questions asked.”

She doesn’t move to follow me when I take a few steps towards my car. “But you would mind. Come on, you’re not going to get a better offer.”

Her feet scuff across the sidewalk, always staying a couple of steps behind me. When we reach the truck, I hold the passenger door open as she sinks back into the seat. I’m tempted to ask her if she’s okay again. Indie’s a little thorny, but that doesn’t mean she’s immune to disappointment and hurt.

“Don’t look at me like that. It’s fine. I’ll be fine,” she says, pulling her door shut and ending the conversation.

Shockingly , I hate awkward silence with a passion. Still, I suppress the need to fill the car with chatter, regardless of how badly my skin prickles. Indie’s forehead is resting against the window, but outside of being less combative with me, she really seems mostly fine. There are no tears, no angry ranting, just acceptance of the situation. I heard enough of the conversation to know that she and Brianna mutually called it off.

Not that my feelings on the situation matter, but I’m not sure what to think.

On one hand, I’m not mad about her newly single status. Maybe I was jealous, especially of how she had her hands all over Indie the way I wish she’d let me touch her. But after getting to know Brianna, it was obvious she was a good person. Kind enough to take care of Indie the way she deserves, and strong enough to challenge her so she doesn’t get bored. If she’s not going to give me a shot, at least she was with someone that seemed decent. Still, you can’t convince me that anyone is better for her than I am.

Now, if only I could make her see that.

Tonight’s a start.

She’s coming home with me, and I can give her a place to figure things out before she has to face whatever went down tonight. Like a wounded animal, Indie needs to be coaxed into trusting people and I plan on being on my best behavior; which is a side of me she hasn’t seen yet.

Silence fills the car as we wait on the opening garage door.

Beside me, my passenger is slouched against the seat, squeezing her eyes shut. I can’t help but hope she’s remembering the first time she was here. The way she softened for me. Or the hours we spent talking between the sheets. How much more we shared that night than just our bodies.

Just like that night, I hold the door for her as she slips inside. Except tonight we are going our separate ways. There’s no heated kiss against the wall, there’s no tearing at each other’s clothes in a rush of passion; but she’s here, nonetheless.

“What’s it going to be? Do you trust me enough to take the guest bedroom down here, or do you want to be downstairs?”

“Do I have to worry about you sneaking in during the night?”

“No. I wouldn’t join you in bed even if you begged tonight. You might not think much of me, but I’m not a homewrecker, and until you know for sure that things are over with Brianna, you’re off-limits.”

“I’m off-limits anyway,” she says, her voice lacking the normal venom as she rounds the corner, then turns her head the other way before finally tilting her chin up and looking beyond where I’m standing and into the open concept living room.

“Something I can help you find?” I ask, sucking on my cheek. Because despite looking worn out, there’s a glimmer of trouble behind the sadness in her eyes that tells me she’s up to no good .

“Your live, love, laugh sign . . . where’s it hiding, Martha?” She sucks on her cheek, hiding the twitch of her mouth behind the move.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t have a sign.” I lean in close, lowering my voice. “It’s tattooed on my ass.”

Her composure falters, and I can practically see the wheels turning.

“Now you’re picturing me naked, aren’t you?” She gives me an eyeroll and I know she’s going to be okay. “This room has an attached bathroom with a tub.” I tip my head toward the guest room my parents typically stay in. “A nice, deep, soaking tub with lavender salts and everything.” In a small way, this is me taking care of her, but it’s innocuous enough that she might let me get away with it.

“In your dreams.” She scoffs, her soft footsteps moving towards the door.

“Every. Damn. Night.” Looking over my shoulder, I watch as her steps halt for a second before she shakes her head and seals herself behind the door.

Between the adrenaline from the game, having Indie in the stands, and now knowing she’s right downstairs, I’m too amped up to sleep. Nothing has helped. Not the push-ups I did on my bedroom floor to wear myself out. Not the hot shower afterwards to calm me down. Not even counting Sheriff Sluggers, the Bandits mascot, leaping over my bed for the last twenty minutes, has helped to dull the spike of energy thrumming through me from having her here.

If I stare at the ceiling fan any longer, I might lose my mind. Resigned to a long night I slip out of bed and head to the kitchen for a drink of water. The whirling sound of the jets coming from her bathroom reaches me as soon as my feet touch the cool wood floor at the bottom of the stairs.

Fuck. She’s in the tub. My tub. In my house. Wet, naked, and probably relaxed.

At least that means she wouldn’t find me creeping around in nothing more than my briefs sporting a now fully hard erection, because I don’t need to imagine what Indie looks like without clothes. That picture is etched in my memory, and it’s currently starring in the reel of dirty thoughts running through my brain .

Backing away from temptation, I finish the task that brought me down here and grab a cup from the kitchen. Normally I use the fancy dispenser to get crushed ice for my water, but I need the blast of freezing air to cool me off more than I need those perfect tiny pieces of ice.

Not to mention, I can’t bear the thought of her hearing the mechanical grinding from the ice machine and getting out of the tub to cover her flawless body with a towel. It might make me a masochist, but the idea of her bare and dripping under my roof is the most divine form of torture. Filling my glass, I bring it upstairs with me knowing I’m about to do something I shouldn’t.

I drain the cup in one long drink, a last ditch effort to cool the inferno bubbling under my skin. It does nothing to take the edge off. Glass forgotten on my nightstand, the hard surface of the headboard bites into my bare back, and I palm myself through the black cotton of my briefs. Even if I wanted to think of someone else, it wouldn’t work.

Trust me, I’ve tried, but she’s the only one I want. It took fighting it exactly once before I realized it was going to be a thing. Since then, I’ve only spent time with girls that are the polar opposite of Indie. A fact that absolutely makes me a jackass.

Now she’s here in my house, and I don’t even have to close my eyes to conjure what she would look like. Fucking perfection.

Beads of moisture hanging from the dark curls sticking to her tipped back face. Her pouty, cupid’s bow lips slightly parted as the hot water laps at the peaks of her dark nipples, the swells of her breasts floating near the top of the water and dotted with goosebumps.

I can picture it all, down to the sound of her breath hitching when I take her heavy breasts in my hand. Playing with them the way she loves—biting, sucking, pinching. It’s almost enough to have me coming all over my stomach in record time.

My hand disappears under my waistband and my cock jumps at the contact. Being around her again and not being able to have her is like walking a fucking tight rope—each step is more precarious than the last. It’s not until I smooth my palm down my shaft that I find my balance .

There’s no substitute for her soft hands, but I wrap my fist around the base anyway, giving it a squeeze. My own touch is nothing compared to her—how she used both hands; her thumb smearing the bead of precum over the head every so often, the tip of her tongue darting out like she needed a taste.

My muscles tense and my strokes slow, drawing each memory out until the pressure turns to blistering heat at the base of my spine.

Her mocha eyes looking up at me when she fell to her knees and took me into her mouth for the first time. The disappointment on her face when I pulled her off, and how it morphed into a grin when I hauled her up off the floor and told her to crawl across the bed. How that smile stretched when I told Indie I had big plans for her and they didn’t involve me coming down her throat—at least not right then.

My fist works faster, matching the need I feel for the woman in my mind.

Each memory is better than the last, but nothing sends me over the edge as fast as the memory of the way she melted underneath me, pliant and soft the first time I sank into her. I can still taste how salty her skin was when I kissed her shoulder as she cried out for me.

My thighs shake and my groan echoes through the empty room. Like always, it’s mixed with her name as hot spurts of cum land on my stomach.

And just like every time it feels empty when I open my eyes and she’s not there; coming to a memory of her is a shadow of the moments we shared in between the sex. Her sharp tongue, whispered stories about our childhoods, her dreams, the unhinged laughter she treated me to when we were watching videos of people getting hurt.

“Holy shit. I know I told you this was one and done, but what I really meant was one night. Or was that all you got?” Pushing her hair off her face, she rolls off me.

And then, like the devil she is, she chooses the exact moment I’m taking care of the condom to slip out of bed. Tying it off, I quickly reach out trying to snag her, but the only thing there is air. All I’m left with is her fading chuckles and the smell of her still floating in the room as she disappears into the bathroom .

“You weren’t so snarky when you were coming all over my cock just a minute ago!” I shout towards the cracked bathroom door. Then, because I can’t help myself, I pant, slapping my hand against the wall and chanting my own name, mimicking her smoky voice the best I can. Which, admittedly, is not well, because her little moans and grunts of ecstasy matched the poetic melody of the world’s sexiest symphony, and I just sound like a terrible porn soundtrack.

Laughter bounces off the bathroom walls, letting me know I sound just as ridiculous to her ears.

“Just for the snark, you’re going to take my cock all night long. And I’m going to make sure every time is unforgettable.”

“Is that so?” The water running at the sink stops, and she steps back into the room, all my favorite parts of her right there, on display, in the moonlight.

“You’ll be doomed to a lifetime of remembering how good I felt deep inside you, knowing your stubborn ass can’t have it again because it was only one night. But first, I just need a few minutes to recover.”

“A few?” she squeaks, but it doesn’t stop me from lunging for her again. This time I’m faster and I catch her, pulling her back to me before she can run again.

“The MLPA requires I take a fifteen minute break between rounds, per our labor contract.” I haul her against me by the waist as she squirms. “So tell me something while we wait. What’s your guilty pleasure—other than my dick?”

“What do you mean?”

“When Indie Marie—”

“Not my middle name.” Warm laughter tumbles out of her freely. Each time she makes that sound, my chest puffs up a little more.

“As I was saying, when Indie Jones needs to turn off her brain and relax, what does she do?”

“Wrong again.” When she lifts her head from my chest, there’s a gleam in her eye. “Don’t judge me. It’s kind of evil.”

“I would expect nothing less.” My teeth nip at her earlobe, making her squirm against me. “Tell me. ”

“Videos of people falling, tripping, colliding with things. If I’m feeling extra spicy, the ones with ball shots really brighten up my day.” She reaches for my phone on the nightstand and hands it to me to unlock.

I pull up YouTube and she vibrates against my chest laughing at the home page which is filled with funny pet videos.

“Talk about predictable.” The backs of her fingers run up my jawline before she pats my cheek.

Plucking the phone from my fingers, she taps at the screen. When she turns it back to me, I shake my head as the catcher on the screen takes a foul ball right to his crotch. “That’s not going to shorten my refractory period.”

Her unhinged laughter at the player’s misfortune turns raspy when she runs her hand down my stomach. “Hmm. What about this?”

“Yeah, that’ll do it. But you only get him if you can watch a video of a dog eating watermelon without laughing.”

She cups me, a shit-eating grin on her face. “So you’re telling me that if I laugh, you won’t let me wrap my lips around you and taste you? I’ve been dying to get my mouth on you all night.”

“You drive a hard bargain, but fine, my body is yours to use as you please. We don’t even have to watch this.” I drop the phone to the bed and roll her onto her back. “That was close enough to fifteen minutes.”

Like I said, empty.

Physically, Indie and I are compatible as hell. Hands down the best sex of my life. But sex alone has never kept my attention, which is why I’ve been mostly single since college. Only having a few brief relationships as an adult, I’ve been biding my time for the person who would come along and make me want to chase the kind of devotion my parents have. Someone I could see being my best friend and challenging me every single day—not letting me get bored or complacent.

You’d have to be dead to be bored with Indie around. Even now, my cheeks ache from just reflecting on that night .

Finally, my eyelids are heavy as I pad to the bathroom and give myself a full service wipe down. This time, sleep comes easier when I fall back into bed moments later.