Chapter 13

One Year Later

Life went on.For a few months, I didn’t think it would. I finished the semester in a daze, somehow managing to pull off B’s in most of my classes. God only knows how.

Then, not able to stand even being in the same city as Paul and Dominick, I transferred to Loyola University in Chicago so I’d never have occasion to even accidentally run into them. I also changed my major to women’s studies.

After feeling numb for a few months, I got angry. I cut my long hair short, declared I was a feminist on my Facebook page, and read a lot of Gloria Steinem.

But I could only sustain the anger for so long and what was left after that was depression and confusion. And just an intense need to understand.

How did I let it all happen and not stop earlier to question what was going on? Was I so hungry for family and the need for people to want me that I just so blindly ignored all the red flags? And why did Paul pick me out of all the women in Boston? Well obviously I was young and na?ve and Paul saw a good target, but God. Was I that pathetic, like I had a giant sign on my forehead—I’m stupid and easy to manipulate?

And what about Dominick? Was he lying to me the whole time too?

I love you. I love you, Sarah. Christ, I love you so much. You’re my first and my last.

If only I could get his voice out of my head. And the memory of how his hands felt when he caressed me. When he cupped my face and curled his warm body behind me in bed, holding me so close to him like I was his lifeline.

God, was any of it real?

After everything, the months and months, the complete decimation of my heart and the explosion of my whole life, that’s the question that tortures me.

Which is completely fucking pathetic! shouts my new internal feminist. They used and abused you! They had you begging for cock like a dog on your hands and knees!

But not Dominick, another voice argues back. Sometimes he wouldn’t even let me give him head, and the one time I did he wouldn’t let me swallow. And he did everything possible to make sex all about pleasure, not pain—

But he sat right there and did nothing while his father all but raped you when he took your virginity!shouts the new, angry voice.

Not that I realized it or even knew how to vocalize that it was what was going on at the time. I thought because I eventually felt pleasure, that meant I wanted it. And I did get off so much of the time. With Dominick, every single time, often more than once.

God, it’s still all such a confused mush in my head.

And now, here I am, back in the city where it all happened.

For Grandpa’s funeral.

I think it’s the only thing that could have brought me back here.

It’s raining as I step out of the cab and hurry into the church—the same church where Mom married Paul. Sweat breaks out on my forehead as I enter the foyer.

Memories flash thick and heavy, one on top of another. Dominick offering his arm to me before the ceremony, shooting me that gorgeous smile of his. The sunlight through the stained window highlighting his golden hair.

My throat gets thick with threatening tears as I wrap my arms across my chest and then step into the central chapel.

Where the aisle stares me down.

But no, God, I can’t, I just can’t walk down it again. Not remembering how Paul stood at the end last time and my stupid, na?ve fantasies of—

Instead, I stride down the back of the last pew and then hurry down the small walkway along the side wall. I think I would have turned and fled rather than walk that aisle again.

The church is packed, of course, and I have to dodge people, make my excuses, and arrange my face to one appropriate to that of a grieving granddaughter. All of it makes me want to scream.

God, why am I even here?

Because you’re the good girl, Sarah.

Daddy’s good little girl.

I squeeze my eyes shut against his voice that still intrudes in my head from time to time.

How long am I going to let him fuck up my life?

At least he won’t be here today. I made sure to inform the estate attorney that if Paul attended, he’d be in violation of the restraining order I have out on him. I have no qualm on calling the cops on him in the middle of my grandfather’s funeral service. Grandpa’s dead, so what do I care about sullying the family name now?

Some legacy we’ve managed to build for ourselves. I’d be happy letting all of Boston society know what a monster stepdaddy dearest is.

I finally get to the front of the church and take my place beside Mom. Well, sort of beside her. I leave enough space for two people between us. She barely looks my way. She’s dressed all in black, with a huge ostentatious hat and black veil covering her face. No doubt to cover the ravages of whatever binge she’s been on lately.

She and Paul are still married.

Doesn’t that just take the cake? But that’s fine. They deserve each other.

I haven’t spoken a word to her since that day.

It was the lawyer who called to tell me about Grandpa. And even then, the sadness I’ve felt has been more of a dull ache than what I imagine normal grief is like when losing a loved one. I always felt like just a business obligation to him. Maybe it would have been different if I was a boy, but as it was, I was just the offspring of his disgrace of a daughter and a lowlife. Tolerated, but never actively loved.

And that’s fine.

It’s all fine.

Being alone in the world isn’t so bad.

It’s better than being duped into living a lie.

* * *

After the funeral,the whole crowd travels to the cemetery where we all watch on, umbrellas raised against the rain, as the pastor says a few more words and then they take Grandpa away to be buried.

I do my duty. I stand by Mom in the receiving line and accept the wealthy and privileged as they come by and relay their consolations. I bite back my disgust as my mother fawns over each and every one. Well, at least until she’s asked for what seems to be the millionth time, “Where’s your handsome husband at?”

“Oh, Paul is at a conference he couldn’t get away from this weekend. He works so hard. Daddy was so proud of him.” Then she clutched a hand to her chest. “But Paul did so wish he could be here today. He and I just miss Daddy so much.” Cue the fake tears as she lifts a handkerchief underneath her veil.

That was my breaking point.

I pulled away from her and the woman taking her arm, pretending to comfort her with just as much of a bullshit, sugary tone as Mom.

The rain had stopped momentarily, but I pop my umbrella open as it starts again while I walk away from the group. My feet are sodden in the wet grass. I wore closed toe shoes, but they were still no match for the weather.

It’s the beginning of June, so it’s a warm rain. I kick off my shoes and step onto the wet grass, running my toes through the slick green blades. The further away from Grandpa’s gathering I go, the quieter it gets.

This is much nicer. Just the fresh smell of the rain and the feel of the grass underfoot. And the white noise of the water droplets as they land on the umbrella overhead.

I wander the gravestones, traveling deeper into the cemetery where the headstones get older and more ornate. Betsy and Norm Milner, 1879-1957 and 1872-1957. Besides her name, all her gravestone says is, Beloved Wife, and his, Beloved Husband. For being born in the 1800’s, they lived long lives. And then both died the same year. I wonder if it was like those couples you sometimes hear about, where they became so attuned to each other that they died within weeks of each other?

And it’s stupid, so stupid, but standing there staring at Betsy and Norm’s graves, I finally start to cry. I didn’t cry when the lawyer called to tell me Grandpa died or once during the funeral or burial services.

But now, looking at this loving couple, so long gone…

I hunch over as the tears pour out of me. So hard that I’m soon sobbing. Doubled over like I am, I’m barely able to keep the umbrella over my head.

I cry for Grandpa and for what my mother is and what she never was. I cry for the whole last year and I cry about what Paul did to me and I cry over Dominick.

I cry and cry and cry.

And then, when I’m all cried out, I take a huge gulp of breath and stand back up.

The rain is pouring harder than ever.

But I still see him.

I gasp, the hand not holding the umbrella flying to my chest.

Dominick.

Not twenty feet away, only semi-hidden behind one of the huge cemetery oaks, is Dominick. He’s staring straight at me and he takes a step when he sees me notice him. He doesn’t have an umbrella and he’s completely drenched.

I freeze and so does he.

Rain continues to fall, slicking his hair down against his forehead. It’s longer than when I last saw him, almost in his eyes. Even through the thick sheets of rain, I can still see that he looks as heart-stoppingly gorgeous as ever.

But that was never their problem, was it? They used their looks to lure me in.

Without really thinking about it, I retreat a step.

Even from so far away, I see Dominick’s shoulder’s droop at my reaction. He looks down, his rain-soaked hair falling even further in his face. And then he turns around and starts to walk swiftly away.

For a second I watch him go.

His broad back retreats into the rain.

Further away.

Now I can barely see him now through the rain.

And then panic sets me into action.

I start running after him. After a few steps, it’s clear my umbrella is too unwieldly, so I toss it aside. The heavy rain quickly soaks me, but I don’t care. The only thing running in a loop through my brain is: No. Don’t go. Stop him.

“Dominick!” I call out.

The rain is falling too hard for him to hear me, though, because he doesn’t stop. His broad back stays slumped as he steps onto one of the paths that leads out of the cemetery. He’s just walking, though, and I’m running.

I have such momentum built that when I finally catch up to him, I almost knock him over when I throw my arms around him from behind.

He stumbles forward and then swings around. His mouth drops open in shock and then he grabs me up into his arms, squeezing me so tight I can barely breathe for a moment.

I close my eyes and sink against him. I ignore the rain and I ignore all the realities that stand between us.

It’s just Dominick.

Holding me.

Clutching my head to his chest and kissing my forehead, my hair, my face.

It’s when he tries to go for my lips that I yank away, the old pain rearing up.

Because in spite of the spontaneous joy racing through my body at seeing him and feeling his touch, oh God, his touch—

But no, this is still the man that lied to me. Tricked me. Seduced me when I was just an innocent, na?ve—

I rear back from him and then swing my palm at his face. It lands with a satisfying smack. And then again, with my other hand, I slap him. I raise my hand a third time and Dominick stands steadfast, like he’s prepared to take it and anything else I might dish out.

It’s too similar to the way he looked when his father took off his belt that time to beat his backside. Like he would just bear it because he felt he deserved it.

I drop my arm and just stare at him. I don’t even know what to do now. I don’t want to be someone who hurts the people I care about. And damn it. Dominick’s not his father. And I do still have feelings for him, even after a year.

Dominick’s eyebrows fall, looking as miserable as I feel.

“Please.” Then he drops to his knees and bows, pressing his forehead to my stomach with his hands on the back of my thighs. “Please,” he begs, sounding like I’m ripping his heart out.

The rain is finally slowing again and when Dominick’s back starts to shake, I can’t tell if he’s crying or if all the emotions he’s feeling are so intense, it’s the only way his body is able to let them out. But it’s obvious he’s a man broken.

I’ve just been so hurt this past year and sure they were both playing me, I never stopped to think—

“Dom,” I call out in an anguished cry, falling to my knees and grabbing him by his shoulders. His eyes are red and he’s still shaking so hard he can barely speak. “Couldn’t stand— You thinking that I was like him. And what he did— That last night with your mom and the other times he hurt you and I didn’t stop it—” He breaks off, his eyes squeezing shut as he turns away from me. He stumbles to his feet, away from me. “I shouldn’t have come. I’m sorry.”

“Dominick.” I go to him and grab his cheeks, forcing him to look at me. “Stop it.”

He keeps his eyes stubbornly shut but I give him a little shake and he finally meets my gaze.

And oh God, there’s my Dominick. His hazel eyes, stormy and tortured, but so familiar. “Where’s your car?” I ask him.

Still shaking, he swallows and nods his head behind him. I drop my hands from his face, but only so I can take his hand. As soon as I do, his fingers interlock with mine and some of his quaking calms.

After we walk down the path a bit in silence, I see his black BMW parked at the curb. When we get there, I walk to the passenger side and wait. Dominick looks down at me, seeming a little dazed, like he can’t believe I’m really here with him. He pulls his keys out of his pocket and unlocks the door, then opens it for me.

Still without a word, I slip inside, grimacing a little as my sodden dress makes a wet squelching noise against his leather interior. Dominick just stands there for a moment, staring down at me. “Get in,” I say, then pull my door shut.

My words seem to galvanize him into action because he runs around the front of the car and jerks open the driver’s side. I look straight ahead as he settles himself in his seat, but I can feel his heavy stare.

“Well don’t just sit there,” I say, trying to fight off my own nerves as I put my seatbelt on. I’m making this up as I go. “Take me to your apartment.” But then my whole body freezes and I jerk my head towards him. “Unless you still live with him.”

“No.” He shakes his head vehemently back and forth. “I cut off all contact with the bastard.”

I breathe out and look back out the front windshield, my heart calming back down again. “Good. Then take me to your house.”

I can see him nodding out of my peripheral vision. Then he’s got the key in the ignition and soon we’re headed down the familiar streets where I grew up. I turn on the radio and smile when I find that he has it tuned to a local pop station. I got him listening to this top forty stuff. He always had classical music on before he met me. Boring, I used to tease him.

I lean back in the comfortable seat—well, as comfortable as I can be in a wet dress and the gillion unanswered questions running through my head—and close my eyes. I don’t want to have it out while he’s driving, though, and I am curious to see where he lives.

Turns out I don’t have to wait long. The drive is short.

“I’m just five minutes from Boston General,” he says, breaking the silence as we pull into a parking garage. “Thirty minutes if I walk.”

I smile, looking over at him. He looks tense again and for the first time, maybe since there’s not rain pelting us now, I see just how dark the circles under his eyes are. “You got one of the spots in the advanced residency program.”

I reach out and put a hand on his forearm as he pulls into a spot and parks. He expels a long breath and looks down at his lap, closing his eyes at my touch. I feel his muscles flex and tighten underneath my fingers. His left hand reaches over and he hesitates, but then lays his hand on mine before looking back up at me. “I thought throwing myself into my work might help distract me from life without you.”

I swallow, lost in the intensity of his hazel eyes. “Did it?”

He shakes his head. “Not for a single goddamned second.”

My throat feels thick and I swallow again. I see goosebumps rise on his arm where his suitcoat has ridden up. He’s got to be freezing. God knows how long he was standing in that rain with no umbrella.

“Come on.” I undo my seatbelt. “Let’s get you upstairs and into something dry.”

I get out of the car and he joins me. I follow beside him as he walks toward the elevator. He grabs my hand this time. In spite of how chilled he must be, his hand is warm. I’m cold too and like always, he’s the one warming me up.

“Your shoes.” He looks down in dismay at my bare feet when he pushes the button for the elevator.

“Oh right. I kind of forgot them.”

“Christ, you must be freezing.” He drops my hand in favor of rubbing my arms up and down for friction. It feels so familiar, him wanting to take care of me. It hurts too though, because all those memories are so wrapped up with the lies he told.

“Dominick,” I bat his hands away, “I’m fine. You don’t have to take care of me.”

“Oh.” He pulls back, eyes cast down, like he thinks maybe I pushed him away because I didn’t want his hands on me.

The elevator pings and I step on. “Which floor?”

He follows me on, running a hand through his hair that has just started to dry. “Tenth.”

We’re silent again during the elevator ride. I don’t know about him, but I’m furiously trying not to think about another certain elevator trip—and then, thank God, we’re at his floor. His apartment is just a few doors down. He unlocks it and leads the way inside.

I’m not sure what I was expecting. Something like the furniture he had when we all lived together? Instead, the apartment is an odd mishmash of styles. A bright Jackson Pollock-like painting full of all kinds of mad color splashes takes up almost one entire wall. On another wall is a framed Rosie the Riveter print. The furniture runs the gamut from a comfortable-looking overstuffed espresso colored couch with electric blue throw pillows to a black cubist loveseat to a beanbag in the corner.

I look over to Dominick, one eyebrow raised.

He shrugs, looking a little embarrassed. “I’m trying to figure out my own style. It’s the first time I’ve ever lived on my own before.” Then he hurries into the living room and starts straightening some magazines on the coffee table, piling up dirty plates, and grabbing up some discarded clothing and socks that are strewn around the room. “Sorry,” he mutters. “Wasn’t expecting company.”

“It’s fine.” I put out a hand to stop him, but he just continues rushing around.

“One second,” he says, dropping all the dirty dishes into the sink and disappearing into a back room with the laundry.

I bounce up and down on my toes, then rub at my elbow, feeling awkward now that I’m actually here.

God, what did I think we could actually accomplish by this? Yes, I still have feelings for him, but it doesn’t change the past. With how badly I was hurt. The scars he and his father inflicted… I mean, he’s the spitting image of Paul. Even if Dominick didn’t— I mean there’s just no way…is there? Every time I look at him, I’d be reminded of all that happened and—

“Here,” Dominick comes back into the room, his soaked suit exchanged for soft sleep pants and one of his characteristic dark blue Henleys. “I thought you could get dry and change into this.” He holds out a terrycloth robe and a towel for me.

I’m too busy staring at how the fabric of his shirt clings to his chest, outlining every one of his defined muscles. Well, now at least I know he wasn’t so grief-stricken by my absence that he let himself go.

And just who else has been enjoying those muscles while I’ve been gone? It’s a nasty thought and one that knifes me far deeper than I would like.

It’s not like I haven’t tried to move on from him. For a while I tried dating any guy who was game.

And failing miserably each time. I slept with three other men in the year since I last saw Dominick and they were all terrible.

I mean, they were perfectly nice lovers. They’d all been picked out by my new flock of feminist friends and were kind, respectful guys. They were all the same way in bed. So gentle and respectful that I wanted to scream at them to just grow some balls and fuck me already.

“How many women have you slept with since me?” I ask Dominick. Suddenly I have to know. Screw the rest of it. This is all that matters.

His mouth drops open and he just stares at me.

The fucking bastard. I advance on him, yank the stupid robe and towel out of his hand, and throw them on the floor. “How many?!”

“None!” he says, the line appearing between his eyebrows. “Christ, Sarah, I couldn’t touch another woman. I’m in love with you.”

For a second there’s complete silence.

And then I jump him.

There’s no other way to put it. I climb up his body, wrap my arms and legs around him, and devour his mouth with mine. There’s just a millisecond of shocked hesitation before he wraps his hands underneath my ass.

Then he’s got me shoved up against the wall. “Sarah,” he breathes out, sounding like a parched man being given a drink for the first time in days. “Oh Christ, Sarah.” And then he kisses me so deep, so hard, I forget everything except the touch and taste of him.

One hand caresses from my ass up the bottom of my thigh, then to my waist. He continues up to my breast which he palms and then squeezes. He lets out a low growl when he feels my nipple harden to a hard peak under his talented fingers.

I grab his hair roughly and jerk him away from my lips. “I need you inside me. My mouth, my cunt, my ass. I need you fucking everywhere.” I see his eyes darken right before he smashes his lips back on mine.

And then we’re moving as he carries me down the short hallway to where I assume is his bedroom. God, feeling the flex of his muscles as he lifts me so effortlessly is such a fucking turn on. My sex is engorged and soaked already.

I barely got wet with the other guys. They all had to use lube and I never even got close to orgasming with any of them.

And then, even as Dominick flips on a side lamp in his room to illuminate his huge king sized bed with a stately wooden headboard, I feel a rush of such shame I feel choked with it. He didn’t sleep with any other women because he loves me. Obviously I can’t say the same. What does that mean, now that I’m here, back with him?

AmI back with him? Is that what this is?

He kisses me deep as he dips down and deposits me on the bed, his body smoothly sliding on top of me.

And God, I don’t want to think about what any of it means. I just want more of this. More of him. All of him.

Still, the sense of guilt is there shouting in the back of my head. All the while his beautiful hands are on me, making me feel so good. Just like they always did. It’s like no time at all has passed. Dominick casts the same spell over me he always did.

But I was a slut.

I went out and seduced other boys just like he said I would.

Have you been flaunting that tight little ass and making the schoolboys’ cocks hard now that you know how good dicks feel shoved up your nasty cunt?

I pull my dress off over my head and then undo my bra. Next off come my panties. Red ones. I cringe even while I know, somewhere in my head, that I bought the color defiantly. That the voice in my head is wrong and it’s not a whore’s color.

But all I feel right now is wrong and bad and slut.

I get on my hands and knees on the bed and stick my ass out, squeezing my eyes shut. “I need to be punished. I was a bad girl. I seduced other boys. Three of them. They had their cocks in my nasty cunt. Punish me.”

I brace for the blows.

None come.

I look over my shoulder. Dominick’s there, crouched on the bed beside me, looking down at me with wide eyes.

Oh God, is he disgusted by me? Does he not want me now? I fight the tears biting at my eyes. “Punish me,” I beg. “I’ll cry for you. Take my ass. You can have my ass.” I scoot so that I’m nearer to him.

He looks down at what I’m offering and then back to my face. And damn them, the tears begin to leak out. No, they’re not supposed to come until he starts punishing me. That way they’ll be earned and he’ll know he—

Dominick looks down at me and I see a look come over his face that he gets when he used to talk about his terminal patients—such utter compassion mixed with desolation. “What did we do to you, beautiful?”

Oh God, he’s rejecting me. I’m offering up everything and it’s still not good enough. I’m disgusting and he—

“Shhh,” he pulls off his shirt and then lays down on the bed, immediately pulling me to him, skin to skin.

“Shhh,” he whispers again. He settles me against him, my back to his chest, spooning me just like we used to. “You’re beautiful and perfect just as you are. You don’t need to be punished for anything.”

I blink, glad I’m faced away from him. I feel like I’m coming out of a fog, steadied again now that he’s holding me like this. And oh my God, I’m horrified at myself. Why did I just— How could I act like that again?

“Can I tell you a story?” Dominick continues before I can respond one way or another. “Once there was a boy who grew up with a really fucked-up Dad. This boy’s father was very verbally abusive and would hit him occasionally too. The father was strict and happy to punish the son whenever he wasn’t living up to the father’s exacting standards. The father loved to manipulate people and he was very good at it. So the boy grew up with a very skewed perception of how the world worked.”

I swallow hard even as his arms tighten around my middle. “And sex. The boy got a very warped perception of that too. After being introduced to it by an adult who should have known better, the father decided it could be just one more tool to control the son.”

Oh, Dominick. All this time, I thought I was the only na?ve one. But I wasn’t. In some ways, Dominick was almost as inexperienced as me.

“So the son never got to have sex without the father being there,” he continues, “in control and directing every session. Doling out punishment when he saw fit. It was all the son had ever known, even though he’d grown to be a man at this point, and should have long ago stood up to his father.”

I tuck my arm around Dominick’s where it lays over my waist. So much is becoming clear now.

“And then the boy met a girl. The most beautiful girl he’d ever seen, different from anyone he’d known before. But the father had already set a trap for her, determined to pull her into his manipulative, fucked-up games.” Dominick’s forehead presses against the back of my neck. “At the wedding all he said to me was, she’s beautiful and sweet, let’s share. Those were his exact words.”

I shudder at them talking about me in such crass terms.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” He presses kisses to the back of my neck, then holds me even closer. “I didn’t realize then that I would be helping him do to you what he’d done to me—completely screw up your perception of what sex should be. Christ, you never even had a chance. We were fucking predators from the beginning. I didn’t know you were a virgin. That you’d never— But Christ, it doesn’t matter. I’m so sorry. It’ll never make up for— I don’t expect you to ever forgive me—”

“Stop.” I twist around in his arms and kiss him to stop his self-recriminations. “Stop,” I whisper again, pulling back. I breathe out, pressing my forehead to his. Finally, I feel like I know the truth. I think about every moment Dominick and I spent together. Getting to know him. Us learning each other’s bodies. And how I saw him grow and even start standing up to his father by the end.

“I believe you.” I lean my head back and laugh. “Oh God, I believe you.” The weight that’s been cinching my lungs all year long finally lifts and I take what feels like the first full breath in twelve months.

When I look back down at Dominick, he’s staring at me like I’m nuts. I laugh a little more before kissing his nose, then his cheeks and finally his lips again.

He’s still looking at me like I might be a crazy person, but I finally let him in on why I feel like I’m suddenly walking on air.

“It was real,” I whisper, tearing up again. But this time with happy tears. Such fucking happy tears. “And that means… you…”

“Love you,” he finishes for me, eyes fervent. “I love you. Forever. Always. Until you’re a wrinkled old woman and I’m a little old man. No,” he shakes his head. “Way beyond that. For eternity. Infinity.”

I laugh and pull his face to mine. “I love you too.” We kiss and we kiss and we kiss and we kiss.

But it’s quickly not enough for me. My breast are crushed against his huge, muscled chest and I can feel his cock, hard and long in his soft cotton sleep pants. My legs slide open and I press against him.

He hisses out my name as I dry hump him. God, it drives me crazy being this close. I’d forgotten this feeling—how my stomach absolutely goes liquid with desire when I’m in his arms. This pulsating need to get closer, always closer.

“Get your goddamned pants off,” I groan, shoving myself against him several more times. He laughs, since obviously he can’t drop his drawers with me wrapped around him like this. Finally, I compromise, reaching to shove the elastic waistband of his pants down just enough to free that beautiful cock I’ve missed so much. I grab it confidently and give him a firm jerk up and down, which has him hissing through his teeth again.

I grin and look him in the eye while I continue stroking him. I’m definitely not the shy, na?ve girl he first met. But from the way he’s grinning at me, he’s loving every bit of the new me. His cock flexes in my hand, sending my own sex spasming.

“Found a new toy you like?” he asks, his devilish grin still in place.

“You have no idea.” I lick my lips. Then I drop down and lick just the crown of his cock, keeping eye contact the whole time.

He looks like he might swallow his tongue, his face gets so blissed out. “Fuck, Sarah.” He collapses back onto his elbows.

I keep a firm hold on his giant cock so I can pump him up and down with my hand while licking all around the bulging head. When I finally give in and suction my mouth around him, he swears and collapses back onto the bed, but only for a second before he’s propping himself up to watch me again.

I suck him in as far as I can take him and then I relax my throat muscles to swallow him further still. When it’s not being forced on me, I find that I love the power of this position. I hum around him and his hands shoot to my hair. He doesn’t hold me down, though, he just starts to caress me.

“So fucking beautiful. Christ, Sarah. I love you. I fucking love you.”

And then he does apply pressure, but only because he’s pulling me off of him. I lick his cock the whole way off and let go of him with a loud pop. And then he’s lifting my body up the bed so that we’re face to face. His lips devour mine as he rolls us over and pins me beneath him.

“I need inside you.” His voice is a low, hungry growl, and the huge cock that was just down my throat bobs at my wet netherlips. “Can I?”

Always waiting for permission. Never taking without asking. This is the man I love. Our eyes lock again as I reach down and guide him inside. We both breathe out in pleasure when he enters me.

As turned on as I am, I’m tight and he feels it. I simply haven’t had sex very often—three times in twelve months doesn’t exactly make me well traveled down there.

He’s slow in his rediscovery of me, and his face reflects his wonder at every moment. “Sarah.” Even my name sounds like a song on his lips as he pushes in so slowly, so achingly slowly, filling me up bit by bit. I relax and let him in. I want to receive him greedily even though I know my body needs a moment to adjust. He’s so large and I know it would kill him if he hurt me even a little bit.

Finally, finally, he’s fully seated inside me. We rest there a second, me full of him, pelvises touching, his hazel eyes searching mine. With as turned on as I know he is, it’s got to be killing him not to be pumping for friction now. But he stays still, concerned eyes watching me like he’s trying to see if I’m feeling any discomfort at all.

“I love you so much, Dominick.” I lean up and kiss him, which causes him to shift slightly inside me. It only feels good and makes my sex start to thrum with need. I pull back and hold his face. “Make love to me.”

And he does. With an achingly slow glide out and then another gentle push in, he starts making love to me. The warm glow begins to build inside. Desperately, I wrap my legs around his waist and clutch him to me.

“Dominick,” I cry out, feeling so vulnerable in this moment. But not afraid. Never afraid with him so close.

I think he feels it too because he starts shaking again like he was back at the cemetery. He kisses my lips, down my neck, to my breasts, then back up to my mouth. Until finally, he just holds me to him, thrusting in and out, faster now as we both seek release. I meet him with each plunge, clutching him by the back of his neck, feeling his corded muscles flex and seeing beads of sweat break out on his forehead.

His features knot into an expression that looks like a mixture of pleasure and pain and I imagine I look the same.

And oh God— It’s rising higher, but harder too. Not just a mere wave this time. It’s building like a tsunami. What is he doing to me? I didn’t know it could even—

We lock eyes and clutch at each other for dear life.

And then SLAM—the blast of pleasure bowls me over. I scream and scrabble for a grip on his skin. He continues pumping into me, harder and rougher than before until he finally stills and pulses so hard, so full—

Everything is a blinding yellow-white light for one heartbeat. Two. Three.

A glimpse of heaven.

Dominick is with me there every second of the way.

And then I drop back down to earth.

Dominick’s still here. Sweating and his chest pumping like a bellows as he gasps for breath. Then he’s kissing me all over again and moving his cock in and out several more times as he groans my name. “Christ, Sarah, I love you so much. You’re so beautiful. So perfect. I love you. Love you. Love you.” Until his mutters are broken off by more kissing.

I laugh and wrap my arms around his waist. I hold him as tight as humanly possible. I’m never letting go.

All throughout that night we make love. Sometimes gentle, sometimes hard and rough, and then gentle again. I touch heaven more than once, and each time, Dominick’s there with me.

And finally, I know for once and for all, I’ll never be alone again.

* * *