Right after he cornered me in a private alcove at the restaurant where we’d all congregated after the game. Backed me right into a corner near the coat check, put a forearm against the wall near my head, and then leaned in super close.
“Why are you avoiding me, Willow?” he murmurs, voice all deep and velvety.
I lick my lips. “Because I’m not interested. Can’t you take a hint?”
“Little liar,” he growls with a feral smile. “Right now, your eyes are dilated, your chest is heaving and I bet you’re wet just thinking about all the dirty things I could do to you right now.”
I try to swallow, but my throat is so dry.
Noise behind us causes Dominik to swivel slightly, and he makes a rumbling sound of frustration deep in his chest. Then my hand is in his, and he’s pulling me right out the emergency door exit into the back alley behind the restaurant. He turns right, walks half a block down, and pushes me against a wall.
His mouth is on me, his hands on my face so I can’t escape, and then he’s obliterating every bit of common sense I’ve tried to hold on to where this man is concerned simply with the magic of his tongue.
I moan, put my hands on his hips, and pull him in closer. The rigid length of him is hard against my belly, and there is no acceptable outcome other than him to fuck me right here against this wall. All my resolve to ignore him—to pretend he was nothing more than a great hookup—are out the window.
One hand drops from my face, moves to my thigh, and then starts inching up my skirt. My entire body becomes electrified. I lean into him, wanting more, yearning for every long, thick inch of him. A fingertip toys with the edge of my panties.
“I’m not going to fuck you, Willow,” he murmurs against my mouth.
I freeze, disappointment chilling my blood.
He can feel, vibrating straight from my body into his, how much I don’t like his words.
But then he gives me something, biting into my lower lip before he says, “I’m going to give you just enough so every time you feel a rush of blood through your body, you’ll remember my hand between your legs and my name on your lips.”
And then the things he did with just his fingers in that back alley—twice—left me a trembling mass of hormonal female nerves that didn’t know if I ever had a drop of power over him, to begin with.
He hadn’t needed to fuck me that night.
The fact he pulled me out of that restaurant with only a wall separating us from my family, then banged two orgasms out of me with nothing but his fingers, was more than enough to shake me up.
“Your face is red,” Regan idly says. “And you’re perspiring.”
“Am not,” I mutter, turning away from her so she can’t see the truth in my eyes.
Dominik Carlson controlled me without any effort at all, and fuck me to high heaven… I loved it.
Damn it.
Regan latches on to my arm. She pulls, forcing me to face her. There’s no teasing or whimsy in her expression.
She’s dead serious. “Seriously, Willow… why won’t you go out with him? By all accounts, he’s a great guy and he’s proven that time and again.”
It’s true. He’s repeatedly stepped in to help members of the team on a personal level. He’s more than proven he’s a genuine man.
“He’s a serial dater,” I say in exasperation, desperate to give her something so she’ll leave me alone. He may have been chasing after me for the last few months, but I’ve seen plenty of articles and photos of him at celebrity events with a different woman on his arm every time.
“So are you,” she points out.
That would be true, so I don’t really begrudge him that.
“I don’t want to be just another notch on his bedpost,” I reply smoothly, folding my arms over my chest.
Regan rolls her eyes. “Again… you have no qualms with racking up your own notches, so try again.”
Damn it. I knew we shouldn’t have had such open sex talks.
Finally, I admit it to her. “He’s dangerous, Regan. As in, someone I could fall for and I just don’t want that.”
“Why not?” she asks, head tilted to the side.
“You know why,” I say pointedly.
Regan studies me, giving a thoughtful nod. Just when I think she might try to dissect my disastrous past love life, she simply says, “Listen, Willow… you’re a smart woman. You know how to handle yourself. If you don’t want it to get serious, then set the boundaries up front so it doesn’t. If you don’t want penis participation, make it optional. Then go and enjoy yourself. Simple as that.”
Could it really be? There’s no stopping my eyebrows from rising incrementally as I consider this.