“I don’t want to go home,” I tell him.
“We don’t have—”
“Dom?”
“Yeah?”
“This is real? You want me?”
His pupils dilate. “Always,” he says hoarsely.
I’m in his lap then, launching myself over the console before I even know I’m moving. My mouth is on his, and it’s wet and warm. He puts his arms around me, his hands on either side of my head, and pulls me closer. There are tongues and teeth and our noses bump awkwardly, and I think of all the time lost, of the past four years, but then he grinds up against me the moment I press down and all rational thought is gone. This isn’t about the past. It’s not even about the future. It’s about the now.
“Ty,” he gasps.
“I need—”
“I know—”
“Please,” I beg and he groans.
“Not here,” he says. “Not here.”
Here is just fine with me. I lean forward again until our lips meet and I push down as hard as I can, but it’s not enough. I reach between us and fumble with the buttons to his jeans and my fingers hit the skin of his stomach and he grabs both my hands in with one of his, grips them tightly, and brings my arms up and over my head. My fingers scrape the roof of the car. I can’t move as he breathes heavily in my face.
“Inside,” he says, his voice a growl. “Not here.”
I nod. It’s the only thing I can do.
He opens the door and I move to slide off his lap (and run toward the house), but he only lets go of my hands, the rest of me still plastered to him. He moves one hand to my ass as he stands, lifting me up with him. I wrap my legs around his waist. There’s pressure building between us, and it hurts so wonderfully. He kicks the car door shut as he kisses me, and I tangle my hands in his hair. This is Dom. This is me and Dom.
I don’t know how he manages to open the door to the house with my tongue in his ear. I don’t know how we get inside with my dick pressing against his stomach. I don’t know how he navigates down the hall with his mouth on my neck, trailing his tongue down to the hollow of my throat. I don’t know how he does any of it. It doesn’t matter. I almost want to ask him
if he sees the stars like I do, if they’re exploding for him like they are for me, but I can’t seem to find the words.
He lays me down onto his bed gently. He fills my world and he’s all I see. His eyes are so wide. His lips are wet and swollen. I still feel the burn of his stubble across my mouth. I’m shaking so hard I’m afraid I’ll break.
He places a lingering kiss on my forehead as he hovers above me. A kiss between my eyes. The tip of my nose. A brush against my lips. Our foreheads touch. “You’re shaking,” he says.
“Scared,” I admit.
“Of me?”
“Never of you.”
“Then?”
“What if I’m not good?”
“You’ve… never…?”
I’m embarrassed and try to look away, but he doesn’t let me. I close my eyes instead.
“Ty,” he says.
“Kill me now,” I mumble.
“Tyson.”