Page 100 of Flock
Dominic flips another page as I run my finger along his happy trail and over his toned stomach. I note the title, 1984 by George Orwell, as I lay sprawled diagonally on the bed, facing him where he sits propped against his headboard. The same position I’ve been in for the last ten or so minutes as he’s shamelessly ignored me since I got out of the shower. It’s storming heavily outside, the day seeming like night in his bedroom. The rain beats on the roof as he flips another page, the only light in the room coming from the screensaver on his computer and a small bedside lamp.
“You just going to ignore me while you read all day?”
“Yep,” he says, a hint of a smile on his lips.
“Well then, I have better things to do.”
I move to get up and he slides his hand down my back before molding it over the curve of my ass. My eyes close in remembrance of the past few hours of being at his mercy. I’m sore, more than sore; I’ve been fucked to within an inch of living. My afterglow dims considerably when Sean crosses my mind, and in those seconds, I become paralyzed by guilt. I can’t for the life of me figure out how this is going to be okay for him, for either of them, when I could never handle being in their shoes while they shared their body with someone else. But Sean’s not here, and I don’t know if that’s why I’m taking such liberties with Dominic. I try and remember the words he said to me that day after our tryst on the float, but they bring me no relief. Dominic speaks up behind his book.
“He’s not mad at you. And he won’t be. And you have nothing better to do.”
The wind whips around the house. “He’s not back from his hike. It’s been hours and it’s storming. You think he’s okay?”
Dominic flips another page, reading at lightning speed.
“It’s rude, you know, to ignore a direct question.”
“It’s a stupid question. I don’t answer stupid questions.”
“You are a rare bastard.”
A smirk. “A rare bastard you can’t seem to stop fucking.”
“It takes two,” I run my finger along the band of his pants. Apparently, he deems it inappropriate to read in the nude. “Why did you hate me?”
His gaze drifts from the page to me. “Who says I don’t hate you now?”
“I do,” I straddle him, snatch his book, and toss it behind me. His eyes flare in annoyance as I dip low and hover above him, putting my hands on his shoulders to pin him down. “And if this is the closest thing I’m going to get to a date, the least you could do is give me a little conversation.”
“A date,” he chuckles dryly, and it stings. “You’re barking up the wrong tree.”
“I know, I know—you’re not Sean.”
His eyes snap up to mine. “I’m not.”
“So, tell me who you are.”
“You know who I am.”
“A closet geek and introvert with horrible manners and excellent taste in music. It was you who played DJ at the party you kicked me out of, wasn’t it?”
He nods. “I was working.”
“Until you saw me?”
Another dip of his chin.
“Have you ever had a girlfriend?”
“When I was younger and thought getting my dick wet was the second coming of Christ.”
“Have you ever been in love?”
Silence.
“That’s not a stupid question.”
“It is if you find love irrelevant.”
