Page 30 of Mine
The urge to laugh presses against my sternum. I shouldn’t tease her, but it’s too tempting. ‘Are you okay, Aoife?’
‘Fine,’ she lies, keeping her eyes firmly trained on the window.
She doesn’t want to want me.
But she does.
I unbutton my suit pants, slide them off and grab the blanket from the back of the couch. I might have lost my bed, but she’s lost her life as she knew it. ‘Are you… happy here? Do you have everything you need?’
She pauses for a long beat before answering. ‘More than I expected to be,’ she finally admits. ‘Though I feel a bituseless. I’m not used to having people cook for me and clean up after me. I’ve always worked.’
‘Your work now is to convince the staff, my family, and the entire city that you’re mine.’
Slowly, cautiously, with her eyes half closed, she twists her head back to face me. Her hands fly to her eyes when she sees me standing in just a pair of black boxer briefs. ‘Dominic!’
‘What? It’s no different from if I were using the pool.’ I shrug.
I’m pushing her again. Teasing her. Testing her boundaries. I can’t help it. That’s just what I do.
That’s why I joined Reveal.
That’s why I’m a dom.
She gnaws on her lower lip, dragging her hand slowly over her face until our eyes lock again. ‘I told you, you’re going to have to get comfortable around me if we’re going to pull this off, sweetheart. Our lives depend on it.’
Her eyes dip to my torso. To my tattoo. She drinks it in slowly. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips, and blood rushes to my cock. I drop onto the couch before I terrify her with my raging boner, grab two cushions, and shove them behind my head. Italian leather or not, it’s fucking uncomfortable.
Silence descends.
I stare at the ceiling as the minutes morph into hours.
At one a.m., there’s still no sign of sleep coming. Aoife’s awake too. I can tell from her breathing. I turn onto my side. Then the other side. Then huff out a breath. ‘You know, that bed is big enough to fit four,’ I mutter. ‘Not that I’ve tested that theory.’
‘What exactly are you suggesting?’ she whispers through the darkness.
‘We could put some pillows between us.’ I drag myself to a sitting position, raking my hand through my hair.
She contemplates it quietly for a long beat. I hold my breath. ‘Fine.’ Her tone is resigned. ‘But no funny business.’
‘Thank fuck. It would be a long year sleeping on this couch.’ I readjust my dick in my boxers before standing and stalking towards her. She shuffles over to the side of the bed, eyeing me cautiously. I grab two pillows, place them in the middle of the mattress, and climb in.
‘Ahh.’ I can’t help the sigh that slips out. ‘That’s better than sex.’
‘Dominic,’ her tone is weighted with warning.
‘Relax. I’m just joking.’ I flash her a grin. ‘It doesn’t come close.’
She shakes her head, flops back on her pillows, and turns her back to me. We lie there in silence for several minutes before she speaks.
‘Are you sure about this?’
‘About what?’
‘Us getting married.’
‘I’ve never been more sure about anything. It’s the best way to solve both our problems.’ I answer truthfully. ‘Relax, sweetheart. Stop worrying. Trust me when I say I’ve got this. I’ve got you.’ I reach across the pillows to touch her arm. It’s not a sexual gesture. It’s intended to be soothing. She flinches, and I pull back.
But then she grabs my hand, places it back on her bicep and positions her own hand over the top of it. Within minutes, her breathing settles into a deep, even rhythm—a rhythm that stirs something deep in the soul that I assumed the devil stole a long time ago.
