Page 114 of Dial F for Finance

I swallow the heavy lump forming in my throat, letting her words wash over me. “And now?”

“Now I know I was completely wrong,” she says, her voice thick with an emotion that mirrors mine. “You have more depth than anyone I’ve ever known, Dominic. You care so much it’s terrifying, and you hide it behind a smirk so nobody can weaponize it against you.”

I can’t take it anymore. The exposure. The vulnerability. The raw, staggering reality that my wife actually sees through all the protective layers to the man I am underneath.

I turn fully, water sloshing over the marble edge, and reach for her. My wet hands grip her waist, pulling her down off the ledge and into the tub with me. She gasps as she straddles my lap, but the sound is swallowed the second my mouth crashes into hers.

It’s not a gentle kiss. It’s a starving, desperate collision. She tastes like steam and absolute salvation. Jenna’s wet arms wrap tightly around my neck, her fingers tangling in my damp hair as she kisses me back with the same ruthless devotion. I drag her flush against my chest, the slick heat of her bare skin searing into mine, finally letting myself surrender to the one person strong enough to hold me.

“Jenna,” I rasp, my mouth finding the sweet spot just below her jaw and sucking until she shudders. Her thighs clamp tight around me, wet skin-to-skin, and I can feel the thread of her composure unraveling in my hands. My Jenna, always in control, always two moves ahead—right now, she’s pure nerve and want.

I pull her back to look at me. She’s flushed, pupils blown wide, a lock of damp hair stuck to her cheek.

“I love you,” I say, low and desperate, unable to stop. “I do. Completely. You need to know that.”

Her fingers dig into my shoulders like the world is about to tilt. “I know. I do, Dominic.”

She lifts herself slightly, guiding me to her center, and then sinks down, taking me in deep.

“I love you, too,” she whispers, and it’s so soft I wonder if I was supposed to hear it. Or even if I imagined it.

“Fuck, Jen.” My hands go to the small of her back, steadying her as she begins to move. My lungs stutter as she uses me for leverage, riding me in the center of the soaking tub, her silk-black hair plastered to flushed cheeks, her hands braced on my shoulders for counterweight.

The rest of the world evaporates, replaced by the thunderous chorus of my own heartbeat and the slick, hot drag of her body against mine. She’s so unspeakably gorgeous like this—eyes blown to midnight and mouth half-parted.

She curls her fingers at the nape of my neck and digs in, staring into me like she’s memorizing the planes of my face. My own composure skids out; I tip my forehead to hers, breathing her in with every fucking cell.

“Dominic,” she gasps, rolling her hips with increasing urgency. The motion drags a sharp groan from my chest. Her arms tighten around me, and I let her set the pace while everything she said works its way beneath my ribs.

“Jen—”

The world narrows to the place our bodies join. Jenna’s rhythm builds, each movement hungrier and less controlled than the last. My hands slip down, gripping her ass and guiding her, and the way she moans into my mouth when I take over tells me she’s wanted this, too. My control leaves me all at once. I thrust up into her, finding her rhythm and doubling it. The slap of our bodies is obscene in the steamy hush of the bathroom, wet and relentless.

“God,” she says, her voice thin and threaded with need, “don’t stop⁠—”

“That was never in the cards, sweetheart,” I growl, catching her face in my hands and kissing her, desperate and bruising.

I kiss along her jaw, then her neck, needing every inch of her closer. I bite down and she gasps, arching until her breasts lift from the water. I take one nipple between my teeth, and the sound she makes goes straight through me.

I want to make her come like this, on my lap, with her body wrapped around me and nothing between us. I want her to know she isn’t one more person I have to carry. She’s the person strong enough to hold me too.

“Dominic.”

She tightens, shivering and gasping, and her hips stutter. I reach between us, thumb circling her clit, and she crumbles—her breath catching, her hands clamping my shoulders. Her climax ripples through us both, and I chase it, thrusting up hard enough that the back of my skull hits the marble tile and I don’t feel a damn thing, not with her pulse beating out a tattoo against me and the water sloshing over the edge.

I come with a rush of heat and a sound that’s half curse, half plea. I bury my face in her neck, biting down to keep from telling her how in love with her I am, because it’s all I feel. All I am.

When the shakes subside, her arms are still around me. Her hair clings to my cheek. We’re both breathing like we ran a marathon.

“You don’t have to say it again,” I say, lips still against her skin. “But I need to know—did you mean it?”

It takes a moment. Long enough for my heart to consider jumping out the nearest window.

Then she says a single word.

“Yes.”

CHAPTER 31