“Well, those cheesy pick-up lines got me alone with you in your bedroom, now didn’t they?”
We were toe-to-toe now, so close that I could inhale every one of her breaths and covet them as my own. I don’t know what I was waiting for—a sign, permission—but I let the moment linger, allowing it to build and evolve into something greater than desire. More tangible than lust.
She licked her glossy bottom lip, and the sight of her pink tongue was the only signal my body needed. Fingers tangled in her dark tresses, I cradled her head in my hands as I crushed my lips to hers. She opened for me willingly, sliding her tongue against mine with the same hunger that raged deep in my gut. The very same hunger that had me lifting her by her waist to sit her on the bed. Her legs found my hips, fitting themselves around my body, pulling me closer into the warmth radiating between her thighs.
This was easy. Physical intimacy was damn near instinctual to me. But as I settled on top of her body, her heat melding with mine, I forced myself to remember that it was Raven I was touching. Raven I was kissing. Raven I wanted to be so deep inside of that she would become molded to me.
I could do this. I could be present for her. If I closed my eyes, I wouldn’t lose her like I had lost everyone before. My heart and mind wouldn’t be ruled by the sensations of my body. I could do this for her. I could be normal for her . . .
“Wait, Dom. Stop.”
I froze and opened my eyes, only to find that I was no longer settled on top of her body, eagerly kissing her lips. I was hovered over her with my hands up her shirt, teasing her breasts as my tongue licked a path from one hipbone to the other, stopping to dip inside her jewel-studded navel.
I had done it again. I had gone too far. And this time, I hadn’t even noticed. This time, I hadn’t even been there.
“OH GOD.” DOM RECOILED and jumped to his feet like my skin was on fire. He looked down at his hands and frowned before stuffing them behind his back, as if he were admonishing them for touching me. “Raven, I’m so sorry. Oh God, I’m so sorry.”
“You’re sorry?” I questioned, sitting up and adjusting my shirt. I was ready to go the fuck off. He was rejecting me—again. But then, I saw the dejection on his face. The look of pure defeat. “Why? Because I’m not.”
He opened and closed his mouth half a dozen times before responding with narrowed eyes. “Wait . . . you’re not?”
“Hell no.” I stood up and placed my arms around his neck, keeping him from backing away any further. “Why would I be sorry, Dom? I wanted that. I wanted you. It’s just . . . Toby is in the other room, and I’m really not trying to have the awkward talk with him.”
I could see he wanted to run; I could feel the rock-hard tension bounding the muscles in his back. He was shaken, and it wasn’t just about him getting caught with his hands up my shirt. There was something deeper in his forlorn gaze. Something darker.
“I’m sorry, Raven,” he whispered. “I lost myself. I thought I could be stronger than . . . I’m sorry.” I felt the burden of guilt lift from his shoulders marginally, but not completely. He closed his eyes an exhaled before leaning his head forward to touch it with mine.
The defeat in his voice was so heartbreaking, that I couldn’t do much more than pull him into my arms. I started out on this journey, believing that Dominic Trevino was the aggressor—a predator—when in reality, he was anything but. There was something fragile inside him, something that could be easily broken. And I knew right then, with his eyes shut tight and his forehead pressed to mine, that I had the power to shatter it completely. To destroy him, just like he had destroyed me.
I didn’t want to think like that, but that had been all I had ever wanted for years. All I had ever dreamed about. To make him feel all the pain that he had given me. And here it was—the opportunity to make him pay. To restore the dignity I had lost that night so long ago. I didn’t know what to do. I cared for him, and I wanted to believe he had changed. But would that make up for the person he was? Could that overshadow what he’d done?
“Can we try again?” he whispered, our lips just centimeters apart. It was like he had heard my internal battle and was providing me with a truce. Let’s try again. Oh, how I wished it were that simple.
“Try what again?”
“Tonight.” He lifted his face and pinned me with his molten gaze. “Dinner. Us.”
“Sure.” I could rewind tonight, if only for tonight. But the same couldn’t be said for our past.
“Come on. We’re missing Hashtag Spaghetti Tuesday.”
He led me back to the living room, where he left me to go finish up dinner. Toby was flipping through channels like a kid on Christmas, hopefully oblivious to what had been going down just down the hall and to the left. I didn’t know how to do this. Was there some special protocol to follow when dating a new guy? Should I have asked for his permission? I knew he liked Dominic, but that didn’t mean he would be cool with me liking Dominic.
“Hey, kid,” I said, grabbing his attention from some TV show featuring dumb stunts posted on the internet. He looked over at me and raised his brows. “So you know . . . Dom . . . and me. You’re good with that, right?”
Toby shot me a look that I could only describe as one part mocking, one part amused, as if to tell me, “I already know what’s going down, and it’s cool. Please just spare me the details.”
“Ok,” I said in response. “Just wanted to be sure.”
Seconds later, Dom announced that dinner was served and led us to a dining room table that was much too grandiose for the three of us. Sparkling crystal and china covered a linen tablecloth that boasted some type of intricate lace detailing on the sides. Everything was so white and clean and intimidating. I couldn’t eat here. I’d be too afraid of splattering spaghetti sauce on one of the linen napkins that probably cost more than an entire day’s pay.
“This is stupid, isn’t it?”
I looked up at Dom, wondering if I had heard him correctly. “Huh?”
“This room. It’s stupid. No one ever eats here. And when we do, it takes like half an hour to move all this crap.” He stood up and grabbed the covered dish that sat in the middle of the table. “Come on.”
After putting the food back in the kitchen, we piled our plates high with pasta, bread and salad and moved to the living room floor. While it was still nicer than any floor I’d ever sat on, it was much less daunting than the formal dining room.
“So what do you think?” Dom asked before slurping up a noodle. “Did I just slay Hashtag Spaghetti Tuesday or what? And don’t feel bad. Not everyone can be great at everything. Unless you’re me.”
I twirled a bite around my fork and inspected it before bringing it to my lips. “I have to admit, it is delicious. My compliments to the chef. I’ll be sure to thank him Thursday during my shift at Dive.”
I tried to keep a straight face, but his expression of shock and embarrassment was just too rich. We both nearly fell over into our plates with laughter. Even Toby was chuckling with a hand over his mouth.
“Dude! Did you think I wouldn’t notice? I was in the kitchen when your order came in!”
Dom could barely keep it together. I was almost afraid he’d choke on one of his noodles. “I’m gonna kill Kami! I told her to keep it a secret!”
“Well, it didn’t help that I passed the busboy in the hallway.”
He shook his head, trying to regain his wits. “I’m getting my $20 back. See. This would have never happened if you liked tacos like the rest of the world. The only people who hate tacos are terrorists and people who take awkward cat portraits.”
I gasped, clutching my imaginary pearls for dramatic affect. “You hate cats?”
“You like cats?”
“That’s it. This relationship is over.”
We shared another laugh, enjoying the ease and comfort of just being. Dom was easily the sweetest, funniest guy I had ever known, and I enjoyed being around him. It was like being outside on a warm day, and the sun shini
ng just for you. I tried to keep reminding myself that it could be a ruse; he’d had so much experience with gaming girls that he had become a pro at it. But I wanted to believe in something more than his shadowed reputation. I wanted to believe in him.
“So how did those pictures you took turn out?” he asked before popping a shrimp into his mouth.
“Good, from what I can tell. I haven’t had the chance to edit or anything.”
“Well, I’d love to see them. You have a good eye. I can tell.”
I shrugged it off and focused on my plate. Talking about myself and my love for photography—the one thing my mother and I had in common—always made me feel self-conscious. It was that piece of me that I had never shared, yet for some reason, I had shared it with him. So in essence, I was showing him the tiny fragment of Adeline West that I carried with me. It was like exposing my darkness and trying to pass it off as beauty.
After dinner, I offered to help him clean up the crime scene in his kitchen, while Toby enjoyed his last taste of cable TV. I picked up a congealed clump of what used to be pasta, with a set of tongs.
“Um, we need to talk about this before we move further.”
I looked up from the burnt meat and sauce he was trying to scrape into the trash and grimaced. “Yeah, uh, about that. Home Ec was not my strong suit.”
I let a glob fall back into the pot with an unceremonious plop! and cringed. “What? No secret family recipes?”
I watched as the light dimmed inside his eyes. He shook his head, his focus turning back on his task. “No. I don’t. Secrets, yeah. But no recipes. And no family.”
I stayed quiet as I watched him scrub the pan furiously, the muscles in his forearms flexing with every violent scrape against stainless steel. There was something there . . . something lurking in that admission. We all had secrets—hell, I should know. But no family? Dom was an orphan?
My voice was small when I spoke next. “What happened to them?”
He took his time walking the pan over to the sink and dumping into a sudsy pool of hot water. “Died when I was little. Car crash.”
“Both of them?”
“Yeah.” His voice was flat, devoid of emotion, as if the subject had turned him cold.
“What happened to you?”
His shoulders hunched forward, like he was shielding himself. I knew that move. I’d seen Toby do the same when I first came back into his life. The doctors told me it was an act of defense, common in children who had experienced trauma.
“I became numb.”
I stepped forward. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, I learned to deal.” He turned to me, grinning as if we weren’t just talking about his parents’ heart-wrenching death, and shrugged. “I’m fine, Raven. Really. People die. You and I both know that.”
“Yeah, I know . . .” Shit, did I ever. Physically, my mom had only been gone a year, but she killed herself off a long time ago in my heart. When I moved away, she somehow thought that meant I was no longer her daughter. She was happy to leave my elderly grandparents with the task of dealing with her little slut of a daughter. And honestly, leaving her home was the best thing that had ever happened to me. But it was the worst thing that ever happened to Toby.
I went back to gathering the rest of the pots, pans and utensils and dumped them in the sink. Shoulder to shoulder, he washed and I rinsed, our movements synchronized, as if we had known each other in another life. And in that life, we hadn’t been orphaned, and we didn’t have secrets that threatened to tear us apart. And the man I was starting to fall in love with wasn’t the monster that had triggered every terrible thing that had ever happened to my little brother and me.
WEDNESDAY WAS RAVEN.
Calling her after she got off work, and talking on the phone until 3 in the morning. Telling her about my pipe dreams to change the world. Listening to her bucket list of places she wanted to visit.
Thursday was Raven.
Watching her waitress at Dive as I sipped beer at the bar with CJ. Pulling her into my arms as she walked by. Stealing kisses whenever she had a free moment.
Friday was Raven.
Meeting her for lunch near her school. Daring her to take a bite of my taco until she relented. Tasting her lips as I pressed my body into hers at her car, nowhere near ready to say goodbye.
Every day was filled with her, yet it wasn’t nearly enough. The yearning for contact had been steadily growing stronger, and while I didn’t want to rush her, I knew myself. I knew what my body needed. And it was becoming harder and harder to stifle its urges.
This whole thing was new to me. And considering we hadn’t even put a label on our . . . situation . . . I honestly didn’t know what was appropriate. I knew I didn’t want to fuck it up, that was for sure. But I also knew that I couldn’t keep denying the side of me that craved contact. And the fact she hadn’t made it known that she needed it—needed me—made me start to doubt what was between us. Maybe I was delusional, playing myself into thinking that we were actually together. Shit, it wasn’t like we’d made things official.
But still.
I cared about her. I couldn’t lie to myself. And for that reason, I was reluctant to take this to a physical level, no matter how badly I wanted her. In my fucked up, convoluted head, sex wasn’t a show of intimacy that was attached to emotion. It wasn’t an act of love and affection. It was confirmation—a necessity to feel solidified in my manhood. It was the only way I could go to bed at night and feel somewhat okay in my own skin.
I didn’t want to use Raven for my own selfish needs, but . . . fuck . . . I needed her. I needed her bad.
In my bones, I knew that being with her would break my resolve in two. I knew my fortress of fantasy would come crumbling down the very moment I fit myself between her thighs and pushed inside her. Not falling for her wasn’t an option, because I had already fallen. Fallen deep and hard and fast. Too fast. And nothing that happened that forcefully could be good for me. But, being the indulgent motherfucker I was, it just made me want her more.
I was in my room getting ready for the evening ahead, when Angel stopped inside my doorway, her guitar case in tow. “You coming tonight?”
I shook my head. “Raven worked the lunch shift today, so we’ve got plans.”
“Oh?” She watched me button up a crisp, linen shirt before making a suggestive sound in her throat. “Ohhhh. I know what tonight is.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Ang.”
“Bullshit, you don’t. The clothes, the sexy cologne, fresh haircut. You’re about to give her the Dirty Dom Special with extra sauce.”
“You’re ridiculous,” I muttered, shaking my head.
“Dude, you act like I don’t know all your tricks. Hell, I taught you all your tricks.”
“Um, I remember that happening much differently,” I scoffed.
“Whatever. You were okay before me. I made you great. Leg-end-ar-y. You’ll go down in history books as the guy that took Angel Cassidy’s V-Card and the only peen this puss has ever seen. Be proud, young grasshopper.”
“You’re talking about yourself in third person now? What’s next? Rushing random stages and giving fake honors to Beyonce?”
She rolled her eyes and waved a hand dramatically. “Puh-lease. Beyonce thinks they should give all awards to me.”
We shared a laugh and a kiss on the cheek before she went to rock the masses, leaving me to contemplate my next move. Raven and I had plans tonight, but she didn’t know it yet. And if I was going to do this . . . if I was going to take this step, I had to do it the right way. No matter how much it terrified the fuck outta me.
An hour later, I stood in the middle of her tiny apartment, nervous as hell and rethinking everything I had done to get to this point. Shit, what if this was a mistake? What if she saw this as yet another violation? What if I was being presumptuous and all this would prove comical to her? I wanted to call Kami and unload on her, but that wouldn’t be fair. She was happy
, she was in love, and if she could go through hell and back for the person she adored, I could too.
Toby was only too eager to help me out with my odd requests, without truly knowing the nature of them. Of course, that was after I lent him my PS4 for the weekend. Since he usually stayed over at Mrs. Ralston’s when Raven worked late, after hooking up the game system and providing them with takeout, I was left to prepare.
Angel was partially correct—this was the night. But there would be no Dirty Dom. I wouldn’t try to fuck her brains out, only to get up, dress and leave right after. Not if I could help it.
Two dozen candles flickered around the room, the wine was chilled, and soft music played. In my mind, this was the corniest thing I had ever done. But in my heart, I hoped that the sentiment would not be lost on her. I wanted her to know that I had not only listened to her dreams, I cared about them. I cared about her. And sometimes you had to do corny shit to prove that you gave a damn about someone.
I held my breath when I heard the key slip into the lock of her front door. It felt like hours instead of mere seconds before the handle twisted and she stepped inside. But when she lifted her gaze and took in the scene in front of her, I thought . . .
This.
This was what I had been waiting for.
The wonder in her eyes. The look of complete and utter amazement. This was what I wanted more than anything. Maybe even more than sex.
“Oh my God,” she gasped as she realized what I had done. “How did you . . . ? How did you do this?”
“I’ve got friends in high places,” I smiled. “I hope you don’t mind.”
“Mind? Holy crap, Dom. I never thought . . . I never even imagined . . .”
She stood speechless with a hand over her mouth as she gazed at all the beauty that was seen through her lens. All the beauty she had captured and reflected.
Although it had taken some time and a couple bribes, I was able to get ahold of all of Raven’s undeveloped photos. Luckily, most of them were in a shoebox full of USBs in her closet, but some were still on old-school rolls, before the days of digital. I was amazed by how deep her passion ran, and how truly talented of an artist she was. And I wanted her to see just how amazing I thought she was. Toby had let me know that the printing could be expensive, and Raven could rarely afford it now that she was a full-time working parent and student. So, I took it upon myself to take care of it, and display her works on every wall, surface and space in the living area of her apartment.