by Luis, Maria
I tilt my head, surprised. “But you didn’t—you didn’t tell me what other judgments you made about me.”
“Because I don’t have one.”
Despite my lack of sight, my eyes shift back and forth. “I’m confused.”
“This is for you.”
His hand glides up, up, up my thigh, the pressure of his thumb deepening the higher he moves. It’s sensual and heavenly and oh, God. My hand flies out to grip the door handle. My heels dig into the floor as my hips lift. Just enough to see if his hand will shift from the crease of my hip and cup the apex of my thighs. It doesn’t. He doesn’t. I nearly whimper. Clearly, he wants me out of this car but I can’t, for the life of me, find the strength to get out. Not when it means he’ll stop touching me.
In that commanding, deep voice of his, he continues, “Took a risk and married a man you loved. Got knocked up and gave birth to a pretty awesome kid. Defeated the odds and took a job that historically belongs in a man’s world. Bravely divorced a shit-bag of a human being.” I feel the slope of his nose against my profile, then the softest, most tantalizing, brush of his mouth over mine. “Wants to take risks but fears that the time for all that is over because you’ve hit the ripe old age of thirty-seven . . . Did I miss one?”
My mouth gapes open. My lungs cease pumping.
“Dominic, I—”
He cuts me off with a kiss. Unlike the first, this one is rough. Demanding. That hand resting at the crease of my hip bone squeezes tightly and his thumb sweeps over the center seam of my jeans. I gasp into his mouth, and it’s all the permission he needs to take the kiss from a ten to a twenty.
Dangerous.
In this moment with his T-shirt caging my sight and his hands on my body, I feel dangerous. Weightless. An adrenaline junkie who’s finally found her perfect fix.
I cup his stubbled cheeks, finding them effortlessly, though I still exist in the dark. Moaning into his mouth, I beg shamelessly for more. Take me, I whisper to no one, my fingers scraping down the length of his throat. Want me, I think wildly, as I clutch his T-shirt and flick my tongue against his. Make me yours, my soul sings, when his hand leaves my thigh to coast north, under the fabric of my shirt and farther up more, until his fingers skate over the underwire of my bra and I’m all but shimmying in place to get it off.
I arch my back, giving him plenty of space to fiddle with the clasp.
He traces the line of my bra over my rib cage. Dances his fingers down the pearls of my spine. Presses me forward, until finally, yes, yes, yes.
The bra comes free, my breasts lowering without their satin-bound cage to keep them perky. Momentary panic supersedes all desire. I don’t know what kind of women Dominic sleeps with, but I can’t imagine they’re like me. Nearing forty. Breasts that lost their pep sometime in the last few years. A belly that’s not nearly as tight and flat as it once was when I led the country in made-field goals.
It was one thing to sleep with Rick. Strained as our relationship was, especially in the last few years, he witnessed the changes to my body as I experienced them myself. Dominic . . . Dominic wasn’t privy to any of that. Will he be turned off by the cellulite? Will he call this off the moment he notices the puckered scar from my long-ago C-section? I don’t think I could bear to see disgust flit over his rugged features.
I grasp his hand, the one that’s not all up under my shirt. “I don’t think I can do this.”
My shirt goes tight around my chest as he pulls my bra off completely. Strapless. Dammit. Just another reason to hate them.
This is too much.
All of it is too much.
“Get out of the car, Aspen.”
My head jerks toward the sound of his voice. “What?”
“You heard me.”
“You took my bra!” I exclaim indignantly.
“And I’m gonna take a hell of a lot more from you tonight.” My seat belt abruptly loosens, then rappels up, like he’s undone the clasp. Sure enough, I feel the webbed polyester jam under my armpit. “Those judgments I listed off? Those are the one’s you’re holding against yourself. Yeah, you can frown all you want. You can even tell me to fuck off, if it makes you feel any better. But that won’t prove me wrong. So what’s it gonna be? You going to give your inner self the big, ol’ middle finger, Dominic DaSilva-style? Or are you going to ask me to take off that blindfold and drive you home where you’ll crawl into your safe bed and read a sexy book and dream of all the things you wish you could be doing, if you dared to take a risk?”
Blood roars in my head.
Sweat dampens my palms.
The seat belt clings as it meets its maker, and I reach out a hand, fumbling for the door handle.
I’m grateful for feeling safe after all these years with Rick.
I’m grateful for returning home to London, even knowing not everyone in town would be happy to see me back.
I’m grateful to Dominic-friggin’-DaSilva for essentially telling me to put on my big girl panties and live my best, most adventurous, life.
The door swings open and my shoes greet what feels like dirt. It’s slightly spongy. Not nearly as compact as cement.
Dominic’s voice coming from the driver’s seat halts me in my tracks. “You know how I figured you’d get out of the truck?”
I look over my shoulder, seeing nothing but various shades of black. “Why?”
“Because there’s nothing you enjoy more than flipping me the bird, Aspen, and this will be the most satisfying middle finger you’ve ever given.” A door slams shut, and then I catch the sound of heavy footfalls coming around the front of the truck. “Now hold my hand and let me lead the way. It’s time to take you on a midnight hike you’ll never forget.”
25
Dominic
Cadillac Mountain is nothing but shadows at this time of night.
Broken twigs beneath our shoes.
Grasping branches raking through our hair.
But the air up here . . . Fuck, it’s good. Crisp. Light. Forgiving in a way that only Mother Nature can be.
I followed my GPS on the way up to Mount Desert Island’s tallest peak, putting the sucker on mute so Levi wouldn’t overhear the British lady giving me directions to Summit Road. I haven’t had the chance to hike Cadillac Mountain yet, but I’ve skimmed enough articles online to know what to expect as we enter the trails.
Like an old friend, adrenaline guides me down the narrow dirt path. Slung over my back is a bag stuffed with an oversized blanket, two bottles of water, and two hastily made turkey sandwiches. I hold a flashlight in one hand and Levi in the other.
I don’t know what it says about me that the anticipation of stripping Levi naked is just as thrilling as heading to the Super Bowl—if not more.
“Are we almost there?” Her voice breaks through the still of the night.
“Almost.”
During the day, this trail is apparently well-used. The soil is jampacked after being stomped on for hours on end, and the overlook site we’re heading to is usually teeming with tourists searching out a peek of the bay and the surrounding islands.
“Do you think we’ll get caught?” Levi asks.
“If you haven’t been cuffed at least once, are you really living?”
“So not funny.”
“Would you be opposed to me cuffing you?”
“I thought you said your sexual prowess doesn’t require accessories?”
At her flippant tone, I chuckle. It’s the most I’ve laughed in years, if ever. I don’t want it to end. “It doesn’t need anything besides me, myself, and I.”
The flashlight casts a wide scope, revealing the overlook I read about: flat stones lining the perimeter of the cliff that were supposedly formed during the last Ice Age; a sharp drop that leads straight to injury, at best, death, at worst. Trees protect the otherwise grassy, enclosed space, offering natural privacy.
“I swear to God, Dominic, your ego is just—”
Her weight collides with my back, sending the both
of us stumbling forward. Looping an arm around her waist, I haul her upright and flush against me. The T-shirt covers her from forehead to nose. Taking advantage of the fact that she can’t see me coming, I maneuver the flashlight so it’s not shining into our faces and then capture her lips with mine.
She sighs, immediately softening into my frame. I feel her fingers skim the waistband of my jeans, under the hem of my shirt. Goose bumps that I’d like to blame on the slight breeze flare up on my skin, making a liar out of me. Levi does this to me, not the wind. And she does it every damn time.
I crowd her space, leveraging her backward with my arm hooked around the base of her spine. More. More of those breathy mewls of hers. More of her fingers flirting with the button of my jeans. More, more, more. I’m an adrenaline junkie looking for his next fix, and I get my perfect hit every time she’s in my arms.
It takes every ounce of self-control not to sink deeper into the kiss. With a rumble of protest in my chest, I pull back and taunt, “Don’t be shy now. My ego is what?”
“Big.”
“Yeah?”
“Oh, yeah.”
“Perfect.” I tug on her shirt. “Time to take this bad boy off.”
There’s just enough moonlight for me to see her blanch. “I’ll be topless!”
“That’s a guarantee.”
“Anyone could see me.”
“It’s almost midnight,” I say, struggling not to laugh at her expense. Aspen Levi has got a long way to go before she’s pulling the sort of stunts I do, but I’m more than willing to rise to the challenge and take it slow with her. Slow is good. Slow is . . . not as predictable as I used to think. “Who’s gonna see you? A bear?”
“Oh my God, don’t even play with me like that.”
“Sharks,” I muse, my thumb finding her ear and playfully tugging on her lobe, “bears. Is there anything you’re not worried about eating you?”
“You?”
I can’t smother the mirth this time. I let it out, knowing that there’s not a soul out in these woods at this time of night. Skimming my hand down to her jawline, I press my forehead to hers. Her uneven breath flutters across my lips. “That’s where you’re wrong, Asp. I am going to eat you. I’m gonna slick my tongue right over your lips then suck on your clit so damn hard, bears will be the last thing on your mind.”
I don’t know which one of us is more shocked.
The fact that I called her Asp or how very obvious my intent is for tonight’s activities.
Either way, it seems I don’t have to worry.
Levi whips her blouse right over the top of her head, careful to keep the T-shirt blindfold in place. She saucily twirls her shirt around one finger, then attempts to pat down my chest. When she finds me, she hooks the fabric around the back of my neck and reels me in.
“Have you looked yet?” she teases nervously, and it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know what she’s talking about.
I haven’t looked—but not for a lack of trying.
Who’s the idiot who didn’t think this all the way through? That’d be me. Because Levi’s naked chest is currently nothing but shadows and an indecipherable silhouette.
This was the plan. I picked Cadillac Mountain because I knew it would push Levi out of her comfort zone, but only so far. Shadows are safe. They’re low risk and keep everyone on equal playing field.
Except that I can’t see a thing.
Her slender hand grabs mine and—Jesus fuck—lays it across her full breast. I choke at the same time I try to breathe through my nose. “Aspen—”
The flashlight falls from my hand to the grass.
I planned to guide her into this moment. Romance her—no matter the fact that romance has never been my thing. I’d sweet-talk her out of her clothes, one by one, until the blanket cushioned her from the ground and my body shielded her from the sky, wandering bears, and anything else that might go bump in the night.
Only, I’m strung so damn tight from that bold move of hers that . . .
I rip my backpack off, slinging it down one arm and unzipping it a heartbeat later. The water can wait; the food can too. But the blanket . . . my fingers grasp the soft material and I waste no time in flicking it open and laying it flat over the ground.
“What was that?” Her hands comb through the air, searching for answers that she can’t see. “It sounded like a sheet or a tarp maybe?”
It feels difficult to breathe. Throat tight, I manage a guttural, “A blanket. It was a blanket,” before nudging my backpack closed with my foot.
“Did you . . . did you pack a care package for us?” comes Levi’s soft question, and even though she’s the one blindfolded and shirtless, I suddenly feel just as exposed. Just as naked.
Because this is not what I do.
Taking care of another person, seeing to their comfort first, is not what I do.
My limbs are frozen, my heart thudding erratically, when she kicks off her shoes and feels around for a hint of soft fabric. The discarded flashlight illuminates her calves, her searching toes, and then, as she sinks to the ground, her knees cushioned by the blanket. She sweeps her knuckles forward as if to confirm her suspicions.
I’m bad boy, cynical Dominic DaSilva, and I planned us a romantic interlude under the stars.
I’m completely out of my element here.
I clear my throat. “Levi—”
“No.” The flat of her palms fumble around on the blanket as she pats around. “You promised me.”
My lids fall shut. “Aspen.”
“I take a risk; you take a risk.” Her hand finds my bent knee. “That’s how this works. I won’t be vulnerable without you, Dominic. I’ve done that. I lived that life for years, and I won’t do it again. Not for you, not for anyone.”
“Rick.” I might as well spit out his name, the way it trips off my tongue like something to be spurned and cast out.
She doesn’t say yes, not quite. But her hands continue their upward glide, until she’s settled snuggly in the V of my spread thighs and her fingers are climbing higher and the heels of her palms are dragging over my quads. She pops the button of my jeans. “So, what’s it going to be?” she says, throwing my own words back in my face. “You going to do this with me—be all the way in—or are you going to drive me home and tuck me into my safe bed that won’t have you anywhere near it?”
My head drops back, eyes seeking out the thousands of stars twinkling in the clear night sky. I think back to all the times I’ve searched out the universe as I am now. Back with that goddamn ankle monitor tracking me like a savage, when there was nothing left to do but look out my window and make a wish on a fake shooting star. At every hotel we stayed at during my Tampa Bay years, when I’d find myself stepping outside and wondering the point of life when all the stats and Super Bowl rings and victories did nothing to alleviate how wrecked I felt inside. My last night on Put A Ring On It, when I overheard the producers and crew laughing about how they were positive Savannah Rose would accept Nick’s proposal over mine.
Since birth, loneliness has tagged me as its victim.
Not anymore.
I can’t—I won’t—give up this chance to be with Levi, just because I’m fucked up in the head.
Tonight, she belongs to me.
Like the savage I used to be, I tear off her blindfold and toss it aside. Reach behind me, fingers grasping the back of my shirt, and yank it over my head. Pull her flush against me, hard chest to hard nipples, and holy shit, she feels like bliss and salvation all wrapped up in a package designed to make me lose my mind.
“Yes.”
I hear her whimper just before I crush our lips together. My tongue wars with hers, meeting in an aggressive kiss that draws a groan from deep within my chest. I don’t go easy on her, but . . . Levi, I know she can handle me. All of me. I spear my fingers through her hair, tugging sharply on the strands until her head is canted back and I’m free to kiss all that soft skin bared only for me.
“Say
my name, Aspen,” I growl, my lips finding the curve of her jaw. I flick my tongue out, then move south to uncharted territory. “Say that you want me, that you want this.”
I cup her breast, my thumb cresting over her puckered nipple. And aw, fuck, that moan. It’s the sexiest sound I’ve ever heard, and I almost come right then and there in my jeans, like a prepubescent jerking off for the first time. It doesn’t help that her hands clutch the back of my neck to keep me close or that anytime I trace the rough pads of my fingers over her, that moan of hers comes again.
It’s all I can do not to unzip my jeans and give myself a little relief.
One glance up at her shadowed features and my priorities storm back in line: I’m gonna make Levi come so hard, she’ll be feeling me between her legs for days.
“Say it,” I demand again, pinching her nipple. I drop my mouth there to soothe the sting away, before I do it all again.
“Dominic.”
Her voice cracks on the second syllable of my name and I hiss when her nails bite into my scalp. Hooking one arm around her back, I lower her so that she sits at an angle that forces her to trust me, to give me her full weight to hold—and then I feast. I lave at one stiff nipple, swirling my tongue. Her back muscles twitch under my palm and, with my other hand, I track the curve of her waist. Beautiful. That’s how she feels in my arms, how she tastes in my mouth.
Levi arches her spine. “I’ve never . . . oh, my God, please don’t stop.”
And because I like keeping her on her toes, I change up my rhythm and scrape my teeth against the sensitive nub. I swallow a grin when she gasps, her fingers scrabbling for purchase on my shoulders.
“You’ve never what? Tell me, Asp. What have you never felt before?”
“This good,” she whimpers, devastation and euphoria lacing those two words like a tightly wound knot. “I’ve never . . . not once . . . oh, God. I can’t think straight.”
Somehow, in the matter of weeks, Levi and I have learned to communicate through a language no one else knows. It sounds cheesy, and hell, if I had even summoned the thought six months ago, I would have checked myself into the closest psych clinic. Except that it isn’t cheesy at all—I hear all that she isn’t saying, and my temper goes through the roof.