Love Her or Lose Her

by Tessa Bailey

  “Such a wet girl, aren’t you? Got soaked teasing me with those pretty legs spread, didn’t you?” The bottom of his spine twisted and he groaned, knowing the end was coming fast. Now. “Keep playing with your clit. Do it. Get off with me.”

  “Yes,” she whimpered, two fingers busy rubbing that button of flesh.

  His tongue wanted to play with it so bad, he was salivating, but that would break the rules, wouldn’t it? He didn’t have a clue anymore. Just knew he was going to die if he didn’t get relief.

  “I’m coming, Dominic. Please. Yes.”

  Dominic gripped himself hard, feeling the release in his balls, a trapdoor opening for him to fall through. He pushed his mouth up against his wife’s ear and spoke through gritted teeth. “Listen closely. If I can play ‘just the tip’ with your virgin pussy for a fucking year, I can play the long game to get my wife back. I’m getting you back. Don’t you think for a second that I won’t kill to make us right again.” He swallowed the rising emotion in his throat and let the orgasm break over him. “I love you.”

  It was agony to say those words knowing he wasn’t getting them back. It ripped something open inside his chest, and he fell on the only anchor he’d ever known, kissing her neck while his body emptied of pressure. Rosie’s did the same, shaking beneath him, her hips and heels moving restlessly on the floor, seeking purchase.

  Something was different this time. Something had changed.

  He wasn’t exulting in the proof that he’d satisfied her. Maybe to a mild degree—he was a man, after all. Her thoughts weren’t a total mystery right now and he loved that. He looked into her eyes, that contact holding, and for that moment, there wasn’t a single mystery between them. Just honesty. They were in this struggle together.

  Honesty.

  The house. He needed to tell her about the house.

  Dominic pressed a kiss to Rosie’s forehead and helped her sit up, unable to stop his hand from running over the curve of her shoulder, up the column of her neck to cup her cheek. “Hey. Tell me you don’t regret that.” He cleared his throat. “Please?”

  Rosie shook her head. “I don’t regret it . . .”

  She seemed as if she wanted to say more, but couldn’t. There was still too much holding her back.

  It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her about the house he’d bought them, but that hesitation on her part made him swallow the revelation down. Lock it back up.

  The light in her eyes dimmed a little at his own hesitancy.

  The timer on the stove went off.

  As Rosie stood to take the empanadas out of the oven, Dominic’s head dropped forward on a curse. He couldn’t help but feel like he’d missed the buzzer-beater shot. She’d been right there in front of him, as vulnerable as he’d seen her in a long time, and he’d missed another chance to reach deep inside her mind. To grab on to their connection and twist his fist, strengthen it until they had no choice but to be together again. By the time he lifted his head, she’d put the empanadas on a cooling rack and started dressing herself. “So once they’re cool, you can—”

  “I owe you a date,” he said, not wanting to hear the awkwardness in her tone. Wanting that conspiratorial tone back she’d had earlier when they were dancing. “I want to take you out on a date, Rosie.”

  She smoothed her hands down the front of her T-shirt. “When?”

  “Tomorrow night.” Dominic stood and pulled up his sweats, never taking his attention off of her. “I’ll pick you up at six.”

  “I can do that.” Her hands met at her waist, fingers tangling. Finally, she dropped them and crossed to the door. “I’ll see you then.”

  “Wait.” Dominic stayed her hand on the knob and waited until she met his eyes. “Thank you for all of this. The truck, dinner . . .”

  “You’re welcome.” She glanced back at the kitchen. “It felt like going back in time.” Her voice dropped to a whisper as she lifted onto her toes and laid a soft kiss on his mouth. “I missed you. I missed how we were. Just . . . stay with me, okay?”

  He cradled the back of her head and kissed her hard. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  Dominic stood at the door long after she’d gone, wishing he’d been honest about the house. Wishing she would have stayed. He had to be honest with himself first, though. And he knew those impulses to keep his feelings and insecurities to himself, those beliefs that providing for their small family should be done in silence . . . they had to be dealt with. Maintaining his stiff upper lip hadn’t worked. It was time to show Rosie that every single day of his life had been about giving her a dream he’d thought was most important to her. To them.

  Right or wrong about that, tomorrow night he would bring her to the house.

  Tomorrow he would lay it all on the line.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Rosie was nervous. For a date with her own husband.

  There wasn’t a woman alive who could blame her, right? She’d known for a while that her husband was majorly hot. Some time and distance had really brought that fact home to roost, though. When she’d taken off his shirt in their kitchen, that feast of muscles and tattoos had almost made her cry happy tears.

  I’ve got a motherfucking ten at home. You think I’m stupid enough to let myself go soft?

  Standing in front of the guest bathroom mirror, Rosie fanned her flaming cheeks. She’d never seen Dominic as desperate as that moment he threw her on the floor. He was always rough, but he’d been an animal. One who’d managed to restrain himself for the good of their marriage . . . and that might have been the sexiest part of all.

  Rosie picked up the new bottle of curl treatment she’d bought during the week, spritzing it on her tresses to keep them tamed before squeezing the strands in her palms, the practiced action making her feel sensual. Tight in some places, loose in others. God, it had taken all her willpower to leave Dominic last night. Not because of his touch, although that alone was a powerful enough aphrodisiac. No, it was the effort. He was trying.

  She closed her eyes and swayed, a smile curling her lips as she replayed their dance in the kitchen. That was the man she’d fallen in love with. It would have been so easy to stay the night. Move back in. Trust that everything would get better.

  Rosie opened her eyes and watched her smile vanish.

  But she knew. She’d been down a winding road with Dominic and she knew there was so much more to work through. The man still had secrets behind his every glance, every word. As much as his walls came down when they were kissing and giving each other pleasure, she could almost sense that dam inside him, holding back a whole host of important things. Lord, he was getting so much better at saying what was on his mind, but she was fighting for the future they’d envisioned. She would stay true, she would wage a war for their survival, but she owed it to them—and the young people they’d once been—to see this through.

  After one final glance in the mirror, Rosie padded into the bedroom and regarded the deep magenta dress. She’d bought it that afternoon at the store before clocking in, and the tags were still on, dangling from the armpit. With a low neckline and satin material, it wasn’t practical at all. When was the last time she’d purchased something frivolous like this?

  The day Dominic had come home from overseas. Her mother was still alive then and they’d gone outlet shopping and she’d found a summer dress covered in little stars that cupped her breasts just right, but allowed her to maintain enough modesty for the airport in the middle of the day. She’d smoothed lotion on every inch of her skin and sat at the kitchen table while her mother fashioned two braids and piled them on top of her head. Anticipation had been running laps around her stomach for weeks, waiting for Dominic to come home to stay. He’d grown increasingly quiet every time he was on leave, but she’d chalked it up to the knowledge that being home was temporary. Things would be different now.

  She’d never felt more beautiful than she had when Dominic spotted her from the top of the airport escalator. His eyes widened and
he seemed almost winded. But the optimism she’d plied herself with had faded the closer he got to the bottom. She couldn’t hold on to it. Not when he’d visibly steeled himself against her happiness to see him. And that stoic countenance—that mask—had never completely gone away.

  Rosie slipped the dress over her head and reached back to tug the zipper into place. Not for the first time, she wondered what had happened during Dominic’s stints overseas. Sure, she’d asked him. Trying to pry information out of her husband had been a lot easier in those early days. She’d even tried to tickle it out of him. The more he’d resisted, the more Rosie had realized he would carry the burden of those years alone. Now, though . . . she wondered if she should try again. It wouldn’t be fair to use their separation as a means to coerce information out of him, especially if he didn’t want to share, but she couldn’t help wondering if convincing Dominic to open up about that time would be the key to bringing them close again.

  The front door of the house closed downstairs and Rosie took a deep breath, enjoying the butterflies in her stomach. That would be Bethany coming home from work. Wouldn’t it be fun to show off her new dress to a girlfriend? She hadn’t done that in so long.

  Minutes later, a knock on the guest room door had Rosie turning around, fingers fluttering at the hem of her dress. “Oh God. Okay. Come in.”

  Bethany was frowning when she opened the door, but then a smile cleared her face. “What?” She stomped her foot. “You are so hot in that dress. I am attracted to you right now. No joke. Go through with the divorce so we can get married.” She squealed and clapped her hands. “Sorry, I took that too far, but you look insane.”

  “I feel insane.” Rosie twisted her hips side to side. “It wasn’t on sale, either. I splurged. I’m not even sorry!”

  “You shouldn’t be! Sorry is for suckers!” Bethany took Rosie’s wrists and held them out to her sides. “Do you have shoes?”

  “I was just going to wear my work heels—”

  “Nope.” Bethany made a ninety-degree turn and marched out the door. “Follow me.”

  They were sitting on the luxurious white carpeting in Bethany’s walk-in closet when Georgie appeared in the doorframe. Dressed in a clown suit. “Hey. I wasn’t invited to the shoe party?”

  “It was an impromptu affair. Rosie is going on a date with her husband.”

  Georgie dropped into a cross-legged position. “Where?”

  “I don’t know.” Nerves flickered in her fingertips. “He just said he’d pick me up at six.”

  “Ooh. Mysterious.”

  Rosie hummed and slipped on a pair of matte gold stilettos. “These?”

  “God, yes, that gold complements the color of the dress beautifully,” Bethany breathed, waving a hand at Rosie’s feet. “Make sure you bring along some flats in your purse, though. I once ditched a date in Manhattan and opened nine blisters on my feet trying to catch a cab in those things. They’re not made for walking.”

  “Ah yes,” Georgie said. “The classic sitting-only shoe. Extremely practical.”

  Rosie chuckled and stood up, taking a runway strut out of the closet and back. “Practical or not, they’re designed to put impure thoughts in a man’s head.”

  “Any inanimate object puts impure thoughts in a man’s head.” Bethany made a disgusted sound. “Box of cereal. Boner. Ice-cube tray. Boner.”

  Georgie pursed her lips. “Still haven’t ended your man sabbatical, Bethany?”

  “Nope. Worked out my urges with some quality internet time and I’m back on track.” The blonde tipped her chin in Rosie’s direction. “So . . . are we interested in putting impure thoughts in Dominic’s head? I thought that was a no-no.”

  Rosie squared her shoulders. “It’s inevitable. We’re just . . .”

  Georgie made an explosion sound, accompanied by hand gestures.

  “Yes. That.” Rosie smoothed some imaginary wrinkles out of her dress. “We’re still following the rules, but there might have been some . . . toeing of the line.”

  Bethany wiggled her eyebrows. “Is that what the kids are calling it nowadays?”

  “Travis calls it adult naptime.” Georgie slapped both hands over her face. “Oh my God, he’s so cute. I can’t even deal with it.”

  Rosie smiled. “Sounds like you resolved the wedding-venue issue?”

  “Totally resolved. We’re really getting married in my mom and dad’s backyard.” She dropped her hands from her face to reveal a bright pink blush. “I’m going to have his babies all over the place. I can’t believe this is life.”

  I used to feel that way. Rosie could remember it clear as day, that floating, rapturous sensation where the future stretched out in front of her like a red carpet. Thing was, last night dancing in the kitchen with Dominic, she’d been back in that place. Right up until she’d walked out the door, actually, the years of silence and uncertainty had been stripped away—and there’d just been floating. God, she wanted to be back there so bad. Back there to stay.

  “You’re quiet, Rosie.” Bethany nudged her with a wedge heel. “What’s up?”

  “Nothing.” She pressed a hand to her belly. “I’m excited, that’s all. It feels like a first date and I haven’t had one of those since middle school. And I’m pretty sure I wore cropped cargo pants and a fashion scarf then, so hello, improvement.”

  “Hell yeah,” Georgie said, reaching up to give her a high five. “How often did you and Dominic go out before you vamoosed?”

  Rosie let out a breath. “Hmm, let’s see. Never? We started off our marriage staying home alone, and we never broke the habit.”

  “Why do you think that is?”

  She didn’t need a moment to consider the question, since Dominic’s possessive nature had been on her mind for a while. “Dominic liked having me to himself. And I loved being with him, so we kind of fell into a pattern of avoiding social situations, except for the odd visit to his family in the Bronx. By the time my mother passed and I needed a friend, I guess it kind of felt too late to try. Dominic’s mother is so sweet to me when we go to visit. She tries to fix me up on friend dates with her nieces, but they’ve already got their inside jokes and . . . I kind of feel like an intruder.” She split a look between the sisters. “For the last couple years, every time I spoke to you two at the Brick and Morty company picnic, I hoped we’d get to spend more time together, but . . .”

  “I’m really glad we finally are,” Bethany murmured.

  “Me too.” Brows pulling together, Rosie smoothed the material of her dress. “If Dominic and I can make this work, he’ll have to get used to sharing me. I wonder if he realizes that.” They sat in silence for a moment until Rosie started to fidget, needing a distraction from her first-date nerves. “Sidetrack me. How was everyone else’s day?”

  Georgie made a sound. “I hate to bring this super-fun, girly mood down, but . . . I worked a birthday party this afternoon—I don’t know if you can tell from my elaborate face paint. Anyway, there was a discussion at the adult table. You know that woman Becky, who worked in the supermarket?”

  Bethany hummed. “I get my groceries delivered.”

  “I know her.” Rosie frowned. “Haven’t seen her in a while, come to think of it.”

  “Yeah.” Georgie’s swallow was audible. “Her marriage was rocky, from what people can tell. And one morning, she just . . . took off. Left her kid with the husband. But . . . he wasn’t really interested in being a single father. So Supermarket Becky’s brother is in town now. He’s taken over raising the little girl, but he’s not having the easiest time. She’s seven.”

  A shoe dangled, seemingly forgotten, from Bethany’s index finger. “Oh my God.”

  “I know.”

  Remembering how close she’d been to her mother at that age—at every age—Rosie felt her stomach twist. But an idea occurred to her. “We should help. The Just Us League.” Rosie wet her lips. “We could start a schedule. Meals and babysitting? I can’t imagine everyone wouldn’t want to
help.”

  Bethany was slowly nodding. “Great idea. We’ve got, like, nine empty nesters in the league who would kill to have a little one running around once in a while. Not to mention Georgie, who is like foaming at the fucking mouth to put her ovaries to use—”

  “True dat,” Georgie said, raising the roof.

  “And, Rosie, you could create a meal schedule . . . that’s your department.” Bethany sniffed. “Of course, I’ll bully everyone into staying on track. Because obviously.”

  “This feels like an emergency, right? Should we get started now?” Georgie jumped to her feet and whipped out her phone, her fingers flying over the screen. “I’ve alerted the league phone tree. If this brother is anything like Dad, he’s probably in the fetal position by now. We could head over, drop off some dinner, give him a breather . . .”

  Bethany chewed her bottom lip. “Rosie has her date.”

  As if on cue, the doorbell rang downstairs.

  A few beats of silence passed.

  “Sorry, Rosie.” Georgie dropped her hand holding the phone down by her side. “I didn’t mean to put a damper on things.”

  “Don’t be silly. I’ll just go let him in,” Rosie said, leaving the closet. Bird wings flapped in her throat with every step as she descended toward the front door. Amazing that she could get this nervous and excited about seeing her husband of almost a decade, but there it was. Her mind was definitely preoccupied with the little girl and overwhelmed man across town, but nothing could stop the hot, delicious, butter-like melt that slid between her thighs when she answered the door and Dominic—dressed like he was playing to win—stared back.

  The rich scent of his aftershave reached her first and plucked her senses like fingers on a harp. He wore a black sweater and dark gray chinos that molded to him almost indecently, drawing her eye to every ripple of muscle on the man. His knuckle tattoos were the only ones visible, reminding her that the sharp-dressed man was also a badass marine to the core.