Dominik

by Sawyer Bennett

  “Nice car, by the way,” I say, running my hand along my leather seat.

  “Thanks,” he replies easily, shifting it into reverse to back out of the driveway. “Had it delivered and waiting for me at the airport.”

  “Didn’t realize rental agencies had such fancy cars.”

  “No idea if they do,” he replies with a charming grin. “I bought this one over the phone today.”

  “You bought it? Just to drive around while you’re here?”

  “I bought a house here, too,” he replies, putting the car in first and taking off down the street. “Going to take you there now and cook dinner for you.”

  I just blink, trying to process that type of wealth. I’ve never experienced it up close. I mean, Dax makes a lot of money, but not enough to buy extra houses and Porsches on a whim.

  “Unless you’d prefer not to go to my house,” he says, apparently taking my lack of response as hesitation.

  “Can you cook?” I ask.

  “I’m not bad,” he admits.

  I shrug. “Then let’s go to your house.”

  We make small talk as he maneuvers the sports car like a dream into Scottsdale. He enters a neighborhood with houses the likes of which I’ve never seen, pulling into the driveway of a behemoth residence that has to be a good fifteen-thousand-square-feet or more.

  When he brings the car to a stop in the circular driveway, I gape at the grandeur of it, whistling low. “As someone who has seen your goods up close and personal, I know damn well you didn’t buy this thing to compensate for something you are… um… personally lacking.”

  Dominik snorts, gesturing at my door. “Get out of the car, smart-ass. It was on sale.”

  “Oh, a multimillion-dollar house was on sale? How can you pass that up?” I roll my eyes.

  He doesn’t reply, and we exit the vehicle. As I close the door, I let my eyes roam over the façade—classic desert design of cream stucco with a red-tile roof—and marvel over the size of it. It even has wings.

  The house he bought to live in just during home playoff games has wings.

  “You know how many starving kids you could feed for the cost of this thing?” I murmur as I twist my neck to glance at him standing beside me.

  If I thought it would offend him, I’d have been wrong. He just smirks, placing his hand on my lower back to guide me up the front portico. “I donate plenty to care for children of all sorts. My conscience isn’t troubled in the slightest.”

  I feel slightly bad for even inferring that. I’ve read enough articles to know Dominik Carlson is a generous person, and I’ve seen firsthand how well he treats his players.

  Still, such flippancy is shocking, but… I’ve never known anyone who had this type of wealth.

  Dominik leads me inside, punching a code into an alarm panel in the foyer. When he brushes by me, I follow him past a sweeping staircase to a massive great room that could probably fit five normal-sized living rooms inside it.

  Of course, it’s fully furnished and tastefully decorated, right down to the knickknacks in the built-ins. I’m curious who handled the decor since I would expect someone like Dominik to go with sturdy, masculine pieces. Instead, the furniture is plush, yet light and airy looking. Like a person could sink down into the couch with a good book and get lost for hours.

  “Would you like a mixed drink or some wine while I cook?” Dominik asks as he veers to the left into a massive kitchen with gleaming appliances, a center island that seats eight, and custom cabinetry done in a French Provencal style.

  “Wine,” I reply, trying not to gawk at the splendor before me. I love to cook. This kitchen could have been pulled straight from my dreams.

  I set my purse on the island then pull out a stool while Dominik opens what I had thought was merely a cabinet but turns out to be an actual door leading into a massive pantry. It’s bigger than most kitchens I’ve seen. He returns with a bottle of wine, then uncorks it.

  “How come you’ve been playing so hard to get?” he asks as he moves over to another cabinet and retrieves wineglasses.

  “Hard to get?” I ask, playing a little dumb, which totally amuses me. “I’ve been out of the country for the last month. It’s kind of hard to ‘get’ something that’s not even within reach.”

  Dominik manages to roll his eyes and pour an expert glass of wine at the same time. He slides it across the island toward where I’ve yet to take a seat. “I’m not talking physical ‘getting’. You could have at least responded to my texts.”

  I lift the glass, bringing it to my lips while I consider this. He’s right. I could have easily just replied to tell him to leave me alone, and he would have. The fact I didn’t clearly speaks volumes.

  But I’m not ready to admit I find him dangerous, which is the main reason I never responded.

  Instead, I turn it back on him as he pours himself a glass of wine. “Why did you keep texting me when I wasn’t responding?”

  Dominik ignores his glass, moving to the fridge. “I find you fascinating. And a challenge.”

  “Not much of a challenge,” I mutter, swirling the liquid in my glass. “I gave it up to you within hours of our first meeting.”

  Tipping his head back, he lets out a booming laugh, glancing at me over his shoulder. “Thank fuck for that. That was one of the best nights I’ve ever had.”

  “I am a great fuck,” I agree.

  “You are at that.” His voice sounds almost wistful as he rifles through the refrigerator.

  “Then why don’t we dispense with all this wine-and-food foreplay and move straight to the bedroom?” I suggest—well, more like challenge. “I bet you have a great bed.”

  Dominik backs away from the fridge, closing the door with his hip. He juggles a carton of eggs, a package of pancetta, and a wedge of parmesan cheese.

  He’s also smirking. “We’ll get to the bedroom when I’m ready. I’ll fuck you when I’m ready to fuck you. But right now, I’m starved, so I’m going to cook dinner. Relax and enjoy your wine.”

  Okay… I’m a stubborn and independent woman. I don’t like being told what to do, and I prefer to be in charge. Some—especially my brother—call me relentlessly bossy and overconfident.

  But God help me, when Dominik makes the command decision we’ll have sex only when he says we will, my knees actually go weak. For some strange reason, I feel like baring my neck and letting him pin me down in submission.

  And that is so not like me.

  Which makes it even more surprising when I sink down onto the stool and take a long sip of the rich red wine.

  “Tell me your thoughts on how you think the Vengeance will do in the playoffs,” Dominik says as he lays out all the ingredients on the counter before bending to open a bottom cabinet.

  “You want to talk hockey?” I ask curiously.

  He pops his head over the edge of the counter. “Why not? You’re more than capable of it, seeing as you come from a hockey family.”

  “I guess I just didn’t think you’d care for my opinion,” I say guardedly.

  Dominik rises, whatever he’d been after forgotten for a moment. Placing his palms on the granite top, he leans across the island toward me. “Willow… what do you think is going on here?”

  “Um…” It’s all I manage.

  “You were just expecting sex and nothing else, am I right?” he guesses.

  “Maybe…”

  “Well, like I said, I’m starved.” Dominik squats, disappearing momentarily to dig through the cabinet. “And if you want to just sit there in silence, go for it. If you want to engage in a bit of conversation, I figured hockey was a good place to start since we both know a little about it.”

  I’m so out of my element. My best course of action might just be to run from the house. I most certainly don’t want good conversation as it makes him even more dangerous than I already suspected him to be. A sex only, no-strings type of relationship keeps everything black and white. Pleasant interaction outside the bedroom wi
ll only blur the lines. Add in great conversation, as I suspect Dominik is entirely capable of, and it makes the situation too confusing.

  Yet… I find myself doing exactly as he’s requested. “I don’t think the Storm will give you any problems in the first round. They’re good, but they were plagued by too many injuries late in the regular season. I predict you’re going to sweep them in four because your team has more depth.”

  Dominik straightens, a deep frying pan in one hand and a pot in the other, his eyes pinned on me. “More depth?”

  “The stats are black and white,” I say, then proceed to rattle off all the important numbers that—at least on paper—make the Vengeance top contenders. “But, more than that, you assembled a group of men that either by your brilliance or by happenstance, have managed to solidify into a unit that is as much poetry as it is hockey. They just naturally flow with one another. It’s almost like they communicate by thought. I don’t know how you did it—and I’m sure everyone in this league wants your secret formula—but you’ve created history with this team, Dominik. I’m not just predicting you’ll sweep the first round, but that you’ll walk away with the Cup when it’s all said and done. Your team is just that magical.”

  Dominik stares, head tilting ever so slightly as if he can’t figure out if I’m bullshitting him or not.

  Lowering the pan to the countertop, he murmurs, “I really want to fuck you right now.”

  A jolt of sexual energy pulses through me, not just from the words but from the underlying hunger within them. This is what I came for, right?

  “But…” he drawls with a sly grin as he picks up the frying pan. “Good things come to those who wait.”

  I want to growl in frustration. Want to strip out of my clothes and demand he take me right here. I know he’d do it, too, because he’d be powerless to resist naked me.

  But again… God help me… I’m secretly drawn to this controlling side of him.

  Actually, it’s not even a side.

  It’s the entirety of Dominik Carlson. He has to be in control and the one calling the shots.

  Right now, it’s just dinner. But I know, without a doubt, I’d do pretty much whatever he told me to do in the bedroom.

  But I also have a reputation to maintain. I need Dominik to still think I’m a challenge, so I lift my chin just a bit and scan the ingredients. “What are you making?”

  “Carbonara,” he replies, snagging the carton of eggs. “Sound okay?”

  “Sounds delicious. Can I help?”

  He smiles wickedly. “Absolutely. But if you come on this side of the island with me, I can’t guarantee I won’t touch you while we’re cooking.”

  Well, there you have it. His hands on me sooner rather than later? That sounds like a winning proposition, and he’ll still think he’s calling the shots.

  “Tell me what to do,” I say with an impish smile as I slide off the stool. “I’m yours to command.”

  And I truly mean that.

  Dominik’s eyes flash, and I can tell those words of submission actually mean something more than me lending a hand with dinner.

  He sets the pan on the counter. With his hot eyes pinned on me, he steps around the island and comes toe to toe with me. Placing one hand behind my neck, he bends to put his mouth near mine.

  “I think dinner can wait a little bit,” he murmurs.

  “Why would we do that?” I sound breathy and way too eager. I don’t like it, yet I can’t help it because this man makes me feel like something else altogether.

  “Because you said the magic words,” he replies gruffly.

  I’m yours to command.

  Dominik leans forward at the waist. My world flips as his shoulder goes to my stomach and he lifts me in a fireman’s carry. His large hand settles on my ass to hold me in place, then he’s striding through the great room to the opposite wing of the house.

  It takes only moments before I’m spinning again, landing on a plush mattress covered with a pristine white cotton comforter. I take a moment to look around at his bedroom, marveling over its light and airy feel, which matches the rest of his home.

  Dominik slips off my sandals, dropping them to the floor.

  “Get naked, Willow,” he says as he starts to unbutton his shirt.

  Mesmerized, I don’t move as his chest is revealed.

  “Naked, Willow,” he repeats, but then his expression muddles a little. “Unless you don’t want this. Would rather have some romance? Go a little slower tonight?”

  That gets me out of my daze. Pushing up from the mattress, I go to my knees. “Oh, I want this,” I assure him, fisting the hem of my dress. “This is exactly how I want it.”

  Dominik smiles. A triumphant tip upward at the corners of his mouth.

  “I don’t need the romance,” I continue as I pull the dress up and over my head, tossing it carelessly to the floor. What’s left is a strapless bra and matching panties in cream-colored lace, which I happen to know complements my skin tone.

  Dominik’s expression turns hungry.

  Feral.

  “Get on your hands and knees.” Dominik quickly divests himself of his clothing, standing gloriously naked for me to behold. Moving to the edge of the bed, he gives me one more order. “And come here.”

  There’s no mistaking what he wants as he takes himself in hand.

  No mistaking I want the same as I drop forward, my palms sinking into the comforter. I crawl toward him, feeling every bit like a sleek panther hunting her prey. Dominik watches intently, his jaw locked.

  I gaze at every long, thick inch of him. He’s just as magnificent as I remember. My mouth waters slightly because I can remember what he tastes like. I have not one ounce of shame. I had him in my mouth before, and I want him there again.

  Mostly because he wants me there and he hasn’t asked.

  He’s ordered it.

  Dominik’s knees press against the side of the bed for leverage, his hips jutting forward. Crawling right up to him, I open my mouth.

  The warmth of his skin slides along my tongue as I take him in deep and a shudder runs up my spine over the deep growl of pleasure that rumbles from him.

  CHAPTER 6

  Dominik

  My head spins as Willow’s mouth closes over my cock. She’s a goddamn sex goddess, and I can’t figure out if she’s playing a game with me or not.

  Here she is—a beautiful, talented, smart, and independent creature who put me off for weeks. And on the drop of a dime, she’s on her hands and knees in my bed, deep throating me.

  I can’t figure out what she really wants, but I’m not sure the answer matters in this moment. We both seem to be engaging in something we very much crave.

  She said she doesn’t want the romance and I have a hard time accepting that—because, in my experience, that’s what drives women—but, for the moment, I’ll take her at face value.

  I relinquish myself to her, bringing my hands to the sides of her head and holding her tight. Tipping my head forward, I watch as she bobs on me, making tiny kitten sounds in the back of her throat, the vibrations of which cause my balls to start throbbing.

  “Touch yourself,” I order. Those beautiful eyes rise, meet mine, and she smiles around my cock.

  Tipping my head to the side, I watch as she brings those delicate fingers to the apex between her legs and slips them below the cream panties. I can’t see exactly what she’s doing, but I can tell the minute she touches her clit because she groans against me.

  “That’s it,” I praise her. “Feel good?”

  Willow’s eyes close as she fingers herself and sucks my cock and I think she might be the most perfect thing I’ve ever seen.

  But I want more.

  I bring my hand to her throat, give a gentle squeeze, and push her off. She complies, her lips fluttering open as she licks her lower lip. I can’t help but smile when her other hand continues to work between her legs.

  She’s fucking perfection.

  I step o
ver to my nightstand, pull the drawer open, and grab a condom. While Mrs. Osborne was diligent in stocking my house with the necessities, this was not one I expect her to handle. I put a box in my drawer upon my arrival earlier today.

  I’ve never moved so fluidly and with such confidence in my movements, envisioning exactly how this is going to go down.

  The condom is on me, my hands are on Willow’s hips, and I’m spinning her on the mattress so she’s still on her hands and knees with her ass tipped up right before me. She gasps, her hand falls out of her panties, and both palms go to the mattress.

  I run my hands over the globes of her ass, slip my finger under the lace, and pull it to the side to reveal exactly what I want.

  When I enter Willow, she makes a guttural sound as her back arches deeply and her fingers claw at the comforter.

  Better than I remember.

  So fucking good.

  I plant my feet, put my hands on her hips, and fuck her slowly from behind.

  Not really how I thought this evening was going to start out. I had truly intended to cook for her. I’d even hoped I could get her to open up as we sipped at our wine.

  Try to figure out what makes this woman tick.

  Didn’t quite work out that way, but it couldn’t go anywhere but where we are right now the second she told me she was mine to command.

  Yes, it triggered a primal reaction because, in my heart of hearts, I don’t think Willow Monahan can ever be commanded to do anything.

  This is an illusion, I’m sure of it, but it’s one that pushes all my buttons.

  I lift a leg, press one knee into the mattress for more leverage, and drive into her deep. Over and over again until she can’t withstand my weight or insistence to go deeper. She starts to sink, her arms splaying out and torso lowering to the bed.

  “Oh, no you don’t,” I mutter, putting an arm around her waist and hauling her up. I support her weight, tightening my grip and putting a palm to the mattress. I thrust deeply into her over and over again, relishing in the mewling sounds of surrender she makes.

  Her head drops, her hair falling forward and clearing a path so I can take in the golden skin of her back. My eyes narrow in on pinkish-white divots in her skin on the upper part. Scars are spattered over her left shoulder. I hadn’t noticed them before, and I wonder what caused them.