Dominik

by Sawyer Bennett

  I continue to flip the yo-yo as I pace the length of the room, wondering where in the hell I go from here. My grandpa taught me how to master a yo-yo in the brief time I lived with him following my parents’ deaths. When I went off into foster care, it was the one object I managed to maintain possession of. Things tended to get stolen in foster or group homes, and I was small and easily preyed on when I first arrived. But I could always keep the yo-yo in my pocket and I’d learned to pull it out, mindlessly flipping it when I needed to think.

  As I pace, I come to the realization I’ll have to talk to Willow, but I have no clue what to say.

  Throughout the presentation ceremony following the game, I managed to keep my cool. I was charming, gracious, and jubilant with my team. We posed for pictures and accepted the trophy, which is actually a silver bowl named after a former president of the league. Someone popped champagne on the ice, and I got sprayed right along with my team.

  After, I went to the locker room and gave the team a little pep talk. I hope it was heartfelt enough because even though I think I said the right words, I was still spiraling from Willow shooting me down.

  I then went and gave a short press conference with the coaches.

  And because I wasn’t ready to even look at, much less talk to, Willow, I slipped out of the arena unnoticed. I walked two blocks down, called an Uber, and had it bring me home. I’d left instructions with the limousine I’d hired to take Willow and her family wherever they needed. I suspected there would be some bar hopping or partying tonight, but hopefully not too much. The first game of the finals starts tomorrow, after all.

  My doorbell rings and I freeze, the yo-yo spinning out of control before tangling. I take the string off my finger, then set the toy on the coffee table.

  There’s no doubt in my mind it’s Willow, and I’m not sure what to do.

  I truly didn’t expect her to come here because I gave her no invitation to do so. And yet, how could I not know she’d come?

  Of course, she’d want to talk about this.

  With a sigh, I move to the door. I’ve never been one to shirk away from things that must be done, and, yes, we need to talk.

  However, this feels premature because I’m still processing my feelings.

  I unlock the door and pull it open, unsurprised to find her standing there with an incredibly worried look on her face. She wrings her hands but doesn’t speak. I assume she’s waiting for an invitation inside.

  Finally, she bursts out, “You left the arena without a word! I waited for you forever. Almost everyone had left the arena before I finally went out to the limo, only for the driver to tell me you’d left.”

  “Look, Willow,” I start, but she cuts me off.

  “We need to talk about this, Dominik. You can’t just walk away and not finish this… this…”

  “Conversation?” I ask incredulously. “Because as far as I remember, the conversation was over. I asked you to marry me, and you said ‘no’. I really don’t know what else there is to talk about.”

  She pushes past me into my home. I’m ultimately okay with that because it would be rude to keep her on the porch when she feels the need to discuss this. With a sigh, I turn to follow her in, shutting the door behind me.

  Willow spins on me. “We can make this work, Dominik. Just because I said ‘no’ now doesn’t mean I won’t get to ‘yes’ eventually.”

  I cross my arms over my chest. “You think?”

  She totally doesn’t catch my sarcastic tone, her face morphing into a relieved smile. “Yes. I mean… we’re on a good path. If things continue the way they have been, then I believe it’s possible. I mean, I think you got caught up in the moment tonight. The excitement of victory. I get it, and I’m really flattered. It’s just bad timing is all. You need to know, Dominik, that you’re the only man I’d ever consider stepping back into the game with again.”

  “This isn’t a game, Willow,” I snap, causing her to flinch, the smile sliding off her face. “And I wasn’t caught up in the moment. I’ve been thinking about a future with you long before I proposed. I asked you to marry me, not because I was excited we won the game, but because I love you and I thought you felt the same way about me. So I repeat… this isn’t a game. This is my life. It’s my heart.”

  She looks like I just physically struck her, because while I didn’t come out and say it, my words have cast her as the villain.

  Her head drops slightly, her gaze going to the floor. Her voice is small. “It’s my heart, too. And it’s scared.”

  A growl of frustration rumbles out of me, and I whirl away from her. Those words should appease me. I should have some measure of empathy over her history that makes her fearful, but fuck that… I have history, too. I’ve worked past my issues, and I decided she was worth the risk.

  Take the reverse of that… she clearly doesn’t think I’m worth the risk.

  I spin to face her once again. “I proposed and you said no. But more than that, I said I loved you, and you gave me nothing in return.”

  Her face flushes with guilt.

  “Do you love me?” I demand.

  “I… um… I don’t know what to call it,” she finally mumbles. “I care for you so much, more than I’ve ever cared for someone before. Is it love? I don’t know… or else I would have said yes with no hesitation, right?”

  She has a fucking great point, and I think I have my answer. “I can’t do this, Willow. This is all wrong now—”

  “No,” she exclaims loudly, causing me to jerk. Then she’s standing in front of me, hands clenched into the material of my shirt. The look on her face is desperate… almost feral. “You can’t give up on us just because we’re not exactly in the same place at the same time. It’s not fair.”

  I cover her hands with mine, attempting to pull them away, but she’s fast. Lightning quick, she’s pulling me by the neck down toward her as she rises on her tiptoes. Her mouth touches mine, and she whispers. “We have something good, Dominik. Don’t forget that.”

  I’m angry at Willow, of that there’s no doubt. She hurt me and I want to hurt her back, but there’s no denying the touch of her lips against mine ignites something deep within me. Take the heart out of such matters, and I’ll never get past the fact that just the slightest touch from her turns me on.

  I’d hate myself for it if it didn’t feel so good.

  Still, I put my hands on her shoulders in a half-assed attempt to push her back to maintain some dignity.

  It’s dirty, though, the way she plays. Her tongue slips into my mouth and she drops a hand to my crotch, cupping me gently at first, but then roughly squeezes.

  My body fucking fires on all cylinders because Willow isn’t often the aggressor, and the fact she’s massaging my cock causes all rational thinking to disappear.

  I groan as my hand covers hers, not to push her away but to force her to stroke me through the material of my pants.

  “See,” she murmurs against my mouth, digging her teeth into my lower lip. “We have something strong right here. Don’t forget about this.”

  Sex.

  She’s right… we’ve always had great sex. It’s been incendiary between us, always fucking better every time.

  Still, I hesitate. This only muddies the waters.

  Willow must sense it because her hands start deftly working at my belt, button, and zipper.

  My head falls back as she takes me in her hands and starts to jack me.

  “Christ,” I mutter, then I groan as she starts to fall to her knees.

  Her intended purpose is to take me in her mouth and if I let her do that, she’ll have all the power.

  That’s unacceptable.

  I get a hand in her hair, grip it tightly, and haul her back up. She winces and smiles at the same time, and I hate that triumphant look on her face.

  But fuck if I don’t love it that she loves I can control her.

  I maneuver her backward, right onto my couch. Giving her a rough push, I immediate
ly grab her legs to pull her boots off, then her jeans and panties.

  I’m pissed and fevered for her at the same time. Something so fucking dirty about me only taking her clothes off the bottom half of her body. I love Willow fully naked, but I also love just her pussy bare and right there for my use.

  And I do feel the need to use her.

  Perhaps even to minimize what this is between us.

  It’s her fault, really. She sparked this fire.

  I slide a hand between her legs, and I’m rewarded with silky wetness. When I drive two fingers in her, she almost arches off the couch in her response.

  Fuck her for making me want this so badly.

  She moans, gyrates her hips, and reaches out for me. “Now, Dominik.”

  Yeah… now.

  My cock already freed from my pants and swollen to painful proportions, I fall between Willow’s spread legs. She takes me in hand, guiding me to her sweet spot, and I thrust inside.

  Her face morphs yet again, this time into beautiful bliss. It’s an expression I always take great pride in creating and yet right now, I can’t even stand to look at it. It hurts my heart too much to know this part between us is perfect, but nothing else is.

  I squeeze my eyes shut, dip my head, and push my face into her neck. Wrapping my arms around her tightly, I fuck her hard.

  Willow squirms, cries out, and digs her nails into my ass.

  She gets there before me… pussy tightening, back arching. Willow orgasms hard, and her cry of relief grates on me. She is having no problem making this connection with me, yet with every thrust, I feel further and further away from her.

  Numbness sets in, creating almost a black void between us. So very weird… feels fucking fantastic, the friction of my cock pounding away inside of her. My balls start to draw up, and I know an orgasm is imminent because it would be impossible not to come inside this fantastic-feeling creature.

  But when it finally does happen… when I pour into her with a groan of relief that it’s over with, I don’t feel much at all.

  And for the first time in my life, I’m painfully aware of just how much emotion is tied into sexual intimacy. I’d already put up a wall around myself the moment Willow shot down my proposal. I’m not sure if it makes me less of a man or what, but fuck if that wasn’t the most unsatisfying sexual experience of my life, and it has everything to do with the fact I love this woman and she doesn’t love me back.

  “Goddamn it,” I mutter as I pull out of her, lurching backward off the couch. I straighten, tuck my traitorous dick back into my pants, and pull my zipper up.

  Willow’s smile is mellow and satisfied. But then she takes me in… the way I’m stumbling backward and the frown creasing my brow as I study her where she’s stretched out on my couch. Naked from the waist down, filled with my semen, and replete from a great orgasm.

  “You need to leave,” I say.

  There’s a flash of deep hurt within her eyes as she puts the puzzle together. My words, my body language, my expression.

  There’s a stab of pain in my chest when, for the first time ever, I see Willow’s eyes fill with tears. Her lower lip trembles. “Was it that bad?”

  I don’t want to hurt her.

  Wait… fuck yes, I do. She hurt me badly, and I need to give it back.

  “That was hollow,” I say truthfully. “I know you think we still have great sex between us, but apparently I don’t. It’s not enough.”

  “Ouch,” she mutters glibly as she rolls off the couch. Her face is red with embarrassment as she hastily pulls on her panties, then her jeans. I watch helplessly, my conscience telling me to stop being a dick, but my own hurt feelings are vindicated that she now feels as badly as I do.

  I know I’m going to regret this.

  I know I’m acting rashly.

  And yet… I wouldn’t stop this train wreck for anything in the world. My wall is still firmly in place, and I don’t intend to lower it again. It sucks to love and not be loved in return.

  Willow sits on the edge of the couch to pull on her boots. The silence is oppressive, and I feel so displaced in my own home. I can barely stand to look at her—not for what she’s done to me, but for what I just did to us both.

  “You really don’t want to talk about this anymore?” she asks as she stands.

  I shake my head. “I don’t think there’s anything to talk about.”

  “I think you’re wrong,” she murmurs as she turns away from me. I watch as she walks to the front door and grabs the knob. Peeking over her shoulder, she regards me balefully. “I’m shocked… Dominik Carlson is an absolute quitter.”

  That punches deep. I’ve never been called that before in my life. In fact, I’m very much defined by my winning attitude.

  I hate myself even more that she’s right.

  But this is all new. This fresh hell of emotions I’ve never experienced. I don’t know for sure I’ve completely given up, only that I’m tired of trying to figure things out.

  As such, it’s best not to even prolong further conversation, so I keep resolutely silent. Her expression fills with disappointment, then she walks out of my door and out of my life.

  I immediately miss her when she’s gone.

  CHAPTER 25

  Willow

  I’m bleary-eyed as I scroll through the news articles on my iPhone. Two cups of coffee haven’t made a dent in my fatigue, so I push up from the kitchen table and move to the pot. The sun is barely up over the horizon as I look out the window over the sink and I realize I’ve now been up for almost twenty-four hours straight.

  To say I couldn’t sleep last night when I got to Dax’s house from Dominik’s is an understatement, despite the fact I was exhausted to the bone. I laid in my room, tossing and turning, replaying every humiliating moment over and over again in my head.

  Particularly that last part after we’d made love and he told me it just wasn’t good. I’m not sure why that’s striking my heart so much as it should only ding my ego, but I’m thinking it has something to do with the fact sex with Dominik was never an emotionless endeavor.

  I pour another cup of coffee before trudging back to the table. Picking my phone up, I skim another sports article about the Vengeance’s win last night.

  Arizona Heading to the Finals with a Vengeance!

  By Kat Mizera

  It’s been an exciting couple of months for team owner Dominik Carlson and his Arizona Vengeance team. In their inaugural season, the desert Cinderella team is heading to the Cup Final against two-time defending champs Carolina Cold Fury, and this is gearing up to be a hot one.

  With home-ice advantage, the Vengeance is riding the momentum of their groundbreaking playoff run. After sweeping the Seattle Storm in the first round and taking out the Vancouver Flash in five games in the second, they were primed for the Western Conference finals against the L.A. Demons.

  The seven-game conference final series both electrified fans and had them on the edge of their seats as the clock wound down in the last game. Tied at one a piece, team captain Bishop Scott and left-wing Dax Monahan dazzled fans with a memorable drive down the ice. Scott pushed the winning goal past Demon goalie Ryder Hayes to secure the Vengeance’s first appearance in the Stanley Cup Finals.

  After a somewhat tumultuous season, including the ten-game suspension of veteran center, and then-captain, Tacker Hall, the team banded together and rallied back to finish the season leading the Western Conference. Their ability to overcome adversity as a brand-new team undoubtedly played a role in their success, not to mention the impact of head coach Claude Perron.

  Under his tutelage, the team’s top scorers in the playoffs, Scott and Monahan, both racked up an impressive nineteen and twenty points respectively in sixteen games. Vengeance netminder Legend Bay stopped fifty-two shots, letting in just one goal by Demon captain Artur Lafleur. Letting in just ten goals over the course of the playoffs, Bay notched a remarkable .932 save percentage, putting him firmly in contention for the Con S
mythe trophy.

  Defensemen Erik Dahlbeck and Aaron Wylde were integral to the team’s success, with Dahlbeck notching his first-ever hat trick against the Demons, and Wylde netting three game-winning goals and setting a team record.

  I stop reading for a moment to reflect on how momentous this all is. This final series is going to be brutally fought. The Cold Fury is trying for a three-peat championship, which is virtually unheard of. The Vengeance is trying to make history as the first expansion team to win the Cup. I predict it will go all seven games and souls will bleed. The first game is tonight, and we have home-ice advantage once again. It’s a good thing, as the Cold Fury has the edge where experience is concerned.

  The sound of footsteps coming down the stairs startles me from the article, and I’m genuinely shocked anyone is up this early. I can tell by the heaviness of the steps it’s Dax coming down.

  I look up from my iPhone just as he comes into the kitchen. He frowns. “Why are you up so early? And Jesus… you look like shit.”

  “Thanks,” I reply dryly, picking up my coffee and taking a nourishing sip. “Every girl loves to hear that.”

  He doesn’t even look chagrined because he’s my brother and we’ve been telling it real to each other our entire lives. Moving past me, he goes to the cupboard and grabs a mug. “No, but seriously… are you sick?”

  “Just sleep-deprived, I guess,” I mutter.

  Dax pours a cup of coffee, then joins me at the table. I pretend to scroll through my phone, but I can feel his eyes resting heavy upon me.

  Finally, I look up. “What?”

  His eyes narrow on me, and there’s no forgetting he knows me better than probably anyone in this world. “What’s wrong with you? And don’t try to deny it. I can tell.”

  I could totally offer up some lame excuse. Pull off a stomach bug or period cramps. But he knows what ails me isn’t really physical unless the ache in my heart and the shame swirling in my gut counts.

  “Dominik proposed last night,” I say, and his chin jerks inward in surprise. “I’m surprised Regan or Mom and Dad didn’t tell you. They overheard it.”