I walk over to the sink and run cold water over a paper towel, patting it over my face and neck to cool my overheated skin. A second later the door swings open and slow, but steady, footsteps carry a familiar frame into the room.
“I don’t know what’s worse: you coming here with a date, or you leaving that date to wander around another club with no one watching out for you.”
Chapter 16
Sloane
Now
I’m not a person who’s easily surprised. Something about receiving the most shocking news of your life at the tender age of twenty-six just steals your ability to be caught off guard by regular, everyday things like flat tires, screwed-up tile orders, and increases in insurance premiums.
But nothing, and I mean nothing, could have ever prepared me for the sight of Dominic Alexander standing in a women’s bathroom looking every bit like a wrathful god with his dark-washed jeans, well-fitting button-down, and rolled-up sleeves showing off his deliciously corded forearms.
Did you just call his forearms delicious?
He prowls toward me, and my instincts scream for me to back up. To get far away from him and the dangerous glint in his eyes, but two things are stopping me from doing that: the shock slipping down my spine and the bathroom sink, which my ass is already pressed firmly against.
All of which means I can’t go any damn where, and I’m not entirely sure I want to.
“Why did you let him bring you here?”
Dominic is standing mere inches away from me now, so close I could reach out and touch him if I wanted to.And damn do I want to.I raise my chin, determined to not sound like a breathless idiot while I answer his question. A question he has no right to ask, by the way.
“Ash didn’tbringme anywhere. Coming here was my idea. I wanted to have a nightcap before he took me home.”
I catch the potential implication in my words a second too late. Dominic’s eyes glitter as he takes another step toward me, and the tips of his shoes bump into the toe of my heels. I’m glad I wore them tonight because they keep me from having to tilt my head back too far to meet his gaze.
His hands go to my waist, gripping the fabric of my dress and bunching it up. My breath catches in my throat, and I feelit. The last piece of the puzzle clicking into place with just his touch. And all of a sudden, my fruitless search for it makes sense. I wouldn’t have been able to solve the riddle of my desire with Ash, or anyone else for that matter, because the moment I let Dominic Alexander touch me, it stopped belonging to me.
When the fabric of my dress is above my knees, Dominic groans at the sight of my garter belt then lifts me up and places me on the counter. He nudges my legs apart to make room for the span of his hips, and I don’t do a thing to stop him.
“You wearthisfor him”—he snaps one of the straps connecting the lace cuffs on my thighs to the belt around my torso, and I gasp—“and he’s upstairs sipping drinks with strangers while you’re down here by yourself. He couldn’t even be bothered to wait for you and make sure no other drunken asshole got his hands on you?” His fingers are on my neck. They run up and down the column of skin with soft strokes. “I guess I’m the only one who’s concerned about your well-being.”
Irritation slides down my back at his words, but I can’t hold on to it. Everything he makes me feel—anger, regret, frustration, irritation—is all overridden by need the moment his skin touches mine. Somehow, I think he knows that and is using it against me, which tells me I need to get his hands off of me immediately.
Both of my hands come up, landing on Dominic’s chest and extracting a surprised hiss from his lips as I shove him. He backs away, and I don’t even bother feeling triumphant at breaking the moment because I know I was only able to move him because he allowed me to. I pull my dress down as much as I can before glaring at him.
“You don’t give a fuck about my well-being. If you did, you wouldn’t have spent the better part of the week acting like I didn’t exist after…”
“After you ran out on me.”
His words are vicious, biting into my skin with their truth. I did run out on him, but that doesn’t mean it’s okay for him to ice me out. “I was upset, and anyone with eyes could see that. I mean, is there some rule against being embarrassed about not having a handle on my skin hunger and losing it at work with my husband’s best friend, of all people? God, Dominic—”
“Not having a handle on yourwhat?”
His brows furrow as he stops me mid-rant, and I feel myself turning the color of my dress when I realize what I just said. Talking about my skin hunger with him, or anyone that isn’t my therapist, feels like a new kind of nightmare. We stare at each other, and I know he’s waiting for an explanation just as surely as I’m waiting for him to be enough of a gentleman to forget I ever said those words. One look at him tells me that’s not going to happen though.
“Skin hunger,” I repeat, steeling myself for the moment when he bursts into laughter and makes me feel like even more of a fool. But it doesn’t come. Instead, Dominic looks at me expectantly and gestures forme to continue. “My therapist said it’s also referred to as touch starvation, and it’s something a lot of people struggle with when their spouses die, and they go from having regular physical contact, like hugs, cuddles and sex, to not having any meaningful touch for long stretches of time.”
“I see,” Dominic says quietly, his fingers flexing like my admission is his personal call to action and he’s barely containing the urge to put his hands back on me. “And this is something you struggle with?”
“Yes. Hence the whole dating thing.”Goddammit, Sloane!It’s like I can’t keep my mouth closed. Dominic’s eyes darken at the mention of my date and the suggestion that I’m using Ash for cuddles, or worse, sex. “I didn’t mean it like that. I mean, it’s not like I’m using him…”
“Use me.”
“What?” I sputter, even though I heard him loud and clear. “Use you? For what?”
“To take care of your needs. You said your skin is starved for touch. Use me to sate your hunger.” He starts to move toward me again, but I hold my hands up.
