My lips lower to his throat. I swipe my tongue over his Adam's apple, his scruff coarse like sandpaper. "How will you know if I don't tell you?"
His hands roam. One sneaks into my hair, the other tightens on my hip. "Your actions, baby."
"Mmm." The sound vibrates my throat as I press down on the part of him that has grown under me. Suddenly I'm hungry for him. Ravenous. He is in soft shorts, no zipper, and I pull him out. My skirt has already ridden up around my hips, and when I lift up to my knees, Dom pulls my panties to the side. Gripping his shoulders, I take him. Slow. Drawing it out. Dom loses his patience and grips my hips, hurrying me down.
"I need you right there," he grounds out, moving my hips back and forth, pressing me against him. "Forever. I want you there forever. You hear me?"
He lifts me, then lowers me, over and over. I breathe out the only response I can form. "Forever. Yes."
I hold on to him, my hands in his unruly hair, scraping his shoulders, his upper back, everywhere I can touch.
Together we move, becoming frenzied and desperate. Mouth to mouth, nose to nose, forehead to forehead. Everything Dom has said makes the experience more profound.
The pleasure crests, and I rise up to meet it. Dom feels it, says, "Me too, baby." And then he holds me close while I shatter, and I hold him closer while he splinters.
He kisses my jaw, soft and sweet, and I run my hands through his hair as we both settle back into ourselves.
We get ready for bed, and when we crawl under the covers, Dom holds me tenderly. He doesn't say I love you again, but he doesn't have to. His actions speak for him.
CHAPTER 53
Cecily
I wakeat 6:47 to the thrum of panic in my veins.
Beside me, Dom sleeps soundly, the white sheet twisted around his torso.
I can't shake the dread that pushes at my limbs, making them feel heavier than they are. After two minutes attempting to convince myself this is a trick of my mind, I slip quietly from bed. A T-shirt hangs from my duffel bag, wrinkled, and I pull it on. The closest bottom is the skirt I wore last night, so I drag that on, too. After I slide my feet into my sandals, I slip from the room.
The lobby is quiet. A young man sits behind the desk looking at his phone. He sets it down when he sees me.
I'm not sure where to go, or what I'm doing here. There was a force propelling me, and I responded. It is as simple as that, and just as confusing.
Behind me, the elevator dings. I turn to look, expecting Dom, but it's not him.
"Dad?"
My father, disheveled, silvery hair rumpled, wearing a V-neck white T-shirt and shorts. His expression mirrors thebewilderment I feel. "Is everything ok, Cecily?" He comes closer, placing a hand on my shoulder.
I cannot recall the last time my father touched me, or looked at me with concern the way he is right now. "Y-yeah," I stammer. "Why are you down here?"
He shakes his head, his hand returning to his side. "I'm not sure. I don't know what woke me, but I felt?—"
"Panicked," I whisper.
"Yes."
"And you came down here."
He nods. "I had an overwhelming urge, but"—he glances around the deserted lobby—"I don't know why."
"I did, too."
The realization arrives simultaneously. "Grandma," I say, at the same time he says, "Mom."
Dad spins around to the elevator, but I reach out, stopping him. "She slept in the motor home last night."
"Why did she do that?" he asks, following me out the front door.
