“Uh-huh.”
“Come here.”
I’m already close, but I go anyway. The first kiss is steady, a load-bearing test. It holds. The anticipation builds: the string of lights, the night, everything we haven’t said yet. My hand slides into his hair, and he makes a sound that ripples straight through me.
We break for a breath.
“Respectable homeowner,” I whisper.
“Shut up,” he says, and kisses me again, deeper. His handsbracket my hips, and mine hook over his shoulders. The bench doesn’t creak… approval granted.
“Dom?”
“Yeah.”
“This is a great bench.”
He laughs low and tucks me closer like he’s choosing something he already chose days ago. “Stay,” he says, voice rough. I get the feeling he’s not just talking about the night.
“I’m planning on it.”
We make out on the new bench until the leftovers go cold and my self-control goes with them. Dom’s hands are steady around my waist, mine in his hair, both of us pretending we’re not already gone for each other. When we finally come up for air, he rests his forehead against mine, breathing like he just ran stairs.
“Inside?” he asks.
“Before your neighbors file an obscene noise complaint,” I say, and he huffs a laugh that feels like ease.
We tumble through the patio door, kicking off shoes, and not paying any attention to the lights. He backs me down the hall, kissing me in small, precise nips—jaw, throat, the place under my ear. In his room, he stops me with one palm splayed over my chest, not pushing, just… asking. I nod. The yes catches in my throat, but he hears it anyway.
“Tell me if you want to slow down,” he says.
“I want to speed up and then slow down,” I say, because honesty keeps spilling out of me when I’m around him.
He smiles that small, private smile and reaches past me to the dresser. A soft swish of fabric. He holds something dark, loose between two fingers. A tie.
He comes closer, voice lower now, like we’re sharing a secret only the wall gets to keep. “Have you ever been blindfolded?”
I gasp. “Is it happening? Is it finally happening?”
Dom just rolls his eyes, and I let out a small. “Yay!”
Ihold out the black silk tie that was in my drawer from a long-forgotten wedding I didn’t stay long at.
His eyes track the smooth material like it’s an animal I might let loose. “How many ties do you even own? I thought your wardrobe was strictlyT-shirts two sizes too smallandjeans that should not be allowed to make anyone’s ass look that good. Not a complaint, by the way. An observation.”
I try to be stoic. The corner of my mouth betrays me anyway.
“Come here,” I say.
He steps into my space without hesitation. I lift the silk and pause with it hovering over his eyes. “Is this okay?”
“Yes,” he breathes, fast and honestly.
“Do you know the traffic light system?” I ask.
He rolls his eyes. “Yes, I know the traffic light system. Green means continue to Poundtown, yellow means slow your roll, and red means stop.
Always the smart ass.
