“Let go,” I order around the nipple clenched between my teeth before pulling it in and sucking, hard.
“Oh fuck,” she cries out, her sounds cut by her rapid breaths as she convulses. The sight of it is so fucking hot that my dick weeps. As she comes down, she stares up at me with kaleidoscope eyes in varying shades of deep blue, and I rest my palm to cradle the side of her face, gently sweeping my thumb along her hairline.
“That was . . .” she looks up at me in wide-eyed wonder, “that was crazy,” she whispers before a gradual, lazy smile lights her face. “I can’t believe I came . . . like that.”
“That’s because the most important erogenous zone is here,” I double-tap her temple with the pad of my thumb before sliding it along her delicate cheek. “You were halfway there because of how attracted we are to each other and because of how incredible it feels when we do fuck.”
Pupils dilated, her eyes soften as she sinks into my mattress, and I soak up every bit of the aftermath in her expression. “That’s how it feels for you? Incredible?”
“Yeah, it does,” I admit, which is why my dick hates me for the moment. The words are starting to come a lot easier, and worse, starting to flow out of me unchecked. The sound of the trimmer cutting off signals that time is up as I pull the top of her bikini back into place. “Dom, that was . . . seriously the hottest thing ever, and don’t take this the wrong way, but . . . I’m still aching for you.”
“That’s not going away anytime soon. For either of us.”
Her answering smile serves as a battering ram in my chest. Lifting her to stand, I turn her toward my door and slap her ass hard enough for it to sting.
“Ouch.” She glances back, palming and rubbing her ass to soothe the reddened skin. “That stung.”
“Good. And just so you know, the next time you come into my room on a day that doesn’t belong to me, you’re getting fucked with extreme prejudice. Oh, and . . . hi.”
Grabbing the alternator, I pull out my towel and wipe away the debris from the reconstructed part before setting it in place. Tyler works silently next to me—lately more of an apparition than a roommate, only haunting our townhouse to collect bare necessities. It’s obvious he’s keeping secrets of his own. After spotting his truck driving through our old neighborhood when I dropped Delphine off after her last chemo appointment, I have a good idea about one of his choice haunts. My wrist smarts, and just as I start to tighten it in, a rumble sounds in the distance.
Ears perking up, my pulse follows as a breeze sweeps through my open bay door, cooling my sweat-slicked skin.
There’s been no exchange of numbers or a promise for a call I wouldn’t make. Cecelia left my bedroom that day with nothing more than a warning from me and an opt-in for her invitation, weather permitting, as it does now with a deafening lightning crack.
An unsettling feeling snakes its way in as I wonder in what fucking universe this could possibly work. Especially with my existing bedside manner and refusal to treat this situation differently. The rattling echo off the bay doors a second later has me losing partial grip on my wrench, which noisily clangs against the engine. Cursing, I manage to grip it before it hits the garage floor.
“Have you ever had a girlfriend?”
I gave her some bullshit, but the honest answer is no, and I have no intention of breaking that winning streak. Even so, since the day of our last encounter, I haven’t gone a few hours without thinking of her—and it’s done nothing but grate on me. I chalk it up to sexual frustration. Between that, the infuriating idle of my club, the festering friction with my brother and Sean, not to mention the sick fucks I continually keep tabs on—it’s safe to say I’m close to reaching my limit.
Exasperated, I try to focus again when the wrench slips from my hand, clattering to the garage floor. Retrieving it and determined to dismiss the idea that this state is perpetual, I glance over to see Tyler observing me like a fucking zoo animal from where he works a bay over. Another lengthy bout of thunder filters through the shop as the next icy breeze brings the unmistakable patter of rain.
Bristling under Tyler’s steady attention, I glare over at him. “What?”
“Tell me where you’re at, Dom,” he prompts in a coaxing tone. “Give me that much.”
“You know where I’m at,” I grit out, tightening the first bolt. “I’m caged until the one with the key unlocks the door.” I secure another, my wrist giving me hell. “Any word from Miami?”
“France has birds on watch.”
Rain begins to pour as I glance at an accumulating puddle just outside the concrete lip of the bay. “As much good as that’s going to do.”
“There will come a time—”
“So, I hear,” I cut in dryly. “I’m over it, Tyler. I’m being a good, levelheaded little bird.”
“There will, Dom.”
“Sorry if I don’t believe you or anyone else wearing the same ink right now.”
“I get that things feel off,” he offers.
“That’s just your roundabout way of saying I’m off,” I zero in on him. “You think I don’t see the way you all look at me? Like I’m some bouncing live wire you’re all afraid to get close to?” I shake my head in disgust. “If I am, it’s because I’m filled to the fucking brim with a need to act—to expose the truth. Something we once had in common and had issues getting others to believe until proven. What’s incredible to me is that lately, I’ve been put in the position to defend myself to my fucking own.” I shake my head. “You would think at least one of you would understand my struggle. But it seems like everyone around is so locked up in their own fucking lives—their own shit—so afraid I’ll upset the balance when upsetting the balance is the reason we fucking soldiered up in the first place.”
“We are moving,” he reminds me.
“At a snail’s pace,” I scoff. “It’s like everyone forgot they were once angry too. So angry they altered their entire life path to take action, and what are we doing?” I toss my wrench in my toolbox in disgust as the little girl’s screams in the latest video amplify—the noise crashing back into me in a breath-stealing rush.
I’ll never outlive the image of her surrounded by monsters—defenseless, alone, and begging for help that didn’t come. Turning on him, I feel the anger start to simmer just beneath my skin. “This isn’t supposed to be about us. If we give into caring about only what we get out of this, we’re no better than the people we’re targeting.”
“I get that, I do,” he assures.
“Yeah?” I snap my head up. “So, tell me, brother. Where do you go at night? Because it can’t all be about the fucking club.”
He swallows. “It’s not. Not always.”
“That’s what I thought.”
“I’m still mad, Dom. I’ve also laid witness to shit that no human should ever see. The difference between us is that I can temper it a little better. But you continually seem to forget I’ve sacrificed a lot to start this fight with you. Don’t write me off so fucking easily. It’s insulting.”