I open my mouth, but the space inside me that should be filled with passion is just… empty. A blank space filled with dead childhood dreams that faded to dust long before I hit adulthood.
Stay positive. Stay flirty. You can’t tell him that you have nothing in your life to be excited about. Nothing to hope for.
“Family,” I kinda choke out.
“I’m close with my family, too.” Dom takes my answer the wrong way, but I decide to run with it.
I meant that I would love to have a family of my own, but this is a much better, much less depressing path.
“Does your family live in Chicago?” I ask, happy to turn the conversation toward him.
Dom snorts. “The whole fucking lot of them.”
That makes me smile. “Big family, then?”
He nods. “Too many to even keep straight.”
“That sounds nice.”
“You haven’t met them,” he jokes.
I tip my smile up toward him. “If they’re anything like you, I’m sure they’re lovely.”
Dom’s face contorts into a look of disgust. “Lovely? Clearly I’m giving you the wrong impression if you think I’m lovely.”
“Oh?” I lift my brows. “And what impression should I have?”
He lowers his voice an octave. “That I’m manly.”
The laugh bursts out of me before I can stop it.
Dom feigns a hurt expression, but I know he said it that way to be funny, so I stop myself from saying sorry.
“Anything else?” I grin.
He lifts his free hand, ticking off fingers. “Hilarious. Handsome. Great head of hair.”
I make a show of looking up at his close-cropped hair.
Dom taps his temple. “This is by choice, not necessity.”
I flex my fingers in his. “Can I touch it?”
Dom drops his eyes to his lap, and I squeak. “The hair!” Then I make another sound and add, “The hair on your head. Obviously. Oh my god.”
The deep laugh Dom lets out loosens his grip on my fingers, so I take the opportunity to slip free and slap my hands over my face.
“Angel.” He’s still chuckling.
I shake my head. “Nope. I’m not here anymore. Go talk to someone else.”
He laughs some more, even as he gently grips my wrist.
I resist him pulling my hand away from my face until I feel the puff of breath across my bare forearm.
Peeking between my fingers, I find him with his head dipped down, leaning into the space between us.
“Give me a feel, Shorty.”
“I’m not that short,” I grumble.
“Sure you aren’t.” He tips his head closer. “Go on.”
Give me a feel.
I exhale and gently place my fingertips at the base of his skull, right where his hairline starts on the back of his neck.
Dominic stills beneath my touch—turns to stone. But I don’t stop. I lean in.
As I slide my fingers up, the short bristles tickle the sensitive underside of my fingers.
His hair is surprisingly soft. And I don’t stop. I don’t stop when his hair brushes against my palm. I don’t stop at the back of his head. I let my hand slide up toward the top.
Once there, I let my hand settle a little more, flattening the short hairs between my hand and his scalp as I slide my hand back down, then back up. And I definitely don’t stop when he tips his head farther toward me.
“Jesus,” he groans. “That feels good.”
I catch myself before I agree, even though it does. It does feel good.
And then, because I like the way it feels when I do it to myself, I curl my fingers until the nails are just touching his scalp and drag my hand back down to the base of his skull, giving him a light scratch the whole way.
When I reach his neck, his shoulders hunch before he lowers them with a shudder.
And because I’m feeling bold, I drag my nails down the length of his neck, letting my fingers pass over the swirling design there until they reach his shirt collar.
Wanting to do more but not sure if I should, my boldness fades, and I drop my hand back into my lap.
Still bent over, Dom turns his head to face me. “I’m gonna need you to do that a hundred more times.”
“I can agree to that,” I whisper.
Why am I whispering?
Those eyes that look like they see too much roam across my face. From one eye to the other, down the slope of my nose, settling on my lips. The tip of his tongue wets his lips.
My chest rises and falls.
By the way one look from him affects me, I don’t know if I want to experience more. Because more might kill me.