DOM: Chapter 9

Dom leads me to a blacked-out SUV that reminds me of the one Bo drives and pulls the rear passenger door open.

As I climb in, Dominic skims his hand over my hip, the thin material of my pants letting me feel the heat of his touch.

“Buckle in,” Dom tells me, then shuts the door.

While he walks around the back of the vehicle, I do as he says and avoid looking at the driver, feeling too flustered to think about the money he must’ve spent to hire a driver for the night.

I hope it wasn’t too expensive.

Dom pulls open his door, and the neon lights behind him seem to glow extra bright against the night sky. As he climbs into his seat and pulls the door shut, a glint of light reflects off his watch, and I remind myself that Dominic isn’t hurting for money.

I don’t know exactly what he does. He said something about property management and shipping—which I pretended to understand—but if he wants to spend his money on a driver in Vegas, that’s on him.

“Ready, Boss?” the driver asks.

I’m watching Dom’s profile, so I see him narrow his eyes at the driver through the rearview mirror.

“Uh, I mean, Mr. Gonzalez.” The driver corrects himself.

Maybe Dominic doesn’t like being called Boss.

“Yes.” Dom’s expression clears, and the driver pulls ahead.

My fingers twitch in my lap as anxiety bounces through my body.

This is what I’ve been dreaming of for over a month. Why can’t I just be calm?

There’s movement on the seat next to me. “Angel, don’t be nervous.”

I glance down, seeing Dom’s hand palm up between us.

“I’m not nervous,” I lie, even as I set my trembling hand in his.

“It’s just me.” His voice is soothing as he wraps his fingers around mine.

“I know.” I take a fortifying breath, then look up to meet his eyes. “I’m just having a hard time believing this is really happening.” Dom smirks, and my mouth pulls into a little smile. “I didn’t mean that.” I’m thankful for the dark interior of the car. Hopefully I can get this damn blush under control before we get to the restaurant. “I just mean… It feels like we met so long ago. I was starting to think we might be cursed.”

His smirk stays in place. “Real life Montague and Capulet.”

More of my stress slips away. “I believe they were considered star-crossed, not cursed.”

Dominic dips his chin. “Fair. Plus, our ending will be better.”

My stomach flips when he says our ending, like a future between us is inevitable. “It will?”

“I plan to die a very old man.”

I purse my lips. “So, in like ten years?”

The driver coughs, and I think it’s to cover a laugh, but I’ll never know because before I can blink, Dominic is there.

Against me.

His hand is behind my neck, pulling me closer, making my body turn toward his.

He keeps our fingers in his other hand entwined but lifts them, pinning them to the seat next to my head.

It all happens in a flash.

One breath. And then warm lips press against mine.

I missed his lips.

The hand on my neck tightens, holding me up while all my bones turn to mush.

“Let me in,” Dominic whispers against my lips. “Now, Valentine.”

My mouth opens.

I have no other choice.

He slides his tongue across my lip. I try to pull it into my mouth, but his tongue retreats and his teeth close on my lower lip.

“You’ve been teasing me with this fucking mouth for over a month.” He slowly slides the hand on the back of my neck around to the front.

“Teasing?” I’m already breathing heavily.

“With your sassy little selfies.” He closes his mouth over mine again.

Sassy?

I inhale through my nose as Dom ravages my mouth, and I’m assaulted by his scent. With that warm, masculine cologne he wears. And it wraps around me like a blanket. Like I’m home.

Before the weekend is over, I’m finding out what he wears and buying some to spray on his suit jacket I still have.

The one currently draped over the armchair in the corner of my bedroom, making it look like he left it there, like he’s been over and left it after stripping down to nothing.

Building heat gathers in my core.

I grip the front of Dom’s shirt with my free hand, my nails scraping across his chest.

His muscles tense at the contact, and I feel his groan in my fingertips.

“Dominic,” I whisper.

The fingers around mine squeeze a tiny bit. They tighten just that little bit, and I want more.

But Dom pulls back.

His eyes are inches from mine, the blue sparking with life. “I promised you dinner, so that’s what we’re doing. But you’re coming to my hotel after.”

I nod.

“Your friends okay with you staying out?”

I nod again. “They just want proof of life, if…” I trail off, but Dom raises a brow, prompting me to finish. “If we spend all weekend banging.”

Dom grins. “I like your friends.”

“Me, too.” I debate telling him that I don’t know them really well and that I was happy to leave them for him, but our vehicle slows to a stop.

Dom slides back across the seat to his side.

“You’re supposed to wear your seat belt,” I chastise him.

“I figured you were worth the danger.” Dom opens his door, and his gaze turns serious. “Wait for me.”

Dom slams the door after he gets out, and I glance up to catch the driver watching me through the mirror, but then his eyes immediately dart away.

I’m unbuckled and ready, so when Dom opens the door, I take his offered hand and climb down.

We stand there, chest to chest, for a moment.

Dom slides his tongue along his teeth. “You’re not as short, Shorty.”

I slide a foot to the side and pull up on my pant leg, the material rising to show the tall shoes hidden beneath.

“You’re gonna twist an ankle in those.”

“I’ll have you know,” I tell him, releasing the material and re-covering my shoe, “I can move at an almost jog in these things.”

Dom holds his elbow out away from his side, and I slide my hand through the V it makes.

“An almost jog. I retract my statement. Clearly, you’re a pro.” We start across the sidewalk together. “For the record.” He looks down at me. “I like you short.”

I look up at him. “I like you big.”

My eyes widen at the same time Dom lets out a bark of laughter. And, Jesus fuck me, the man just gets hotter.

I’m too distracted by his presence to catch the name of the restaurant before we step through the front door.

“Welcome.” The host steps out from behind the front desk, two menus in hand. “Right this way.”

Dominic doesn’t lower his arm, so I don’t drop my hold on his elbow as we walk through the large, dramatically lit dining room.

It’s sexy. Blacks and reds and dark wood tones. With bright green plants hanging from the walls and ceilings and interesting wicker chandeliers.

Most of the tables are filled. And most people are busy in their own conversations, but lots of faces still turn our way.

I keep my shoulders back and my grip on Dominic’s arm light.

I belong here. At his side. In this restaurant.

We walk past a woman who gives Dom, then me, a once over, and I realize that without even trying, we’ve dressed like we planned it. Wearing black from head to toe.

His little Angel, all dressed in black.

The host stops before a table in the back corner. It’s a four-seater, but it’s already set just for two, the selected seats next to each other, both angled out to face the rest of the dining room.

“Here you are, miss.” The host pulls a chair out for me.

I slide into the space between the chair and table, but before he can push my chair in, Dom crowds into the space, forcing the host to step back.

I bite down on the urge to laugh and let Dom push my chair in as I sit, forgetting about the fact that Dominic never checked in or even said his name when we got here.

Dom is lowering himself into his chair when a server reaches our table.

“I’ll give you a moment with the menu,” she says as she fills our water glasses. “But if you’d like to start with a drink, let me know.”

She has trouble looking at Dom and instead bounces her gaze between me and the table.

Taking pity on her, because I get it, he’s too hot to look at, I decide a drink is the perfect thing. “Can I have a margarita on the rocks, please?”

She nods. “Of course. Do you have a tequila preference?”

“Oh. Um…” I look to Dom.

It’s not like I’ve never bought tequila or ordered a specific one, but this place seems a little fancier than what I’m used to. And I don’t want to ask for something stupid.

Understanding my hesitation, Dominic requests one that starts with an r and ends with my panties disintegrating. He pronounces it like he’s speaking another language, and I wonder if he’s bilingual.

And I’m too distracted staring at his mouth to even hear what he orders for himself.

“That okay?” Dominic asks, his attention back on me.

I bite my lip as I nod, then blurt out, “Do you speak Spanish?”

“To my grandfather’s complete sadness, I’m sure, I do not.” He shakes his head with a self-deprecating huff. “Just enough to get by.”

“Like ordering drinks?”

Dom tips his head. “Like that.”

“So your grandfather…” I trail off, unsure if I should be asking this. And unsure if I really want to open the discussion of family because there’s only so much I want to share about my own.

But Dom doesn’t look offended or upset at my question. He looks pleased. “I don’t remember him much. He passed away when I was little. But my grandmother, his wife, was around a lot longer, and based on the stories she told me, I think he would’ve liked you.”

“Me?” My brows shoot up.

Dominic has never shied away from saying whatever he feels, but this feels extra… personal. Something you might say when your significant other finally meets your family.

“Yeah, Shorty. You.”

“Why?” I can’t help asking.

“Because you’re sweet. And just the right amount of feisty.”

“Your grandfather would like me because I’m feisty?” I laugh.

Dom nods. “A good woman can change your life. Or so he used to say.”

I feel the warmth of that statement in my chest. “He must’ve really loved your grandmother.”

“He did.” Dom lets out a deep breath. “He grew up in Colombia, in a little town. But he came here, to Chicago, when he was twenty-two. It was supposed to be a short visit. Two weeks. But then he met a woman. A nice girl from the suburbs, from a respectable family, and the rest, as they say, is history.”

“He just stayed?”

“He stayed.” Dom’s blue eyes don’t waver. “Because a good woman can change your life.”

I swallow. “I like that story.”

“Me, too.” The edges of his eyes crinkle with a smile. “So did my grandmother. Which is why she told it about a thousand times.”

“Can’t blame her.” I think about our past conversations. “So that big family you have, did your grandfather’s relatives move here too?”

Dominic shakes his head. “They disowned him.”

I gasp. “What? Why?”

“They viewed it as betrayal. Abandoning his history and some other bullshit. But my grandfather stood by the fact that love is stronger than obligation. So, to make up for the lack of family on his side, they decided to have a fuck ton of kids.”

I snort at his description. “What’s a fuck ton of kids?”

“Nine.”

I grimace at the thought of giving birth nine times. “Okay, yeah. That’s a lot.”

“My father was the oldest, and I was the first grandchild. But with eight sets of uncles and aunts just on that side, and with all of them having a minimum of three kids, with the exception of my parents who only had me”—he shakes his head—“there’s still a fuck ton.”

“Is your dad…?” I hate to ask, but since we’re talking about family.

“Passed away about twenty years back.”

“I’m so sorry,” I tell him, feeling bad about asking and tempted to tell him that mine died about that long ago, too, but my family story is much more depressing, and I don’t really want to go there.

“Basically, a lifetime ago. But pretty sure he’d like your feistiness, too.”

I bite my lip, trying to picture what one of Dom’s big, happy family gatherings might look like when the server returns with our drinks.

Realizing I haven’t even looked at the menu, I quickly pick it up and skim over the items. But the second I spot pad Thai as an option, I set my menu back down.

“That mean you know what you want, Angel?” Dom is giving me that small smile, the one that means he finds something funny.

I lift a brow, daring him to laugh. “It does.”

“Ladies first.” Dom gestures for me to start.

I order my chicken pad Thai, and Dom asks for spring rolls and then a different noodle dish for himself.

Finally noticing the margarita the server set down, I pull the glass closer and am tempted to take out my phone just so I can take a photo of it. The rim is perfectly salted, and floating on top next to the paper-thin slice of lime is a trio of edible flowers. And they’re so pretty.

A tattooed hand holding a short glass filled with some sort of amber liquid lifts into my view. “A toast.”

I pick up my drink and tap it against Dom’s.

“To good women.” His voice is low.

“To leaning in,” I reply.

Those full, tempting lips quirk as he presses his glass against them.