“The RSVPS are rolling in.” Sloane tapped her phone screen with a satisfied smile. “Christian and Stella Harper, yes. Ayana, yes. Buffy Darlington, yes. It’s going to be a great event.”
“Of course it is. I organized it,” Vivian joked.
It was the week after New Year’s, and Sloane, Vivian, Isabella, and I were combining our weekly happy hour with party prep at the store. I had mocktails on hand for Vivian, who was entering her eleventh week of pregnancy. “On a serious note, this place looks amazing, Ále. The grand opening will be a hit.”
“I hope so.” Nerves fluttered in my stomach. “Thank you both for your help. Truly. I couldn’t have done this without you.” There were perks to having a superstar publicist and event planner as my best friends. Sloane and Vivian were in charge of logistics while I scrambled to finish my collage in time for the event.
After an agonizing but much needed, realistic look at my timeline, I’d scrapped my original plan to recreate every project that’d been ruined in the flood and poured my energy into one big centerpiece instead. It would serve as the gallery’s featured showcase, and I would round it out with a few smaller pieces from home. The new layout was a gamble, but it was the best I could do without pushing back the opening date. My contracts with the caterer and DJ were nonrefundable, so I couldn’t postpone even if I wanted to.
I surveyed the store. Backroom construction was ongoing, but in just a few weeks, the main floor had been transformed into something photo-worthy. The front desk and delicate floral displays took up the right side while the left side was dominated by the cafe. I only had room for the marble coffee counter, a velvet booth, and two tables, but they added a touch of coziness to the space. The only thing missing was the pressed flowers centerpiece and a few finishing details.
I’d skipped my holiday trip to Brazil for the first time in my life and worked around the clock to put everything together. It’d been worth it.
“How was your date on Saturday?” Isabella asked. “Better than the Dalton fiasco, I hope.”
“It’s hard for any date to go worse. ” I hadn’t heard a peep from Dalton since the Christmas gala. There were rumors he’d been kicked out of Valhalla but no confirmation yet. “To answer your question, it was fine, but there won’t be a second date.”
I hadn’t given up on my foray into the dating world after my, er, tryst with Dominic in the library. The sex had been incredible, but I’d meant it when I said I wanted to see other people. Despite the holidays, I’d squeezed in a comedy show with a musician after Christmas and grabbed drinks with a nice high school teacher over the weekend.
I didn’t care that the dates went nowhere. It was about meeting new people and experiencing what it was like to be with someone else. Luckily, neither the musician nor teacher had tried to lure me back to their apartments for a secret sex tape, so that was a plus.
“I can’t believe you guys had sex in the library at the same time,”
Vivian said. “Or that there’s a secret room and you didn’t tell me.”
Isabella and I flushed. We’d told our friends what happened at the gala, which was a mistake in hindsight because Vivian and Sloane hadn’t stopped teasing us about it. At least they hadn’t brought it up around Marcelo.
Since I couldn’t go to Brazil for Christmas, he’d flown up instead. We’d spent a long weekend attending Broadway shows and gorging on overpriced pastries. My mother FaceTimed us from St. Barts on Christmas Day, which was more thoughtful than we’d expected.
“It wasn’t my place to tell,” Isabella said defensively. “It’s a Young family secret, and you guys can’t tell anyone else.”
Sloane let out a delicate snort. “Why would I tell anyone about your and Kai’s sex lair? I’d have to disinfect it before I ever stepped foot inside.”
Isabella tossed a crumpled piece of brown paper at her, and our prep session quickly devolved into a laughing, breathless paper fight.
“Stop!” I squealed when Vivian pelted me with paper balls. “When did you get so violent? You’re supposed to be the nice one!”
“I’m constantly tired, my breasts are sore, and I have to convince Dante not to insulate me with bubble wrap every day,” she said. “I need to release some tension.”
Fair enough.
I was just glad my friends weren’t grilling me about Dominic. They’d been shocked but not necessarily surprised by my sex confession—a fact I chose not to examine too closely—and they’d complied with my request not to talk about it. I wouldn’t know what to say anyway; I was as confused about the status of my relationship as they were.
Dominic and I had left each other a few voice notes since the gala. They were generic greetings like Merry Christmas and Happy New Year, but he’d also sent a handwritten note and a custom jewelry-making kit for the holidays. I was surprised and touched that he’d remembered the casual hobby I’d picked up in Buzios, but there was only so much we could say via text and gifts. We were overdue for a real conversation.
My phone buzzed with a new message while my friends wound down their play fight.
Speak of the devil.
My heart leapt in my throat. Dominic rarely texted, which was why it took a minute for me to wrap my head around his words.
Dominic: Meet me at the Saxon Gallery tonight. 8pm. I have something for you.
I was too curious not to show.
After my friends left and I closed up shop, I took the subway to the Saxon Gallery on the west side, where Dominic waited in the reception area.
The first thing I noticed were his bruises. Yellowish-purple splotches mottled his cheek and jaw, and a scabbed-over cut sliced over his right eye.
He looked like he’d gotten into a fistfight with a wild animal.
“Oh my God,” I gasped. “What happened?”
“My brother showed up again.” His tone dried. “You could say we worked out our issues.”
God. I thought our relationship was complicated, but his entanglement with his brother might be worse.
I reached for him out of instinct before hesitating. We weren’t married anymore. I had no business fussing over him the way a wife would, but the sight of him hurt had my heart tangled in knots.
It shouldn’t. He was fine, and the wounds would heal. And yet…
I brushed my fingers over the darkest bruise. His skin was soft beneath his stubble, and the knots tightened into a messy tangle.
I missed touching him outside of sex. I missed being able to wrap my arms around him for no reason or give him an absentminded kiss on the cheek when he was working. I missed all the little things that once made us us, but I was also too scared to fall back into my comfort zone.
A thousand knots were preferable to a second heartbreak.
Dominic watched me without moving. His chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, but tension lined his jaw like he was afraid he would scare me off if he made one wrong gesture.
“Why do men always resort to violence?” I asked, attempting to lighten the static cloaking the air. “Therapy exists, you know.”
“Our problems go beyond therapy. Besides, I’m not the only one who’s bruised.” Satisfaction filled Dominic’s face, but his eyes softened when my fingers trailed over another bruise on his jaw.
I shook my head. Men. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.”
“I didn’t think you cared.”
My movements stilled. Silence floated between us before I dropped my arm. “Well, I hope you’re icing it regularly,” I said, skirting his reply.
“Purple-black doesn’t look good with your suits.”
The corner of his mouth tugged up. “Noted.”
We walked deeper into the gallery, which featured a whimsical glass flower exhibition by Yumi Hayashi. Visiting one of her exhibits had been on my bucket list for years, but the dates never lined up with my schedule, and I’d been so distracted by the divorce and store opening I hadn’t realized there was a new show this winter.
“I’m surprised you asked me to meet you here,” I said. “You’re not an art person.”
I’d chosen all the art in the penthouse. Dominic was a genius with numbers, but if I’d left the décor up to him, the penthouse would’ve made a chessboard look colorful.
“I’m not, but I thought this particular exhibit would be good inspiration,” Dominic said. “In case you need it for your projects.”
Warmth curled in my stomach. He could be so damn sweet when he wanted. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” His soft, intimate murmur ghosted down my spine.
The earlier electricity returned, sending tiny zips through my chest until I dragged a much-needed breath into my lungs. “I guess it’s not a popular exhibition,” I said, trying desperately not to notice the way his body heat sank into my skin or the brush of his shirt against my arm. “There’s no one else here.”
“I hired out the gallery.” Dominic pushed a hand into his pocket. “It’s better without the crowds, and I wanted to be alone with you.”
I couldn’t summon an adequate reply to that.
The exhibition consisted of seven rooms, each themed around the flora of different regions. I didn’t speak again until we reached the seventh and final exhibit featuring flowers native to Asia.
“About what happened at the gala.” I stopped in front of a giant lotus lantern. It was the room’s only source of light, but it was enough to illuminate the tension lining Dominic’s shoulders. “I…” The right words fought to escape. “I can’t promise anything more than sex.”
He was the only man who could set me on fire with one touch. Denying our attraction was futile, and my pre-Christmas dry spell had been torturous. I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed physical touch until I received it.
Was entering a sex-only relationship with my ex-husband a terrible idea? Absolutely. But we were already on this ride; I might as well enjoy it while it lasted.
Dominic’s eyes flickered in the dim lights. “I can work with that.”
That’s it? I wasn’t sure whether my next breath contained relief or disappointment. I’d expected him to push back, but he seemed willing to follow my guidelines.
However, surprise tripped my heartbeats when Dominic slowly moved behind me. Silence thrummed and held me captive as his warm breath trailed sensation down my spine and his fingers traced up my arms.
My back brushed his front, and the hairs on the nape of my neck rose in anticipation. It hurt to be this close to him, to feel the intimacy that we’d lost. Every rise and fall of his chest caused mine to clench; every beat of our hearts hammered home a reminder.
He hurt you.
You left him.
He’s still here.
You want him.
He hasn’t given up. What if, what if, what if.
All true, even if one conflicted with another.
Goose bumps shivered across my skin when he kissed my neck. The memory of his lips against my skin was the sweetest torture, soft yet firm, gentle yet commanding.
“What do you want, amor?” he whispered.
Our breaths echoed as he waited. Dominic never waited. He was action and movement and command. I was the one who’d always waited. I waited for dinners that we never shared and evenings together that never came.
What do I want? I wanted agency, which I’d lacked so often in our marriage. I’d walked the tightrope of dutiful wife and desire for years, and I wanted a world where I made the rules for myself instead of merely following them.
I can only promise sex.
My first implicit rule. Perhaps tonight was the night to implement it on my terms.
My heartbeats fluttered as I ran my hands across his shoulders and slowly lowered his jacket off his chest. Surprise flared on his face, but he followed my cue and slid it down his arms, folding it to the side of him. He rolled his shirtsleeves up with careful, measured movements, never taking his eyes off mine. With every flick of his wrist, the wedding band on his left hand glinted in the dim lights.
He’d never taken it off, not even after we divorced. The sight inexplicably fanned the flames slowly burning their way through my stomach. Vulnerability coursed through me while heat pooled between my legs and pulsed in an empty ache.
Our movements stilled, and we were left staring at each other as electricity buzzed through the air.
“Don’t stop now,” Dominic said softly. “Show me what you want.” It was a plea wrapped in a simple command, but nothing about this was simple. This was the moment that surpassed everything before. This was submission in a way I’d never been part of. I laced my fingers through his and pulled him to the darkest corner, where only a sliver of light broke through the shadows. A soft press of my hands had him on his knees, and lust flickered in my veins as he followed my lead and propped one leg over his shoulder. The sight of my tan skin draped over his crisp white shirt made my head spin.
He pushed my skirt up and slid my underwear to the side. “Fuck, baby, you’re so wet.” His whisper sent goose bumps down my spine. “Do you see the way I need you? The way I’m desperate to feel you any way you’ll let me.”
My heart ached when I thought about every night he chose his empire while I was left cold in the shadows. Every night I wished he needed me and not a higher number in his bank account.
I ached for a man I wished I didn’t love yet desperately wanted.
Dominic trailed slow, lingering kisses up my thigh before running his mouth across my pussy. The coolness of the wall soaked through my back as his tongue speared into me, and right there, in the corner of the gallery, with my leg on his shoulder and his hands braced on hips, he ate me out like a man starved.
The flames ignited into a wildfire. Every probe of his tongue sent pleasure crashing through me; every expert lick of my clit weakened my knees until I grabbed fistfuls of his hair and held on for dear life.
The knife’s edge of my control began to cut me in half the same way his wickedness did. I knew better than to believe sex was mending my broken heart, yet it felt like he was plucking the shattered edges of who we were out, one by one, with every lick and suck.
“More,” I whimpered. “Please, don’t stop. Don’t— ah!” My cry keened through the room as he gripped my hips harder and tongue fucked me into a swollen, dripping mess on his face.
My fingers slipped and slid against reality. Everything blurred until there was only me, him, and the relentless march of pleasure through my body.
As much as my control over tonight had fueled me, it’d also pulled me deeper into his orbit. Each tremble and shiver of my body felt like both a win for my independence and a chip in my defenses. Dominic grazed his teeth across my clit and thrust two fingers inside me. My squeal filled the empty gallery as I jerked against the sudden invasion. His other hand left me, and my breath vanished again when I looked down and saw with his hand fisted around his cock. He stroked himself with hard, rough strokes as he groaned into my pussy.
“Does tasting me get you off?” I gasped. I’d never seen him move with such intensity, and I’d always loved watching him touch himself and bring himself to completion just for me.
I was no longer an afterthought but an obsession. To be the object of Dominic’s desires was the one thing I’d loved and mourned. I didn’t trust him with my heart, but I trusted him with my body.
“Fuck, yes.” His breath was hot against my skin. “I’ll never get enough of you. I would fucking drown in you if you’d let me.” His words lit a match that slowly burned its way toward the inevitable. He must’ve felt it because he watched me with a rapt, ravenous expression as I trembled around his fingers. “Do I give you what you need, amor?”
A lie fell from my lips. “No.”
But being in control felt like a fantasy as he conquered me with his hands and mouth. I didn’t want to give myself to him, but my resolve began to crumble at his feet. My juices dripped down my thighs as my heart beat in time with the way he penetrated me. The way he sucked and licked like he’d never been more determined to wring every bit of pleasure out of me.
The past crashed away in a wave, and the orgasm burned closer.
It was then that I felt him shudder and groan again into my pussy. He’d come on the ground at my feet, spilling his promises against the tile. The way it felt to have him kneeling in front of me, fucking me with his hand and fucking himself, sent me over the edge.
Pressure burst, and white light exploded behind my eyes as I gushed into his mouth.
I kept my control, but I’d lied to myself. Dominic still owned me.
