Erica
After much restless, fitful daydreaming, half about Dominic in bed with me and the other half concerning a glorious scene in which I told him to screw off, I was finally able to get to sleep.
Not a moment later, I heard the doorbell ring.
“Who the hell could that be?” I thought, wrapping up in my fluffy bathrobe and slipping on some slippers. I really hoped it wasn’t Brian, but if it was, I had the flat side of a frying pan with his name on it. Drawing my face into a scowl, I marched up and answered the door.
“Dominic!” I gasped, my hands flying to my mouth. “What are you doing here? Oh my God. Who is that?”
In my surprise at seeing the very man who was the base all of my fantasies, I had failed to notice the second figure in my doorway, flung over Dominic’s powerful shoulders like a rag doll. As my eyes flew over his limp form, I began to notice something else: both of them were covered with blood.
“Jesus,” I gasped, sagging back against the doorway.
“Erica,” Dominic declared, his voice calm and in command. “This is Thunder. He is a good friend of mine and has been injured in a fight. Will you help us?”
I gazed at them. My first instinct was to ask why they didn’t call the police, but I quickly swallowed it. I knew why, and certainly didn’t want Dominic to think I was an idiot.
My second instinct was to shout at him, for leaving me completely in the lurch when we’d hooked up, but I managed to stomach that complaint, too. Dominic had made no secret about what kind of man he was. Finding an empty bed in the morning was simply to be expected. I knew that.
So, after a long moment’s silent whirring in my head, I simply responded with, “Okay.”
Dominic dragged Thunder inside. Feeling way too practiced at all this, I quickly seized an old bedsheet––the same bedsheet I had used to fix Dominic up, in fact––and flung it across the floor, to prevent staining from the blood. An instant later, Dominic laid Thunder across it. He then proceeded to take off Thunder’s clothes from the waist up.
Meanwhile, I went to the kitchen and tried to gather anything I thought I might need: bandages, paper towels, hydrogen peroxide, even kitchen knives and a pair of tweezers. After tossing these beside Dominic, I went to fetch one of the most important things: a bowl of warm water.
Thunder was shaking. He looked much older than Dominic, and thinner, his skin so white it nearly matched the tattered old bedsheet. His wound looked small––no bigger in diameter than a dime––but the blood was flowing freely, and, at the sight of it, I felt a great fear, so much deeper than the one I had felt when Dominic had been here last.
If we weren’t careful, a man could die in my house. Imagine explaining that to my landlord.
I took a deep, steadying breath, dipped a towel into the bowl, and laid it across the wound, dabbing the half-dried blood away.
His sigh of relief was immediate. The warm water was soothing him.
“Get him a blanket!” I cried to Dominic, who leapt to his feet at once to search out a blanket. I was aware in the sudden, ironic reversal of roles here: me giving the life-and-death orders, but neither of us chose to comment on it.
Dominic returned with an old blanket plucked from the back of my spare couch, and then, quite clumsily, tried to tuck it around his friend. My withering look stopped him, and we swapped jobs. I covered and comforted Thunder, while he dabbed at the wound with the wet towel.
“Do you think we should try to remove the bullet?” I asked, once Thunder was safely ensconced. In my free moment, I hurriedly rinsed out the bowl of water and replaced it, for it had turned the color of wine.
Dominic scrutinized the wound.
“No,” he said at last. “The entry seems clear, and I don’t see any fragments. Nor do I think it hit the bone. The most important thing is, right now, for us to stop the bleeding. Even a lucky shot like this can kill a man if he’s allowed to bleed out.
“Right,” I replied, taking charge. “You keep the supply of towels and water fresh. I’ll apply pressure and bandage the wound. Go!”
Dominic did not blink. He immediately went to obey my orders. “That’s the sign of a good man,” I thought. “Able to give and take orders as needed.”
Soon, all of the dried blood was swabbed away, leaving only Thunder’s clear, pink skin, and the fresh blood that flowed freely whenever I removed pressure.
“I need you to hold this, Dominic!” I commanded, nodding towards the fresh white towel I was holding over the wound. “Then, when I say when, remove it!”
He nodded, and pressed down hard upon his friend. Thunder grunted in pain but did not protest. I prepared the bandages.
“Ready…now!” I called.
Dominic swept the towel away, revealing the circular red bullet hole winking at us like a single, terrible eye. I swooped down with the bandages, and a split second later it was covered. Blood soaked it immediately, but I pounced upon it with another bandage, and another, until, at long last, the wound was sealed, with only fluffy white bandages in sight.
With a great sigh of relief, I sagged back into Dominic and wiped my sweating face with my hands. So tired was I, in fact, that I did not even care that this meant smearing blood all over my cheeks.
Dominic looked at me and smiled. Balling his sleeve up in his hand, he began wiping the blood away.
“You know,” he said, his warmth soothing on my skin. “When I first talked to you, I knew you were sexy and smart. What I didn’t realize was how tough you were.”
I glanced down at Thunder, whose eyelids were flickering beneath my blood-stained blanket. I touched his forehead and was relieved to find that he felt comfortably warm.
“I wasn’t tough, when we met,” I admitted. “But everything that has happened since then… has made me stronger.”
We shared a silent look of knowing. He sensed exactly what I meant.
“It’s funny,” he said after a moment. “We’re like complete opposites, you and me. I started off too strong, too tough, I think. Like brittle, untempered metal. And over time, I have become softer––more flexible, and adaptive. It’s a good thing. And you…you started off meek and soft and timid, and are becoming––”
“Harder,” I interrupted, my eyes glowing. “Yes, I feel it. Maybe, somehow, we can meet somewhere in the middle.”
He turned, and he kissed me. “Thank you,” he whispered. “For saving Thunder.”
“Speaking of which,” a sudden, gravelly voice interrupted. I jumped and whirled around, utterly confused, until I realized that Thunder himself was speaking. I had not, until then, even heard his voice.
“Thank you, m’lady,” he continued like a gentleman. “Is there somewhere I can lie that is more comfortable than the floor? I am awfully tired, and I suspect you two might want your privacy.”
I blushed like a schoolgirl, and Dominic rolled his eyes.
“Of course,” I said. “Dominic, can you help me carry him to the guest room?”
Dominic nodded, and together we heaved Thunder up and managed to tuck him into bed. It was a strange moment: Dominic and I fixing the sheets around this man as if he were a small child. I felt motherly, and saw him as fatherly, as if the two of us were a couple tending a baby–
“Hold that thought, Erica!” I scolded myself internally. “You’re getting ahead of yourself!”
I shook my head, muttering a hurried, “Thank you!” Then, we returned to the living room and kitchen.
“You’re quite a mess yourself, you know,” Dominic said, as we tottered around the house, scooping up soiled towels and mopping up spills. “You should shower.”
“I will. But first I want to get this load in. I’m afraid the blood will set.”
As I spoke, I leaned down and stuffed the wad of red towels into the washer, pouring in extra detergent. Suddenly, I was aware of Dominic behind me. I could feel his hot breath on my neck, and his warmth encircled me. He reached gentle hands around me and fiddled with the dials on the machine.
“Make sure you run it on cold only,” he explained. “That’s the best way to get blood out.”
“One of the many pieces of wisdom a man like you can offer me,” I chuckled, realizing only how harsh it sounded after I said it.
Dominic did not seem offended, however. Instead, he placed his hand on the small of my back and walked with his fingers to the tie of the bathrobe I had fashioned around my waist.
“Yeah, it is,” he said simply, and pulled me towards him.
The back of my body collided with his hips, and I felt, even through the thick leather of his pants and the cotton fluff of my bathrobe, his raging hard-on.
I smiled. It was good to know that he wanted it as badly as I did.
“Whoa there, buddy,” I interrupted, drawing away from him. “I think I need a shower first.”
I saw a snarl of impatience cross his lips, but then he regained control.
“Of course. Can I join you?” He held up his blood-stained hands.
“I don’t think so. That privilege is for men who call me back.” I grinned and flounced towards the bathroom. I was not actually mad at him, of course, but it was fun teasing him, and knowing how badly I could make him suffer by denying him the one thing he wanted the most.
At least for a little while.
After I entered the bathroom, I made sure to leave the door open a crack, so that he, from his position, could peek in and watch me undress. Slowly, like an actress in a stockings commercial, I removed my slippers, standing on the balls of my feet the entire time to emphasize my calves. Then, I proceeded to the bathrobe. I untied it, and let it hang open so that just the bottom curves of my breasts were visible. The nipples I kept hidden. I wanted him itching for them.
Then, in a single, fluid motion, I dropped the bathrobe to the floor and stood fully naked by the sink. I glanced in the mirror and noticed with sly triumph that Dominic was gaping at me open-mouthed, unaware that I could see his reflection in the mirror. Even as he watched, he reached down between his legs and gave himself a tug, readying himself for me.
I turned, wiggling as I did so to make my tits and booty ripple, then bent to turn on the faucet. I kept my legs straight and bent over all the way, to show off my flexibility, and the clear, spreading view of my ass through the doorway.
“Yeah,” I thought. “That’s what you get for not calling me back.”
With a flourish, like a dancer sweeping off the stage, I gripped the curtain and stepped behind it, into the hot, steaming shower.
“What are you doing?” The doubtful thought hit me as powerfully as the shower’s jet of hot water. All of a sudden, my sense of sexiness was washed away, I was left with only stark reality: naked skin and bloody hands.
“This man is a criminal!” My inner torment continued. “He comes in here whenever he wants, armed and dangerous, avoiding the cops, other gangs everything! Do you really need this kind of man in your life?”
The sensible answer was, “No, of course not.” I had just had a massive break up with Brian. I’d nearly been sexually assaulted by my own boss. The last thing I needed was to toss in my lot with an obvious bad boy, prone to violence and breaking the law.
And yet, I thought about our conversation. About how we both had changed––were still changing. I thought about the Erica who was head-over-heels in love with Brian. Who never stood up for herself, and just let the people in her life order her around.
“Do you like her? Respect her? Care for her?” A nasty voice that sounded an awful lot like Dominic’s said in my brain. I thought about it, and the honest answer was “No.” I did not like who I was. Hell, who I was did not like who I was. Was she really worthy of my protection and respect?
“No,” I said aloud, and that harsh, nasty voice was my own. But this new Erica? The one who’d stood up to Brian and had been standing up to Mr. Blade, every day since he attacked her in the office? “She,” I thought, “is worth something.”
And somehow, I just knew that Dominic was a part of who I was becoming. He was like a catalyst, pumped into me at just the right moment.
Mmm. Pumped into me.
For a while, I simply allowed my thoughts to wander, some pleasant, and some unsettling, all of them about Dominic. Until, suddenly, I realized something: I was tired of letting the men in my life take hold of all of my thoughts. They affected my decisions, my fantasies, my delusions, my dreams. No matter how I turned, somehow my mind would be preoccupied with the inexplicable behavior of men.
“You know what?” I declared suddenly. “I’m done!” I would fuck them if I wanted to, talk to them if I wanted to, and leave them if I wanted to. I was so tired of worrying about what I should or shouldn’t do, and then never doing what I wanted to do. I resolved, then and there, to be honest with myself and with the men in my life, even if that meant embarrassment, or silliness, or even danger.
Fuck it. I was ready to be what I wanted to be.
“Hey, Dominic,” I called, poking my head out from behind the curtain. “Why don’t you come in here now, huh?”
I heard him stir, and a moment later the bathroom door opened.
“You called, Madam?” He asked, faking an accent and a servile voice.
I chuckled. “I did, Mr. Dominic. Now take off your clothes and get in here.”
His eyes widened in surprise, but so did his smile, and a half-a-second later, after much unzipping, his was naked in the shower before me.
And he was enormous.
Last time we had been together, in this very shower, he had been diminished a bit by injury and blood loss. Now, though, he was a pure, unadulterated piece of man-meat, and he seemed to tower before me and take over the very tiny space.
“I’m here now,” I said, looking down from eyelashes that dripped water onto my cheeks. “What can I do for you?”
Suddenly, next to his mammoth masculinity, I felt very small.
“Your wound is healing well,” I said noncommittally, leaning over to view his side. I reached out and touched the puckered, white scar with a finger. “That was a crazy night.”
“It was,” said Dominic. “But not because of the guns or the knives. I see those all the time.”
It took me a second to register what he meant, and then I felt a great warmth surge through me that had nothing to do with the hot water. I thought about how to respond––what the proper thing to say would be.
“No, Erica,” I told myself. “Be honest. What are you actually thinking and feeling right now?”
I met his gaze. Then, without asking, or without thinking about what it might mean in the future, or if he would think I was stupid, or too aggressive, or anything, I reached up and wrapped my arms around him, pressing my face into his chest.
“I missed you,” I murmured.
For a long time, he didn’t answer. I waited, listening to the constant pulsing of the water, watching the way it streamed in little rivulets down his muscular chest. The rich, black hair over his pecs caught the water too, making it glisten and gleam.
“I’ve missed you, too,” he said at last. Then, he took me by the chin, lifted up my face, and kissed me on the lips.
It was not like any of the other kisses we had experienced together. It was not hard, sexy, and aggressive. It was soft and gentle. Just enough pressure to let the other know that you were there.
Then, he leaned away. His face was suddenly transformed. It was not hard and grizzled and menacing like it usually was. It looked like the face of a much younger, tender man.
“We are changing each other,” I thought. “Without even trying.”
Then, once again, his face hardened, and his usual savage grin replaced the mild smile I had just seen. He reached up and gave my nipple a flick.
“So, Erica,” he growled. “Am I gonna reward you in here for all you’ve done tonight, or are we gonna do it in the bedroom?”
I grinned wickedly back. This sort of smile was unfamiliar upon my face, but I was growing to like it.
I was growing to like it very much.
“The bedroom,” I said. “Let’s go.”