Love Her or Lose Her
When she heard the room key slide into the lock, the corners of her mouth ticked up into a smile. Instead of giving in to the modest urge to cover her naked body with the fluffy comforter, she made no move to satisfy the impulse. She crossed one leg over the other and arched her back a little, putting herself on display.
Dominic walked in and came to an immediate stop, his throat muscles moving in a slow, thick lift and fall. “You’re really trying to make us miss that eleven o’clock checkout time,” he said in a gravelly voice. “I’m not complaining.”
Her nipples beaded at his abrasive tone. “I didn’t think so.”
After a brief pause, he tipped his chin toward the door. “That was Stephen on the phone. I didn’t want to answer and wake you up.”
“Work stuff?”
“Yeah.” Tongue resting on his lower lip, Dominic stripped off his T-shirt, dangling it from his fingertips for a moment before letting it drop. “Feels good. Coming in here and knowing I can just get in bed with you. Talk to you. Touch you.” He shook his head. “Can’t believe I haven’t been doing it all along.”
“We better get started making up for lost time—”
A growl interrupted Rosie. It was coming from her stomach.
A beat of silence passed before they both broke into laughter. Dominic unfastened his jeans and shucked them off with zero fanfare, leaving him in a tight pair of black boxer briefs. Rosie was granted only a glimpse of his inked, honed muscle glory before he planted a knee on the mattress and dove onto the covers beside her. “Would you rather . . .”
Laughing, Rosie turned to her husband and buried her face in his chest. “I remember this game.”
“You should.” He slipped his fingers into her curls and cradled her head. “We used to play it constantly.”
Rosie gave an exaggerated sigh. “We must have stopped because I won all the time.”
Dominic snorted. “You must still be half-asleep, because you’re dreaming.”
“There’s only one way to settle this.” She bit his nipple lightly and felt his sex thicken against her thigh. “Fire away.”
He caught her mouth in a quick, groaning kiss. “I’ll throw you a softball to start. Would you rather get room service for breakfast, or should we get dressed and go out?”
She fingered the waistband of his boxers. “Is that even a question?”
“Room service,” he rasped, rolling his hips forward. “Got it.”
“My turn.” She took a moment to think, her lips curling at the memory of how they used to play this game for hours at a stretch, trying to outdo each other by coming up with the most outlandish scenarios. “Would you rather walk through the lobby of this hotel without your pants on, or . . . with a face full of shaving cream?”
“Shaving cream.”
“Really? Why?”
“My legs are too sexy, honey girl,” he teased against her lips. “I’m not going to be responsible for inciting a riot.”
Rosie dug her fingers into his ribs and tickled him, resulting in Dominic flipping her over onto her back and pinning her wrists above her head. “Your turn,” she breathed.
He dropped his head to the crook of her neck and laid a hot, openmouthed kiss on her sensitive skin. “Would you rather take a bath in refried beans, or . . . with an iguana?”
“Oh God.” A shiver passed through her. “Beans. One thousand percent.”
His mouth spread into an amused smile. “I had a feeling you might say that.”
“I’m trying to get sexy here and now all I can feel is a scaly green body scampering around all nervous and shifty-eyed—”
“Christ. Maybe you’re right and my game is slipping.”
Rosie hummed and passed him a little side eye. In truth, she was having no problem getting sexy. At all. With her husband’s hips wedged up tight between her thighs and his erection at the ready, she was growing wetter by the second. God, he smelled like faded aftershave, sex, and man. But the best part of the moment was the ease between them that was returning. The time they’d spent together since she’d left had started off stilted, but this was the furthest thing from stilted. She looked up into Dominic’s eyes and saw her husband again.
He pressed his thumbs to the pulses of her wrists and gave her a cajoling look. “Can I get a redo?”
Her shoulder shrug was prim, as if she was in control and not at the mercy of her powerful husband. “I’ll allow it this once.”
“Thank you,” he murmured drily, before his expression turned thoughtful. “Would you rather spend the day in the city, or head back to Port Jeff and call the realtor so she can show you that building on Cove?”
In the space of a second, she was breathless, her heart fluttering wildly. “Go back to Port Jeff and look at the building.”
Dominic nodded, his gaze running over every inch of her face. “Good. Let’s call her.”
Rosie made a sound of agreement, positive she might explode into a million tiny pieces. Not only did she seem to have her marriage back and improved, but the silver lining she’d been reaching for was now closer than ever. And with her husband on her side, she felt as if she could do anything. “Yes, we’ll call. After.”
He tucked his tongue into his cheek. “After what?”
Rosie spread her legs wide and watched Dominic’s jaw slacken as gravity ground his hips down into the juncture of her thighs. “Would you rather . . .” she whispered, forcing him to lean closer to hear her, “finish with my ankles around your neck, or lay back and watch me ride?”
His breath released in a rush, warming the side of her face. “You’re right. You always did win this game.”
Their low laughter was warm, intimate. “I see your memory has been jogged.”
“Thoroughly.”
She freed her wrists from where he’d been keeping them stationary above her head. She slipped her hands down his back, into his briefs, and dug her fingernails into his rock-solid ass. “How do you want me?”
Before she could finish phrasing the question, Dominic rolled them over, his brown, tattooed skin beneath her on the crisp, white sheets, forming the most beautiful contrast. His pupils were dilated, his breath coming in short pants that shuddered in and out of his huge chest. While he shoved down the waistband of his briefs and took out his arousal, Rosie captured handfuls of her curls and lifted her breasts, making him moan in the quiet hotel room. She bumped her hips side to side, dancing seductively in the morning light, before leaning down and bracing her weight on his shoulders. Letting their sexes mold together and dragging her wetness up and down his length, glorying in the sight of his clenched teeth, his strained neck muscles.
“Fuck me, Rosie.”
Her nails speared into his shoulders. “Oh, I plan on it.” She reached back and took his thickness in her fist, guiding it home and impaling herself inch by painstaking inch. Enjoying the rare occasion of having Dominic underneath her, Rosie savored it, taking him deep, grinding lightly, and teasing herself back up to the tip. “Do you like that?”
His punctuated laugh was rife with frustration. “You know I fucking live for it.” Their eyes met. “That I live for you.”
With an emotional tide rising in her chest, Rosie reached up and gripped the headboard and rode her husband hard. His mouth fell open, hands flying to her hips and gripping tight. Yanking, pushing, shoving, bruising. After a handful of minutes, her thighs started to burn, but she didn’t cease the rough marriage of their lower bodies, even when the wet, smacking sounds blurred together and he shouted her name, his abdomen knitting in that telltale way. “Come with me, Rosie.”
She was close. So close. So close—
“Changed my mind,” Dominic said hoarsely, flipping Rosie onto her back, her head at the foot of the bed, his body covered in a sheen of sweat. “Your husband knows what gets you off. Get those ankles around my neck.”
“Yes.” One brutal drive of his hips and Rosie screamed, Dominic swooping down to eat the sound with a filthy kiss, his lower body pounding down again, again, until his face screwed up and he came apart along with her, holding his hardness in the deepest recess of her body and shuddering violently.
They collapsed side by side into the bedsheets a moment later, their heads turning at the same time, eyes locking. Their hands slid toward each other, fingers locking. And they smiled.
Chapter Twenty-One
Rosie checked her appearance for the tenth time in the store window. Smart jacket. Boots. Skinny black jeans. Did she look the part of a restaurateur? Or even an aspiring one?
She rolled her shoulders back and exhaled, a small smile curving her lips.
Yes. She did.
Fine, she was about to make a seriously lowball offer on this restaurant, but she watched enough HGTV to know that people did it all the time. It was practically expected. She just wanted her offer to be considered seriously enough to make it to the negotiation stage—and it would. What would her mother say if she were here, witnessing Rosie doubt herself?
Not much, probably. But she’d convey a well-meaning rebuke with a raised eyebrow that said, They should be nervous about meeting us, Rosie.