by Score, Lucy
My orgasm was shimmering on the edges of reality, slowly, slowly becoming a real, tangible thing. I could feel myself flutter around his cock, his finger. Implosion was guaranteed. These were for sure going to be my last few moments on this earth.
And then he slammed inside me and held for a beat. I felt the first spurt of his orgasm in a place so deep inside me it was uncharted territory. That pulse, that unholy grunt of pleasure so sharp it was almost pain, sent me hurtling into the abyss. I clamped down on him like his cock was a mechanical bull on Wasted Wednesday.
My walls met the next volley of his release greedily, closing down on him hard. Beat for beat. Thrust for thrust. Wave for wave. We matched each other. Opening and closing. Coming and drowning together.
He drove into me one last time and held there while our releases mixed and mingled inside me as the waves gentled, then slowed, then finally, finally stopped.
51
Dominic
“Dom?”
My name from her mouth was a croak. “Mmm?” I nuzzled into her hair.
“I need something,” she whispered.
Oh, God. If she was going to ask me to go again, there was a very good chance I would die. I already wasn’t sure if my dick was ever going to work again after the last round. There was a possibility that my heart would give out, too.
I considered myself to be rather excellent in bed. But three times in one night was asking a lot of my mid-forties prowess. Even for a superhero. Four would quite possibly break something important.
“What do you need, baby?”
“An ice pack.”
Relieved, I laughed weakly. “Oh, thank God. I thought you were going to ask for another round. Something I won’t be physically capable of until I’ve had at least two IV bags of fluids.”
Her laugh turned into a yawn. “I’m sticky. And sweaty,” she murmured into my pillow.
We’d finally made it to the bed. And made good use of it, too.
But my superhuman sex powers were officially depleted.
“I literally poured my entire water content into you. I’m basically human beef jerky right now.”
“Thank you for your sacrifice,” she teased.
I lifted my head and rolled her toward me. Her pretty pink nipples were hypnotizing, and my idiotic dick that had no concept of consequences like chafing or possible failure to launch stirred at the sight of them peeking out from my white, rumpled sheets.
Down, boy.
“I’ll get you an ice pack and some water,” I promised her, brushing a kiss to her forehead and one to her cheek. I threw in a nibble at her neck for good measure.
She breathed out a laugh, and I decided it was the best noise I’d ever heard in this house.
“We’re so stupid,” she said.
“In what way?” I asked, giving in to temptation and bestowing a long lick on the nipple closest to me.
She gave a full-body tremble against me. “We could have been doing this for weeks now.” Her fingers stroked into my hair.
“Yeah, except you had to be stubborn,” I reminded her, leaning over to give her other breast the same treatment.
My moronic cock was already at half-mast again.
“Me?” She snorted. “By the way, I’m still not quitting.”
“We have a lot to figure out,” I said to her breasts.
She sat up and hit me with a pillow. “Dominic Russo! You can’t make me quit.”
Obligingly playful—a description that never once in my entire life applied to me—I pinned her to the mattress.
I didn’t want to think about the consequences of tonight. I wanted to live in this space where there was only now… and Ally’s perfect, perky breasts rubbing against my chest. But there were things that needed settled. Now.
“How are you hard?” she demanded with what I deemed an appropriate amount of wonder.
“I’m not really,” I scoffed modestly.
“You’re hard enough,” she said, staring down between us to where my cock rested against her belly.
“You need an ice pack. I need a gallon of electrolytes. And we need to talk.”
She pouted. “Isn’t it a million o’clock right now?”
It was after three in the morning.
“We can sleep later. First, I’m taking you home.”
Her face fell, and the bastard I was preened like a rooster when I realized she misunderstood what I was saying and was disappointed at the prospect of not spending the night with me.
“To get your things. You’re staying here tonight.”
“Dom, my things are in New Jersey. By the time we get them and get back, it’ll be time for work.”
“We’re both working from home tomorrow. My home.”
“Is my face really that bad?” she joked.
I leaned in. The picture of seriousness. “It is.”
She whacked me in the head with the pillow again, and I grinned. “And speaking of faces, there’s no way on this planet that we could go into that office without what we just did written all over ours.”
“You think another day will erase the orgasm scoreboard etched on your pretty face?” she teased, squeezing my cheeks in her hand until my mouth did that ridiculous duck lip thing.
“We may have to take off the rest of the year,” I muttered through her fingers.
Her laugh untied knots in my chest that I didn’t know I had.
And I knew I wasn’t going back to before.
Before tonight.
Before I saw the bruises on her face.
Before I knew what Ally felt like from the inside out.
Before she could laugh naked under me.
I wasn’t physically capable of it.
With extreme male reluctance, I crawled off her, hooking her ankles and dragging her toward the edge of the bed. “Come on, Maleficent. Let’s find you some pants.”
* * *
A middle of the night road trip with Ally bundled into another pair of my sweatpants and Brownie wedged onto her lap seemed otherworldly. She unabashedly sat on a bag of frozen lima beans I’d found in my freezer while I guzzled my second sports drink.
“Sex in our forties is supposed to be even better,” she mused, stroking Brownie’s head and staring out the window. “But I’m not sure I’ll survive to see the end of thirty-nine.”
“When is your birthday?” I asked, already knowing the answer thanks to the HR file I’d memorized. Maybe it was a test to see if the unveiling of Ally Morales began and ended with sex.
“May.”
“How does Maleficent plan to celebrate forty?” I wanted to know everything there was to know about this woman.
She wrinkled her nose. “All celebrations are on hold until Dad’s situation is settled.”
I brought her fingers to my mouth and kissed her knuckles. “Then what?”
“So far, the only thing I’ve come up with is a mango margarita on a beach that requires a passport. I want to sit in the sun and stare out at an ocean so blue it doesn’t seem real. And I don’t want to have to worry about if I can afford to tip the bartender.”
I approved of the plan. Especially if it involved Ally in a bikini and me in the lounge chair next to her.
I held her hand as she directed me, first to an all-night convenience store for surprisingly decent green tea and an armload of snacks to stave off the hunger caused by our sex marathon and then on to her father’s house.
It was still dark when I swung into the skinny driveway, but I breathed a sigh of relief. Google Street View hadn’t lied. The neighborhood was not terrible, and the house itself looked… comfortable.
“Brownie should probably wait in the car,” she said, unbuckling her seatbelt.
I was immediately suspicious. “Why?”
“It’s a bit of a construction zone inside. I don’t want him to step on a nail or something.” She hopped out of the car and carefully closed the door in my dog’s face.
Brownie looked crestfallen for all o
f two seconds before he remembered it was an unholy hour in the middle of the night and curled up and went to sleep behind the wheel.
“Is it me, or is it colder here in Jersey?” I asked, following her up the walkway.
“I’ll keep you warm, big guy,” she said with an exaggerated wink.
I gave her ass a slap. And then immediately shifted gears into preparing a safety lecture with some significant yelling when she opened the front door without unlocking it first.
That lecture was put on the back burner when I followed her inside.
“What the… Tell me you don’t actually live here.”
What I assumed had been a living room at some point was a tidy ruin.
“It’s not that bad,” Ally said with a roll of her brown eyes. It wasn’t really her fault that she wasn’t taking this seriously. Basking in the glow of the impressive number of orgasms that I’d personally delivered, she hadn’t noticed how pissed off I really was. “Just watch your step,” she cautioned.
“There’s a hole in your ceiling.” It was the first of many, many problems I had with the room.
There was a gaping hole in the ceiling. The plywood floor was water-stained in a six-foot radius. The carpet had been removed at some point, but the strips of tacks were still in place, offering a nice dance with tetanus to anyone who ventured too close.
The spot against the wall where I assumed a TV had once been was bare, the drywall behind it stained and bowed. Capped wires hung out of a hole.
“It used to be a lot worse,” she said cheerfully. “There used to be a bathtub right there.”
She pointed to the spot.
It was freezing in the house. I blinked at the thermostat reading. Fifty-two fucking degrees.
“It happened right before Dad was diagnosed. He forgot he left the faucet running. It overflowed and ran all night. The tub fell through the floor. It wrecked the entire bathroom and part of the hallway and bedroom upstairs. Down here. Well, you can see. The worst was the piano,” she said sadly, gesturing toward the ruined instrument. “My father loves music. We used to play together, make up silly songs. Just the two of us. On his good days, we used to joke that he couldn’t have done more damage if he tried.”
“Why are you living like this?” I asked.
“You don’t really want to hear yet another Morales family story of woe,” she said lightly, but I could hear the note of strain in her voice.
Oh, but I did. I pinned her with my gaze.
“Geez. Fine. So my mother stealing my father’s savings was just the first problem.”
I needed to move, so I wandered around the room while she talked. I paused at the piano.
“No shit,” I spat. I was so fucking angry that the woman I’d spent my evenings lusting after from my warm, cushy Upper West Side townhouse had been living here. Like this.
She picked up a box of drywall screws and put it on an end table.
I stopped pacing and leaned against the wall.
“Once upon a time, I had savings too,” she sighed.
I waited. Not trusting myself to keep the anger roiling beneath the surface contained.
“After I moved back, I hired a contractor. A contractor who came in twenty percent below the other bids. I thought I was being smart with my money, but…” She waved her hand around the room. “It was the worst thing I could have done. He took the check and ran. Twenty thousand dollars. “
I swore ripely. Besides touching Ally again, my second priority was to find this contractor and punch him in his face until he had no teeth left.
“Yeah, pretty much my sentiments,” she agreed. “With my savings gone, I cashed in my retirement savings to cover the nursing home. That’s all gone now too.”
“I want the contractor’s name and contact information. Your mother’s too,” I said.
“Good luck with that. The business number is disconnected, and the Facebook page is nothing but posts from people demanding their money back. My mother is out of the country building schools or planting crops. Anyway, the rest of my savings went to the nursing home. Again, astronomically expensive, but my father deserves the best care I can get him, and I’m not letting him go back to the other place.”
I’d heard enough. I was going to hunt that fucking contractor and her thieving, holier-than-thou mother down and wring them dry until every cent they owed Ally was paid back.
“Get your things. You’re not staying here anymore.”
“Dom. You’re overreacting.”
“It’s fucking freezing in here! There’s a fucking hole in your fucking ceiling. If you take one step to the left, you’re going to end up with dirty fucking nails in your foot.” I was yelling now, and I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to stop.
“Look, I know it’s not the Four Seasons,” she snapped.
“The Four Seasons? This isn’t even a burned-out hull of a roach motel frequented by toothless prostitutes and meth-addicted johns. You’re not staying here.”
She drilled a finger into my chest. “Breaking news, Dom. You don’t get to tell me what to do.”
I felt physically ill. Thinking about all those nights I’d been fantasizing about her in my big, warm bed. In my comfortable home with food in the fridge and heat and money. And she’d been here. I thought about the balance of the trust fund I’d touched once. The one that could have saved her from all of this.
“Ally, don’t fight me on this. You’re not spending another night under this Swiss cheese roof.”
“It’s not that bad.”
“If a codes inspector showed up right now, he’d rule this place uninhabitable. You’re not staying. Pack your shit. Now.”
“Just because we had sex doesn’t give you any right to tell me what to do.”
I dragged her a step away from the tack strip she was standing too close to. I was so angry the edges of my vision were going red. “Listen to me, Ally. I don’t care if this is inappropriate or high-handed or controlling. You aren’t staying here. I’m not fucking around. And you’re not winning this one.”
“I know you’ve never had to deal with not having money, but staying someplace better involves rent money. A lot of it. And the more money I pay out to expenses like that, the less I have for my dad.”
I closed my eyes. Clenching my jaw, I tried to count backward from twenty. I was so fucking pissed at her, at myself, at the assholes who screwed her over, that I didn’t trust myself to speak.
“Dom—”
“You matter to me, Ally. Do you get that? I care about you. And yet you insist on not taking what I can offer you. I need you safe. I need you warm and happy and fed and rested. Goddammit, Ally. You are killing me with this stupid pride.”
She was staring up at me wide-eyed and dazed.
“You can’t make me leave you here. You have to understand that, Ally.”
“Why are you so mad?” she whispered.
“Why? Because I live in a three-bedroom townhouse with all the heat and food and fucking solid floors I could ever want. And this whole time you’ve been here. Your front door doesn’t even lock.”
“Don’t push your privileged guilt off on me. I never asked for—”
“Anything. You never asked for any fucking thing. I can make all of your problems go away. I can fix all of this, and you won’t let me!” I needed to take a step back. I needed some space for this helpless rage that was clawing its way up my throat. But I didn’t want to not be touching her.
“Why would I let you help me?” She looked genuinely confused, and I couldn’t blame her. I’d done nothing but send mixed signals. “This is my problem, Dom. My responsibility.”
I dropped my forehead to hers. “Let me fix this, Ally.”
She looked stricken. “No! Dominic, you’ve done nothing but tell me we can’t be together. That you aren’t going to let yourself want me. I respected that. Why can’t you respect this?”
I didn’t care if she had a point. It was all different now. We were different. “
I was lying to myself. To you. You know damn well that tonight changed everything.”
Those golden-brown eyes were wide and scared. Good. It was about time she got scared about something. “What do you mean ‘everything’?”
“Everything, Ally. Every fucking thing.”
“So the sex was good. That doesn’t mean we’re—”
“In a relationship. That’s exactly what it means.”
“Oh, no you don’t, Dominic Russo. You can’t boss me into a relationship. I don’t have time. I don’t want to be in a relationship!”
“Well, tough shit. Because we’re in one.”
“This is not how relationships work! You don’t just tell someone you’re in a relationship. That’s why restraining orders exist!”
She looked panicky. And I was glad because I didn’t want to be the only one with this sick, terrified feeling in my gut.
“Fine. Be my girlfriend.”
Her eyebrows skyrocketed up her forehead. “What?”
“Be my girlfriend. Date me. Be in a fucking relationship with me, Ally.”
She opened her mouth, and the only thing that came out was a squeak. Not exactly a reaction that stroked the ego.
“You… I… can’t…” A language barrier had apparently sprung up between us.
“Where’s your bedroom?” I demanded.
Her gaze flicked toward the stairs, and I charged up them. Ally was hot on my heels. “Be careful of the floor up there. I haven’t replaced it yet,” she said, grabbing my arm as I stepped onto the rotted landing.
I didn’t give in to the need to take her by the shoulders and shake her. Instead I shrugged her off and stepped into a tiny, drafty bedroom. The twin bed was made with three cheap comforters. A pair of sweatpants—my sweatpants—hooded sweatshirt—again mine—and long sleeve t-shirt were neatly folded next to the pillows. She slept in layers huddled under cheap-ass blankets just to stay warm.
I felt physically ill.
“What are you doing?” she demanded when I moved to the doll-sized closet and started pulling clothing out of it.
