Where We Began

by Nora Flite

  Dominic brushes my elbow. That one touch tells me I lost.

  With a surprised shout, I topple onto the ground, tucking myself into a ball so I won't get hurt. I half roll, half slide on my shoulder. Dominic's weight crashes on me; he fell, too, and less gracefully than I did.

  I'm dizzy from the fall, and too busy filling my lungs with much needed oxygen to get back up. Lying there, I gaze upwards at the sky. There's no sky, only Dominic. He's stretched over me, naked arms on either side of my head, his hands gripping the grass. There's a leaf in his coffee-colored hair and wild heat in his eyes.

  His mouth is open so he can draw long breaths. He's just as exhausted as me. We both pushed ourselves to the limit. I can see all the way inside his mouth. His teeth are porcelain white, perfectly even. They look extra sharp because of his rapid panting. Primal.

  “Why did you run from me?” he suddenly asks.

  I shift under him; he doesn't budge. His biceps ripple, rock-hard thighs trapping my legs in place. He's the most beautiful cage I've ever been in. “Why did you chase me?” I spit back.

  His mouth shuts tight. All the air comes out of his nose. He's acting like he's regained his composure while I'm struggling. “I was working out in the driveway. I spotted you jogging in the distance, so I—”

  “You thought it was okay to come hauling ass after me?” I say, searching his face for some hint of guilt. “You didn't think I went out the kitchen door because I wanted to be alone?”

  There's no guilt waiting for me. Dominic's head dips lower, his body pressing into mine, pushing me into the grass. The pressure is delicious. I gasp softly, unable to stop it before it gets free. “Laiken, you're projecting way too much.”

  “I'm what?”

  He studies my face then tilts his head so that I can see nothing but the dark line of his eyelashes. “You don't need to avoid me. Unless you're afraid something will happen between us.” As he talks, he grinds his hips against mine. The heat of his body is through the roof thanks to his workout.

  I run my tongue across the contour of my lower lip. I'm searching for words that I don't have.

  Dominic brings his molten-core stare back to me. He inhales quickly. “You smell so fucking good. Like salt. And strength. And sex.”

  My inner walls flex; I wiggle my hips, unable to stop it. He grins as he feels my soft tights rubbing against his workout pants. The material we're both wearing is thin. His erection has now here to hide. It digs into the groove of my pussy straight through the clothing, promising me sweet, wonderful, dirty things.

  Things I can't imagine.

  Things I want to.

  “Dominic,” I whisper.

  “Hmm?”

  Channeling all the strength I have, I press my hands to his chest—and I regret it, because his muscles are spectacular. “You know I won't do this. I'm not giving in.”

  At first he doesn't move. “Look me in the eye and tell me you don't want me.”

  I can't do that. I'm not a good enough liar.

  Lying there, I drop my hands from him and go limp. My eyes shut as I seek enough strength to turn him down.

  His shadow clears away from me. The pressure of his weight vanishes, too. When I open my eyes, Dominic is standing apart from me. Confused, I sit up with my hands on the ground for support.

  Staring at the house, he processes something. “I told you I'd wait until you broke for me. If you can manage to close off like you just did, then you're not there yet.” The wind runs its fingers through his hair. All the sweat that weighed it down is gone, the pieces ruffling gently in the breeze. “But,” he says, touching his lips, like he's reliving our kiss in the library. “It won't be long now.”

  I watch him jog back to the house. I don't get up until long after he's gone. My heart is pumping like it's about to fail, and it has nothing to do with all of the running I just did.

  - Chapter 19 -

  Laiken

  There's a note taped on the outside of my bedroom door. I pluck it free, reading the cursive, elegant letters.

  Laiken,

  Here are a few options. Make your choice.

  Emma will remove the rest.

  – Annie

  Trepidation makes my mouth taste funny, like stale crackers. I'd managed to forget about my encounter with Annie. Putting the note in my pocket, I take my time opening the door, as if there's an army inside ready to ambush me.

  A rack has been arranged in the middle of the room. The sight of it makes me whistle. Strung on hangers are a variety of gowns. Each sparkles like a lake in summer, their colors ranging from ruby to spider-silk white.

  I leave my door half-open, too amazed to think about shutting it. My hand extends, brushing over the sequins of one dress. The gold fabric shimmers.

  “Wow,” I say out loud. Annie was right. The dresses in my closet are nothing compared to these. I feel like I'm about to play dress-up, slipping on a costume that will disguise me as a queen. That's who should be wearing these gowns.

  Intrigued by the texture of the gold one, I rub it between my fingers. Just try it on. You have to pick one, anyway. See what it looks like. In the floor length closet mirror, I catch my absent grin. No point in fighting the urge; I want to wear this dress.

  Stripping down to my underwear, I unhook the gold gown from the rack. Pressing it to my chest, I sway in a pretend breeze, studying myself in the mirror. There's a zipper on the back of the dress. I peel it down, spreading the cloth like it's golden scales shed by a giant snake. It feels like that, almost—the hard discs rattling under my nails.

  I step into it carefully. It shimmies over my hips, the A-line style hugging my waist. It's not all the way on, and I can already tell it's gorgeous. The lining isn't rough like the sequins; it's similar to being wrapped in warm silk.

  It's obvious the design isn't meant to work with a bra. Without hesitation, I throw mine off onto the bed. Reaching back as far as I can, I yank the zipper upwards. It takes all of my flexibility to notch it into place, but the effort is worth it. Holy hell, I think, turning side to side. I grab the hem and fluff it, then let it hang heavily from its own weight. It reaches my ankles, the bottom of the dress dedicated to hiding skin, while the top... is less so.

  It leaves my shoulders bare, a sweetheart neckline that clings to me thanks to some boning and the zipper. Imagining myself waltzing around the ballroom, like a princess in a story, I spin slowly. I take a few more twirls, captivated by how the gold glitters, before I finally slow down.

  My fingers touch my collarbone. I think he'll like me in this. “He.” That title has come to mean one man, and one man only. Dominic.

  Shivering just thinking about his square jaw, his wicked smile, I reach back for the zipper. There's no reason to keep the dress on. I'm nervous I'll stain it or tear it. I'm sure it costs a fortune. “Urgh,” I grunt, struggling to catch the zipper. I tug it, but I can't get it past my shoulder blades. Is it caught on the fabric somehow? Fuck.

  “Are you stuck?” a masculine voice asks.

  My head whips up; I spot Dominic in the mirror. Turning, I stare at him where he's lingering in my doorway. I was stupid to forget to close the door. His eyebrows arch, silently repeating his question.

  “Whoever invented this dress is a sadist,” I say.

  “Do you want me to help?”

  “Yes,” I answer, before I think about what I've agreed to. With his heel, he shuts the door. He comes up behind me, his face peering over my shoulder in the mirror. Expectation has colored his cheeks red, his eyes warning me not to move. My hands are still reaching for the zipper.

  He touches my wrists, and the contact sends fire to my belly. With an easy strength he moves my arms down and out of the way. Two fingers press at the nape of my neck, then they stroke over the metal teeth that run from the top of the dress, down to just above my ass. “You look so amazing in this,” he whispers. “I almost don't want to help you out of it.”

  It's obvious from his hungry stare that he wa
nts me stripped down to nothing. I shiver at the idea of being naked in front of him. I don't know if I want it or if I don't. Remember what you told him, I think seriously. You can't do anything with him. He's not the boy you knew. He’s a stranger. Resist.

  His nails scrape gently over the material, tracing my shoulder blades until he's back up to the dress's collar. My skin still feels like he's running his fingers over it and I clench my hands by my hips, demanding my body hold still. I don't want him to know that he's getting to me.

  He steps closer and something hard rubs against the cleft of my round behind. His breathing grows louder in my ears. Gripping the zipper he begins to inch it down, moving at a snail's pace. Each inch he exposes of my spine is torturous. Over and over, small bursts of pleasure pop in my blood like freshly poured champagne.

  His desperate arousal is infecting me; his need for me is turning me on. I've never felt so wanted and I've never wanted someone so much. And I know it would be so easy to simply turn my head and taste his lips again. I remember how warm they were, how delicately his tongue had flicked the roof of my mouth.

  Our one kiss had been unfairly brief, like a story that's cut off after the first few chapters. I want to know how a real kiss with him would end.

  “Are you okay?” he teases. “You seem to be breathing heavily.”

  “I'm fine,” I insist.

  His chuckle makes my skin vibrate. With his free hand he follows the curve just beneath my right breast, going down until he hits the widest part of my hip. Then he comes back up, feeling everything he just did from the opposite direction. He does this three more times and at the end of each stroke, he moves the zipper down a fraction. It leaves me disoriented.

  His fingers spread over my flat stomach. He presses hard in front of me and from behind, pelvis thrusting forward. The hard thing digging into me is his massive erection. I groan before I can stop myself. Dominic growls like a bear, his reaction to mine is 10 times stronger. He knows he's getting to me and it's turning him on, which is turning me on, creating a crazy feedback loop.

  His fingertips glide down the front of the dress over the creamy material. He's pushing insistently through the thin fabric, so much so that when he reaches the elastic rim of my panties he can feel the fine line. His breath comes out like a shudder as he traces the top of my panties from one side to the next. “I want to fuck you so bad,” he says into my ear.

  My eyes roll in my head and my inhibitions crack. The warm, throbbing pulse between thighs is maddening. I feel painfully empty no matter how hard I push my knees together or squeeze my muscles.

  “You want me to fuck you, too, don't you?” he asks. His fingertips glide lower and he stops on the mound of my pussy beneath the dress. I don't think he should be able to tell where anything is when he can't even see, but those two fingers perch right above my twitching clit. My mouth is open; I'm panting wildly.

  “Dominic, wait. You need to know something.” I hesitate before I press on. “I'm a virgin.”

  He makes a noise in his throat. I'm thinking he'll stop and back off, but it's like my admission has woken something in him. He rocks his hips rhythmically, rubbing his hard-on against my ass. We're doing an erotic dance, my body following his guidance as I shift side to side.

  He makes little circles through the fabric of the dress, not touching my clit, but almost. My mind connects the dots; it's like he's fingering me already, the heat washing through my muscles, into my brain, until I see spots.

  “You're actually a virgin? Does that mean you waited all this time for me?”

  I whimper, wishing I could deny it. My hesitation ruins any chance at letting him claim responsibility for the fact I've never had sex with anyone else. “Dominic,” I say again, his name coming out like a plea.

  “I'll be gentle,” he promises.

  “We can't do this.” I continue to roll my hips desperately. The pressure inside of me is torture and I feel liquid clinging on the inside of my thighs. I've never been so aroused. And he hasn't even touched me yet, not really. “We really can't. I told you before.”

  “I told you that the first hint that I got of you—”

  “No,” I say, cutting him off. “I know what you said and I get it, and... I'm just not ready.”

  He nuzzles my ear. “Then I won't fuck you,” he purrs. His hand slides lower, hoisting my dress and exposing my thighs. In the mirror I can see my tan skin and the front of my white panties. They're sheer from being soaked through with my own juices. “I'll just finger you until you come.”

  I blush head to toe. Arguing is pointless. I'm too transfixed on the sight of us—of me. I've never done anything like this. If I don't think about it too hard, I can almost pretend I'm watching someone else. I watch my lips part, my teeth bared. I moan helplessly as he slips two fingers down, creating a V the outside of my damp panties over my lower lips. He traces me, dipping low, then coming back up, massaging my pussy with expertise.

  His lips come down, kissing the side of my neck. The hand on my pussy goes still, making me painfully aware of how little it's moving. Of how he's stopped bringing me pleasure. He runs his fingers side to side over my panties, stroking my eager clit. “Watch me,” he whispers. I look in the mirror to see that he's fixated on me. “I want you to watch me be the first man to ever make you come. You'll remember this moment for the rest of your life.”

  He's absolutely right. I used to dream about stuff like this with him, before I knew the man he would turn into. I'm excited, but I'm also nervous. I'm afraid what this will mean for us. If he makes me orgasm, will my body remember it all the time? Will I be able to move on?

  My skin on my shoulders feels cooler. He's sliding the dress down my ribs, getting it out of the way. As it peels down my body, he reveals the fact that I'm not wearing a bra. He sucks in a sharp breath and my heart beats faster. “You're stunning,” he whispers. He follows the curve of my neck, down my shoulder, with his free hand. The one clasping my pussy in a handshake remains where it has for the past minute.

  I'm shivering, and I blame those compulsive twitches on why I press myself into his palm. His chuckle is devilish in my ear. “You can't wait for me to make you come, can you?” I don't say anything. He gives my pussy a squeeze. “Tell me. I want to hear you say it out loud.”

  “Dominic, I can't... I can't say something like that.”

  “Of course you can.” He makes a light circle on my clit over my underwear; I moan obscenely. “Tell me that you can't wait for me to make you orgasm, or I'll stop.” He rubs my clitoris once more, just to remind me how good it feels. Then he places his fingers so that they're on the inside of my right thigh, no longer in contact with my dripping panties.

  My heart is thudding so loudly I can hear it reverberating in my head.

  “Say it,” he growls

  I breathe faster, staring at myself in the mirror, at the black hunger in his eyes. He wants to devour me, and I want to give him that nourishment. I can't fight anymore. When I look at his hand resting on my leg, juice coating my skin where my panties have stopped being able to hold it, I wonder why I'm fighting this at all.

  “Make me come,” I groan.

  Dominic's face changes. My filthy words transform him in front of my eyes. He rips the dress down my hips, leaving me in just my panties. My nipples are firm nubs in the air, so sensitive, so ready to be touched. He puts his lips on my shoulder; I feel his teeth. It's not painful, just like he's biting down to tell me that he could leave marks if he desired. A perverse part of me loves the idea of him marking me.

  His hand cups the side of my right breast. He hefts it, like he's checking the weight. “Your tits are fucking amazing.” His breath is coming hot and fast on my throat. He's drying out the sweat that keeps appearing on me. I rock side to side, grinding on his hard-on through his pants. He squeezes my leg, pulling me against him.

  His fingers trap my nipple, giving it a small tug. Then he circles the tender tip, pushing my nipple in all directions,
playing with me, figuring out what I like or don't like. Problem is, I like everything he does. I'm terrified of that, I don't know if I can handle the inability to tell him no. I thought I had limits. Rules.

  All of them are dissipating in front of me.

  “I wanted to touch you like this for so long,” he whispers. “I'm going crazy right now. It's taking everything I have not to yank my cock out and push it into your convulsing pussy. I can't wait to make it mine, to be your first. Because I'm going to, Laiken,” he swears. “I'm going to be your first in everything.”

  I whimper, barely able to watch myself in the mirror anymore. I don't recognize myself. The red glow in my face, the way my mouth hangs open as I pant wildly. My chest rises so fast that my breasts quiver. As he moves his hand over to play with my other nipple, he cups my pussy then wraps his fingers in my panties. He pushes them into my slit, driving the wet fabric against my empty cleft. The pressure against my clit is delicious. The reminder that there's nothing inside of me is torture.

  “Touch me,” I breathe. “Please, Dominic, I can't take this.”

  “Not yet. You think you know what suffering is? What it's like to ache for someone so badly and not be able to have them? You turned me down in the library, Laiken. I swore then that I'd break you. That's happening now, but I'm not through with you. I want you begging me to make you come. I want you to know that I'm the only one who'll ever make it happen.”

  It's an insane promise he makes. I know it, and I wonder if he knows it, too. But what's even crazier is how turned on it gets me. My arousal is skyrocketing; a flash of hot, delicious pleasure making me thrust my pelvis forward into his touch.

  “I really can't take it,” I whimper. “I feel like, if you just touch me a little bit, I'll come.” A strong breeze could knock me over the edge.

  He chuckles, then presses the tips of two fingers on top of my clit through my wet panties. It's a single deliberate push. Like his fingers are kissing my swollen button. Like he's holding it down, capturing it. “This is mine,” he growls. “You're mine. Say it.”