Dom laughs; I feel the vibration of it in my chest, tighten my arms around the man’s body. Have long since stopped caring what anyone but Dom thinks about things. Well, with the exception of Rome, perhaps. Dom’s fingers stroke my neck, thumb caressing the edge of my jaw. How long has it been since I let anyone touch me? Don’t know. Can’t remember; can’t think with Dom’s skin against mine. Think Dom probably knows it, too – maybe it’s the reason he never included me in the general practices of casual physical contact he used with the rest of his team.
“Not gonna break down on me, are ya?” Dom asks. He slides his hand up under the back of my t-shirt, touch rough and firm, strong, trail of heat like banked embers. Exploring, oblivious, tracing with curious fingertips. Makes me aware of my own body, every inch of skin, miles of it, sensual texture of spine and muscle. Can feel every rib, the clear delineation of shoulder blades as Dom’s calloused touch outlines each.
“No.” I convulse, arms loosening their grip, wanting to move away without giving the need any thought. My strength no match for Dom’s. And he keeps me right where I am. “But if you don’t let go of me, I might.” But oh god, please don’t you do dare let go. No way I can say those words for him to hear.
He hears them anyways. He always did. “So what. I just might join you. We’re entitled now and then, aren’t we?” Dom buries his face in my neck, feel eyelashes brush my skin as he shuts his eyes, presses close and inhales. Feel the moisture wetting my neck, his face. My hands clench into fists against his back, focused on nothing but Dom, the faint scents of soap, motor oil, gasoline, and musk. God, I love that mixture.
We break down, but hold each other up. Manage to remain standing. Cheek to cheek, chest to chest. Not bothering to analyze what it is. We know it doesn’t matter, right then.
I lose myself in it. One hand sliding under the hem of Dom’s shirt, the other roaming over his smooth scalp – between the two, sensory overload isn’t far off. My body feels … alive. For the first time since … that first race.
The exhilaration of a NOS-punch will forever be associated with Dom.
“Shit.” I curse and try to disentangle myself – from a friend, God, my only friend – know the moment the ex-con cottons on to my uncontrollable reaction, he’ll go ballistic. What other option is there?
But Dom is a vice, doesn’t relent. Steps into my struggle, one muscled thigh sliding between my legs. Pressing against the thick bulge of my hardening erection. Pushing his own into my hip with unabashed force.
And then his lips curl against my neck. And teeth sink into skin and bruised muscle, hard.
It’s been too long. It’s too emotional. It’s too much. I feel my body tense, tingles racing down my spine like a quarter-mile sprint track, straight to my groin.
Feels like I’m fifteen again, when the shudders of orgasm slam through me. All semblance of control shattered, scattered, chafe in the wind.
I don’t know if I scream, or if my throat just hurts because I’m panting so damn hard. Not much spare oxygen to be had with my face pressed into Dom’s neck. I shift to rest my forehead against the pulse hammering beneath warm skin and muscle, hear Dom’s own ragged breath in my ear. “Shit.” Sound dazed and drifting, even to myself.
“God damn, Bri.” Words less heard than felt, rumbling through Dom’s chest and into mine. “That was hot.”
Too limp and loose to bother putting up some show of homophobic protest and pulling away. Would just end up on my ass in the dirt. Don’t search too hard for something to say. There isn’t anything that can be said in that moment. The silence works just fine. The rhythmic tandem of our breathing. The pulse slowing beneath the grip I have on the back of Dom’s neck.
“Definitely not what I had in mind,” I finally say. Feel laughter vibrate through the body still pressed against me. “Haven’t done that since I was… god knows how old… couldn’t get it out fast enough.”
“Mean you never had a hand job while cranking down the road at a buck-twenty?”
I chuckle and run the bridge of my nose along the line of Dom’s jaw, and Dom lets his head fall back in an easy stretch. Open and vulnerable and unconcerned. The sensuality of that simple movement sends an aftershock through my bones. And Dom smiles, a real smile, the first one I’ve seen from him in almost five years.
I don’t think, can’t resist. Just move, angling my mouth over Dom’s. Not certain if the moment of stillness in the man is surprise or resistance. It doesn’t last any longer than it takes for me to register it happens, then it’s gone and the man’s lips and tongue and mouth and teeth are wrestling with mine, devouring, hungry, intense. Holding nothing back.
Just like anything else Dom does, zero to sixty in the blink of an eye.
I think I might have moaned, deep in the back of my throat, somewhere between letting my eyes slide shut and feeling Dom’s tongue delve into my mouth. Those calloused hands bracketing my hips, fingertips digging in hard enough to leave bruises above the waistline of my low-slung jeans. Can’t bring myself to care; I leave him to it and trace the contours of Dom’s smooth scalp, memorizing every dip, scar, and ridge from brow to jaw and everywhere in between. Find a spot somewhere between the base of his ear and the line of his jaw that makes a quiver echo through the man’s entire body. Trail my mouth away from Dom’s lips to explore that intriguing spot with tongue and teeth. The tremor is accompanied by a moan that, with an amplifier, could register as a class 5 earthquake on the Richter scale.
“Damn.” I feel the word vibrate into my body; it makes my dick twitch. Dom’s hands clamp harder on my hips, pull me closer. “Got something in … the car for you. Almost forgot.”