It had been days since Dom’s texts felt anything close to normal—days of me staring at my phone, rereading short, tense replies. I knew he’d told his kids about our twins, which was bound to stir the pot. But aside from a few terse mentions of stress, Dom gave away nothing. Each one-word text made me question whether he was slowly drifting away or simply overwhelmed.
By the third night of near-silence, I was reading too much into everything, swinging between anger and worry. I tried focusing on the twins or burying myself in work to ignore the building anxiety. Still, the ache in my chest lingered. I couldn’t shake the sense something was wrong.
Then, near midnight, a sharp knock broke the hush of my apartment. I jolted off the couch, glancing at the two bassinets a few feet away. Still asleep.
My phone lay face-down on the coffee table—no new notifications. Who would—? My heart thudded with a wild mix of dread and hope. I peeped through the hole and found Dom standing there, coat rumpled, eyes dark with something that looked like desperation.
I threw open the door. “Dom?” For a moment, I wanted to tear into him for ghosting me. But the haunted expression on his face doused my anger.
He stepped inside, shutting the door softly behind him. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, eyes flicking to the twins. “I tried to keep it together, but I—I need you.”
My heart squeezed at the broken note in his voice. I set aside my scolding, nodding stiffly. “Well, I’m here. Tell me what’s going on.”
He didn’t wait for more. His hand cupped my face, and then he kissed me—hard. A needy, desperate kiss that stole my breath. The day’s resentment threatened to flare, but it fizzled under the raw intensity of his lips on mine, the way he clung like I was his anchor in a storm. I stumbled back against the wall, letting out a muffled gasp.
“Ella,” he whispered, voice cracking on my name. He didn’t offer explanations, just pressed his forehead to mine, breathing raggedly. “I can’t talk about it tonight. I just…”
He didn’t finish, but I knew. The meltdown with Leo, the tension at work, the swirl of guilt about everything. He was drowning, and apparently, he saw me as his lifeline. Part of me wanted to demand he open up, but another part was too relieved he’d come to me at all.
“Come on,” I murmured, grabbing his hand and guiding him from the entryway. My living room lamp cast a faint glow on the couch, where I’d been napping. The twins dozed on, oblivious to our late-night reunion. “Are you sure you want this?”
His answer was immediate. He pulled me flush against him, burying his face in my neck. “I need you,” he repeated, mouth brushing my skin in a way that turned my knees weak.
Heat flared through me, half from longing, half from unresolved tension. Damn it, Ella—just let him in. My hands slid under his coat, pushing it off. The moment his coat hit the floor, he was unbuttoning his shirt, lips slanting over mine with a desperation that bordered on frantic.
We stumbled toward the bedroom, mindful of the sleeping babies. My heart pounded with a wildfire of frustration and desire. I should demand answers, should push him to explain, but every kiss stoked the blaze, overshadowing logic. By the time we reached the foot of the bed, clothes were half-off, breath ragged. The look in his eyes was pure hunger.
“God, I missed you,” he mumbled against my collarbone, hands sliding up my shirt to cup my breasts. My head fell back, a soft moan escaping me. Even as doubt gnawed at me, I couldn’t resist him.
I tugged off my shirt, right before a bitter thought hit. He can’t just vanish then show up for sex.
But the ache in his voice, the tension in his body, reminded me he was hurting too. He needed to find comfort in me, and I needed that from him, too.
Moments later, he scooped a hand up my back and guided me onto the bed. The faint city light shone on his handsome face, still lined by something unspoken, but now, too distracted by me to say it. I spread my legs for him as he kneeled there, no more words needed.
He moved over me, his lips, his teeth, his tongue, all of them dancing on my body. It was like he wanted to tour me first. His touch was powerful, possessive. The way he gripped my hip, how his fingers spread me open for him, he owned my body, every last cell, every gasping breath I took. When his mouth met my clit, I bit my fist, trying to keep quiet. Trying and failing.
I dug my other fingers into his scalp, desperate for something to cling to. But then he crawled up me, unable to hold back any longer. He couldn’t pick a spot to stay at—his energy too frenetic. He climbed on top of me, and thrust in, fitting tightly. We groaned together—relief? Longing? Both?
It wasn’t five strokes before he rolled us over, me on top. He held my hips tightly again, fingertips almost bruising. He needed a roughness to this, so I gave it to him. I bucked on his cock, finding the energy from somewhere deep inside. His eyes rolled back as he thrust up into me, growling, “Yes, baby, that’s it. Fuck!”
The more he wanted it, the more I wanted to give it to him. Our limbs tangled, the quiet of the apartment broken by our ragged moans and the rustle of sheets. I felt him tremble, like he was pouring all his turmoil into each thrust, each kiss, needing a physical release from everything unsaid.
I tried not to think about how fleeting this might be—how he might slip away come morning. Instead, I gave in to the torrent of sensation, matching his fervor stroke for stroke. My nails raked his shoulders, the friction of our bodies pushing me into a dizzy spiral of pleasure. When the climax hit, I choked out his name, tears pricking my eyes.
He muffled a groan, clutching at me as he arched his back as he came. A moment later, we collapsed together, breath shuddering in the hush. I turned my face against his chest, inhaling his scent. The coil of unanswered questions tightened again, but at least for now, we were together.
Long minutes passed with no words. I lay there, mind racing even as my body hummed with aftershocks. I wondered about what prompted this visit, half tempted to pry. But the raw look in his eyes when I first opened the door flickered through my memory, so I didn’t ask about that.
Eventually, I edged upright, brushing back the sweat-damp hair from his brow. “Dom? Are we…okay?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted, voice low. “Everything’s a mess, but being with you—this helps.”
“Then talk to me,” I said, letting a slight whine creep in despite my intentions. “I’m not a mind reader.”
He squeezed his eyes shut. “I will. Just…not tonight. Let me hold you.”
Dammit. Part of me flared with anger, but the bigger part ached at his sincerity. He’s drowning.
I exhaled, forcing myself to relent. “Okay,” I said softly, biting my lip to keep from pushing further. “But soon, Dom. We can’t keep…burying everything with sex. No matter how much we both need it.”
“Soon,” he echoed. The single word lacked conviction, but he pulled me closer, tucking my head under his chin.
I sighed, letting him envelop me. My eyes drifted to the half-open door, where the faint shape of the bassinets reminded me we weren’t alone in this. The twins deserve two parents who don’t hide from each other.
Dom’s hand stroked my back methodically, almost like he was lulling himself to sleep with the motion. The tension in his body began to ease, if only slightly, and I felt him settling into the silence. I bit my tongue, swallowing the urge to press for details about Leo or the hospital or his entire life.
Now’s not the time, I told myself. He came to me. I won’t drive him away by demanding too much.
My thoughts didn’t settle. Anxiety about tomorrow, about Winner at work, about everything, all jostled for space in my mind. Yet the warmth of his skin, the reassuring weight of his arm around my waist, anchored me enough to keep the fear at bay.
He must’ve sensed I was still on edge, because he slid his hand lower, fingers kneading gently at my hip, a new spark flaring in his gaze. “C’mere,” he whispered, voice husky.
A wave of heat flushed through me. Normally, I might have teased him about not giving me time to recover, but the intensity in his eyes stopped me cold. He needed another escape, or maybe he just wanted to drown himself in sensation. Either way, I found I wanted it, too—anything to feel closer to him, even if it meant ignoring everything else.
I leaned in, kissing him with a slower, deeper urgency this time. We twisted until he licked my neck, claiming me. He groaned my name again, burying his face there, teeth grazing my throat in a way that made me gasp. We moved together in a slow dance, my worries receding under the molten swell of desire.
This time, things were different. Lingering and languorous. He rolled me onto my side, and spooned me, methodically working himself into me from behind, one incredibly slow thrust at a time. His arm belted my waist to keep me close to him, until eventually, his fingers found my clit once again.
The deeper he thrust, the more he played with me there, timing them together. Inches of him stroked me just right on the inside, and those fingertips played me like his favorite instrument. I shuddered against him, unable not to. He growled in my ear, “That’s it, baby. You’re going to come for me.”
I almost gasped that I would, but my breath was stolen by my orgasm as I struggled to breathe. He poured himself into me a moment later as he bit my shoulder.
When it ended, a quieter sort of peace settled around us. He gathered me against his chest, both of us slick with sweat. I inhaled, letting the quiet hum of the city slip back into focus. Outside, traffic rumbled somewhere in the distance, but here, we might as well have been in a cocoon of secret wants and fears.
Dom stroked my hair, breath warm against my ear. He just murmured my name like a prayer, and the slow, steady sound of him drifting toward sleep. The last flicker of frustration in me wanted to shake him, force him to share what was on his mind. But I stayed put, tethered by the solace of his embrace.
Minutes blurred into an hour, or maybe two. I couldn’t sleep, mind buzzing with half-formed thoughts of what tomorrow might bring. But as his fingers traced idle patterns on my arm, I felt my resistance crumble under the combined weight of exhaustion and tenderness.
In the end, I let my eyes close, a swirl of emotions locked behind my ribs. He’s complicated. I love him anyway.
