Page 31 of Full Throttle

Just fucking leave them.

I couldn’t.

I turned on the overhead light on the stove top, pushed the sleeves of my hoodie up, and got to work. Once the dishwasher was loaded, I made sure the faucet was dripping.

It was below freezing outside, and she didn’t have the faucet dripping?

Pushing back the irritation building in my chest, I moved on, going down the hall. I peeked into the bathroom to check on the faucet. It wasn’t running either.

For fuck’s sake, Dominique.

I stepped into the bathroom, turned on the faucet, and folded the hand towel by the sink.

When I was back in the hall, I reached for the knob on the bedroom door, putting my ear to it so I could listen for her soft snoring.

I didn’t hear anything, and my shoulders tensed.

Twisting the knob slowly, I pushed the door open, and my eyes locked on the bed.

“Jesus,” I whispered, unable to tear my eyes away.

The bed was in the middle of the room, currently bathed in the purple neon glow, and Dominique was in the center of it—underneath the blankets and a pile of clothes. I clenched my jaw as I made my way over the side of the bed, putting my hands in my pockets. Her hair was tied in the knot on her head, and her eyes were closed, her lips pressed together.

The right side of her face wasn’t as swollen, but the cut on her temple was enough to make me want to kill another man.

Tilting my head, I took the time to enjoy her during one of the rare times she wasn't blabbing about stupid shit. She’d always been beautiful, even as a child. Her hair was always pin straight and shiny, reminding me of silk. Her skin always seemed to have some sort of glow in the fall and winter due to all the sunshine she absorbed in the spring and summer. She didn’t have a round face; it was more angular, which made her even more striking as she got older. She’d gained some weight since high school, but that was to be expected. It didn’t make her unattractive by any means.

The curves that she had now only added to my frustrations.

Dominique turned from a beautiful girl into a beautiful woman. There was no other way to describe her. Even when she was testing everything I had in me; she was beautiful.

I watched as the muscles in her face twitched, her lips parting.

She was dreaming.

“P-please,” she whispered. The sound of need in her voice floored me.

What or who was she begging for in her dream?

A few whimpers left her as she rolled onto her back, the pile of clothes sliding onto the floor. I wanted to put them away, but I wasn’t allowing my body to move. I wanted to know what she was dreaming about.

“I—I—can’t,” she breathed out, moving her legs, bending her left knee.

What couldn’t she do?

My tongue pressed against the roof of my mouth as she pushed the covers down her to her waist. In the glow of the light, my eyes dropped to her shirt, and all my blood rushed down to my dick.

Unable to move, I kept my eyes on the shirt, instantly recognizing it.

It was my fucking shirt.

My fucking shirt.

Chapter Seven

Cain

“Please,” she begged again, her eyes moving behind her lids.

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