Page 80 of The Blame Game

Dom brushed his fingertips along Shea’s cheek before he leaned in. His mouth was soft, warm. Less hesitant now.

Shea nearly sobbed with relief, reaching out to touch Dom’s chest, to reassure himself that this was real, his fingers coming away sticky and wet.

Dazed, he pulled away long enough to grab a warm, damp cloth from the bathroom and dab at Dom’s skin.

Dom’s gaze never left his face. His eyes were wide and vulnerable looking, like the usual barrier between him and Shea was gone.

Shea didn’t want to hope for anything but what he’d already been given, but it still rose in his chest, a pressure that filled his throat, something too big to put into words.

When Shea was done and the cloth was taken care of, he looked up to see Dom still watching him.

“Come here,” Dom whispered.

So Shea did, stretching out on his side.

Dom shifted, pain making the spot between his brows furrow, but when Shea slipped a knee between Dom’s thighs, it smoothed out.

Dom shifted, nudging at Shea’s mouth and Shea pressed their lips together again.

He closed his eyes and sank into the kiss, delirious with the pleasure of Dom’s mouth against his, the soft little nips of his teeth, the way he coaxed his tongue between Shea’s lips.

It was so much, almost overwhelming, especially after Shea had spent so long imagining this. Wanting it.

It felt like Dom gave and gave, so much that Shea’s head spun with it, overwhelmed.

He cupped Dom’s cheek, feeling the soft prickle of his facial hair, the flutter of his pulse where Shea’s fingertips rested against his throat.

They kissed until Shea couldn’t breathe, gasping against Dom’s mouth, afraid that if he pulled away, it would all disappear.

When Dom drew back, Shea let out a sound, a little whimper of displeasure, but Dom still looked relaxed, his head resting against Shea’s pillow.

“I’d almost forgotten how good it feels,” Dom said. He sounded almost drugged, but this time it was in a good way. In a way that made liquid heat spread through Shea’s chest and made him pray that he wasn’t dreaming.

Shea trembled. “I know.”

Because he’d kissed people. Kissed clients. Kissed hookups and dates and random people at clubs, just because it was fun to do.

But he’d been twenty the last time he kissed someone he loved.

He’d been in college, still limping around with a brace on his knee on his way to his kinesiology class when he met Keira and nearly tripped over her book bag.

She’d apologized and bought him a coffee and they’d dated and fallen in love. They’d gone their separate ways eventually but before then he’d loved her and he’d spent hours kissing her, tangled up on her dorm room bed in the late-afternoon sunshine, making out like he had nothing else to do.

Those kisses had never felt like this.

They had been heady and intense and all-consuming but they’d never carried weight the way these did.

They hadn’t made Shea feel like he was falling and drowning and being brought back to life all at once. They hadn’t felt like the kisses that could ruin a man’s future and drag up his past and make him do reckless things.

Kissing Dom felt like everything and more.

So he leaned in, took control, teased at Dom’s mouth until he opened, until he gasped and pulled Shea closer.

The slow gliding of their tongues became more desperate, more eager. Dom met him with equal fervor, showing no interest in stopping or doing anything else, just cupping Shea’s cheek to deepen the kiss and gasping against Shea’s mouth when Shea tugged at his hair.

And then slowed, softening, growing lazy and almost indulgent. Slow, flickering brushes of their tongues and gentle pecks of their lips.

Eventually, Dom drew back, smiling.

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