Page 98 of PS: I Hate You

The way he’s always had a claim to a portion of mine.

Dom’s hand engulfs my hold. I expect him to start to slide my grip down his shaft, then back up. Instead, his thumb nudges mine, guiding it to the tip. There he shows me how to draw small, firm circles until precum seeps out. My fingers grow slick.

“How am I doing?” I ask, my voice unnaturally husky.

“Perfect. You’re fucking perfect,” he mutters, then clenches his teeth against a groan as he finally starts to stroke himself, pressing my fingers into a harder grasp than I would have guessed. The hold almost feels angry. Punishing.

I love it.

Sitting up for better leverage, I brace my free hand against Dom’s chest and continue to work his shaft. His heart pounds hard and fast and I find myself timing my strokes to the beat.

“Maddie…God…Fucking Maddie.” Dom moans the words between pants, and when I meet his eyes, I find heavy lids and a dark gaze locked on my face.

“Come on, Dom.” I squeeze hard at his base. “Show me how you come.”

He says my name again as his abdomen tenses, then his cock jerks in my hand and streams of cum jut out to coat our clasped fingers and his stomach.

Finally.

I don’t bother fighting my grin as Dom lays in the frilly daybed, covered in his release, still clutching my hand. Seeing him wrung out like this is a special kind of beautiful.

Eventually he sits up, presses a quick kiss to my mouth, then disappears into the bathroom. I bite my lip to keep from giggling when I spot the tattoo on his ass.

Jelly butt.

Dom reappears a moment later with a damp washcloth for me, and I wipe the sticky proof of his pleasure off my fingers before climbing into the bigger bed.

A small spike of anxiety sets off a sharp pain in my chest.

What now? Will he retreat again? Tell me this was a mistake?

Dom strolls out of the bathroom again, chest clean, and crouches over his duffle bag. The man’s naked body is glorious and aggravating. My fear of what happens next starts to transform into defensive anger.

A biting comment rests on my tongue, ready to cut, when Dom finally faces me and tosses an item on the bedspread.

A condom.

“You still want me?” he asks, and I swear I hear a hint of the same vulnerability that was stirring up the insecurities in my own mind these past few moments.

To cover up how I almost imploded this special moment, I snatch up the condom and tear the foil pack open. “Someone thinks he has a fast recovery time.”

Dom plucks the rubber out of my hands, and I watch with wide eyes as he rolls it onto an already-hard dick.

“It’s you, Maddie. I need you more than once. A lot more.”

He looms over me, climbing onto the bed, his large body threatening to overwhelm mine. And while I might like this position in theory, in practice I know it’s a bad idea.

“Sorry, big guy.” I pat his shoulder. “You are not going on top. Learned that the hard way.”

He freezes. “What do you mean?”

I scoot out from under his imposing form. “I mean I was having sex with a guy on top, and I started having an asthma attack.”

“What happened?” He watches my retreat with narrow eyes.

I shrug. “Like I said. I had an asthma attack. Used my emergency inhaler. He freaked out and left.”

“He left you in the middle of an attack?” The muscle of Dom’s jaw turns white as he clenches his teeth.

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