Page 33 of Filthy Dirty Dom

Alex navigated his truck through the labyrinthine streets with a focused ease. His hands were firm and sure on the wheel, mirroring the determined set of his jaw. With each passing block, the cityscape transformed. The high-rise buildings gave way to beautiful brownstones, their uniformity punctuated by an occasional splash of modern architecture. The traffic thinned, replaced by solitary pedestrians walking dogs or just enjoying the summer night. The noise level dipped, the raucous sounds of nightlife mellowing into a distant hum.

Throughout the drive, Leslie's attention was drawn inexorably to Alex. The muted glow from the dashboard highlighted the strong planes of his face, throwing his features into sharp relief. Suddenly, Leslie remembered the moment he’d taken off his shirt at the sex club to wipe his cum off her. The sight of his bare torso had mesmerized her. He was so broad, so toned, his rippling muscles and defined abs a work of art. Second only to the beauty of Alex’s physique were the colorful tattoos that covered both of Alex’s arms, his chest, and his back. She’d frequently seen the arm tattoos whenever he wore his T-shirt, which was almost all the time, but his back and chest tattoos she’d seen for the first time in Montana, after she’d snuck into his room and managed to push him past his normally impenetrable self-control. She had every one of his tattoos mesmerized, from the tribal patterns interweaved with delicate mandalas on his wrist, to the yin-yang entwined with dog tags, a lotus, and a compass fused with a shield on his arms. On his back and chest there were bigger tattoos, like a vivid phoenix, vibrant landscapes, and a flourishing bonsai tree. Occasionally there was even a nod to humor, like the mischievous monkey that peeked out from behind a tree right above his heart.

Leslie loved his tattoos, both for their sheer beauty and because they were Alex—his life painted in incredible detail portraying a soul that navigated through a past filled with darkness. But it wasn’t just his tattoos, like the skull or fallen soldier, that spoke to this darkness, but the hints that she’d seen beneath or on the edges of his tattoos. They were mostly covered, but she’d still noticed them, faint silvery lines and ridges that traversed his chest and back, undoubtedly battle scars, a reminder of the dangers Alex faced while in the military and in his job as security specialist. He hadn’t been kidding when he’d told her that the broken rib and bruised kidney he’d suffered when rescuing Lucy was “nothing” compared to what he’d experienced in the past.

Leslie snuck another glance at Alex. His attention was on the road, but Leslie saw the tightness around his eyes, a subtle sign of how he was probably mentally torturing himself for losing control with her. He sat in stark contrast to the flamboyance outside, a silhouette of calm control amidst the city's frenzy.

Now that they’d left the sex club, Leslie had to admit she was feeling disoriented and self-conscious as well. What she’d done…

She’d pushed and pushed Alex, and he’d thrown caution to the wind, but in the end, would the repercussions of what they’d done make her regret all they’d done?

Lost in their own thoughts, the silence in the truck grew heavy.

Eventually, Leslie cleared her throat, the sound abrupt in the quiet. She couldn’t stand the awkwardness between them anymore so she decided small talk was in order. "Did you know that the Met just opened a new exhibit?" she asked, trying to keep her tone casual. "It's about Picasso's blue period. I had a friend from out of town visit last week. We went together. It was profound."

"I’m glad you enjoyed it,” Alex said, his voice rougher than normal.

After another minute of dreaded silence that left Leslie feeling depressed, Alex said, “I've always considered myself more of a Monet enthusiast."

"Monet?" Leslie echoed, her surprise genuine. "I wouldn't have pegged you as an art enthusiast."

A soft chuckle rumbled from him, the sound rich and genuine, and after what they’d done, after the tense silence, after her worry that she’d ruined things forever between them, Leslie breathed a sigh of relief.

"Well, Leslie," he replied, a small smirk playing on his lips, "It’s good to know that despite the fact you know more about me than you did before we entered that sex club, there’s still stuff about me that would surprise you.”

"I guess there is." Then, seizing the moment of shared humor, she teased, "So, should I expect a lecture on the beauty of Impressionism on our next non-date?"

He laughed then, a deep, hearty sound that echoed warmly within the confines of the car. "I think we need to finish our Mud Run training first, don’t you?”

They lapsed back into silence, Alex weaving the truck through the traffic with practiced ease. As they pulled down her street with the muted streetlamps casting long, gentle shadows, Leslie’s heart sank. She didn't want this ride, this moment, to end. When they pulled up to the stoop of her brownstone, she glanced sideways at Alex, her heart pounding.

They sat in silence for a moment, the tension thick between them. Leslie looked at her hands, fiddling with the hem of her dress in her lap, then cleared her throat. "Did you hear about that new sushi place that opened up in SoHo?"

Alex glanced at her, his eyes illuminated by the glow from the dashboard. "Sushi, huh?"

"Yeah," she replied, a half-smile crossing her face. "They say it's the best in the city."

"I'll have to try it out," he replied, his tone noncommittal.

The awkward small talk filled the silence for a few more minutes as Leslie scrambled for topics. Finally, unable to avoid it any longer, she turned to face him, biting her lower lip. "Thank you, Alex," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "For everything tonight."

His gaze met hers, his eyes dark and serious. "You don’t get to thank me, Leslie, for what was one of the best nights of my life.”

With that, he got out of the car and walked around, opening the door for her to step out before guiding her up the steps to her front door, remaining just barely behind her, a bodyguard to the core.

“Good night, Sunshine.” He leaned towards her, his hand cupping her cheek as he pressed his lips to hers. The kiss was soft and lingering, their lips meeting in a perfect rhythm that sent shivers down her spine. He pulled away slightly, pressing his forehead against hers as they shared the same breath.

They stood there for long moments, and for the first time that night, the silence between them felt right.

As their passionate kiss broke, Alex found himself having to pull away, a surge of regret coursing through him. The intoxicating scent of her perfume and the warmth of her skin against his were a potent mixture he wasn't quite ready to let go of.

"I know you're going to continue exploring," he said quietly, running his fingers through her silky hair, the reality of their situation creeping in. "This lifestyle, the club, it's in your blood now. Isn't it?"

He watched her closely, her green eyes meeting his, a soft blush dusting her cheeks. "I think so," she admitted, her voice quivering slightly.

He nodded, the words coming out sterner than he intended. "Just… be safe, Leslie. Promise me."

"I will," she said.

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