Page 37 of Sweet Shots

Holy shit, why is it so hot?

Still no pressure from his hand, just enough weight from it to let me know he’s in control. I’m not opposed to him choking me, which is something I didn’t know about myself until right now, but I’m not all that shocked about it.

Erase that. Yes, I am. After being choked so many times as a child, you’d think I’d hate it as an adult. That it would be a trigger. But something abouthishand and how gentle his touch is while also being firm…

Dominic shifts on his feet. “Now get down to your underwear, take that book that’s on the nightstand, get comfortable on the bed, pretend to read it, and follow my lead. Can you do that for me?”

His thumb brushes gently across my skin, causing goosebumps to erupt along my chest and down my arms.

“Yes,” I breathe out.

“Good.” Dominic’s hand slides down my chest, falling to his side and I suck in a breath, shaking out of whatever the hell that was. And when he steps away to go to the camera, I gulp in more air, wondering why the hell I couldn’t breathe when he was so close to me. He wasn’t actually choking me. But damn, that was… I don’t even know.

Taking my clothes off, I fold them and leave them in a neat pile on the dresser behind the camera so they won’t be in view.

I get on the bed, that isn’t made by the way, lean over to get the book, then get comfortable.

Dominic’s room isn’t dirty, but it isn’t as tidy as mine. His whole house is like that. It looks lived in… for some reason that has my chest feeling all weird. I don’t like that I’m suddenly questioning everything about myself now that Dominic tore me open and let out all my secrets to the world. Secrets I purposely chose to hide from.

“Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland?” I question, looking at the book.

“We’re all mad here, Mikah.” He winks before leaving the room.

The little blinking light on the camera tells me he’s started recording. Does he really use an actual camera to do this and not his phone? How old is this guy? Shaking my head, I settle in a bit more and open the book. I’m hit with the smell of old paper. Earthy, almost musty. The pages are brittle but are thicker than what I’m used to. I guess they were made differently so long ago. The title page tells me this was written in 1865 and it’s a little nuts to think I’m holding on to something that’s so old. Literally right in my hands…

I flip some pages and come across an illustration, which isn’t what I was expecting to see. As I flip through, I note the yellowish hue of the pages, some with brownish spots on them. Still,it seems in really good shape for being so old.

“I heard my baby had a rough day today.”

I jolt at Dominic’s voice, having forgotten where I was, lost to the book. I look up and see him standing in the doorway, in an outfit he most definitely wasnotwearing five minutes ago. Tailored charcoal dress pants, a pristine white shirt, and black tie. He loosens it as he walks in, taking slow, meaningful steps.

I blink a few times, trying to get myself together. I can’t form words, just keep my eyes on him as he walks closer until he’s standing beside the bed. Fuck, he’s so hot. The tie slips off, and he drops it to the bed by my feet. My eyes linger on it for a moment, then dart back to him, my heart jumping into my throat.

I finally get my wits about me and nod, willing to play along with this game.

“I did.” The words are raspy and sound nothing like me.

“Tell me about it,” he says, reaching for the button on his left sleeve. Undoing it before moving onto the other arm. The move is so sexy I can’t pull my gaze from the way his fingers work. When he’s done, he moves to the button at his throat. My eyes are glued there next.

“Stressful,” is all I manage to say, sounding like I’m in a trance.

“Words are hard today, hm?”

I have a strange feeling about what’s going on here. Still, I nod. Because this is his video. But also, yeah, words are fucking hard sometimes. Especially right now. And though he’s once again calling me out, I don’t feel like he’s making fun of me.

“No words then,” he adds, his tone gentle and calm—understanding.

He works his way down his shirt, carefully undoing each button until they’re all undone and he’s pulling the shirt out from his pants.

“It’s okay when words are difficult, you know. Talking about things is one way to feel better, but there are other ways too.”

“Like what?” I ask, intrigued.

“Like letting go of control. Giving it to someone you trust. Being able to shut off your brain and allowing someone else to take the reins once in a while.”

I hum a sound of happiness, feeling like I’m in a weird trance as I listen to his soothing voice and watch his hands work at the button on his pants.

“That sounds nice,” I admit, confused but not angry about saying it.

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