Page 53 of Loss and Damages
“We don’t have to do this now,” he says, pulling the elastic from the end of my braid and combing the plait apart with his fingers. “We can lie and talk, if you’re not ready.”
“I want to, but I’m afraid.”
He lifts me into his lap and cradles me like he would a child. “You don’t have to be. I would never—”
“Not that you’ll hurt me, but that I won’t be enough for you.” I hide my face against his chest. I’m so embarrassed, but I don’t have it in me to lie or pretend. I am what I am and he’ll know it too, the second he undresses me and realizes I don’t know what he’ll like.
“What if I’m not enough for you?” he asks, positioning me so I’m sitting. He draws the zipper of my dress down my back and I shiver.
“How is that possible?”
He slides the top of my dress down and over my arms.
“Stand up.” He nudges me off his lap and when I’m standing in front of him, he unties the ribbon at the back of my dress, freeing the material and letting it slide down my legs in a puddle at my feet. I hadn’t planned on having sex tonight, and I’m relieved that my bra and panties match, a light blush that’s the same color as some of the flowers on my dress. “Because I’ve never made love, Jemma. I only know how to fuck. You deserve more than that, and I’m going to try to give it to you. Mixing emotion and sex isn’t my thing.”
Self-consciously, I wrap my arms around myself. I’m not like the other women he sleeps with, whether he loves them or not. I’m too short, too curvy. It’s stupid now, but I don’t want him looking at me.
He moves my arms away from my stomach. “Don’t cover yourself. You don’t ever have to hide from me. There’s nothing you’ll be that’s worse than what I am.”
“Dominic—”
“The women I’ve slept with accused me of having mommy issues, they say I’m cold and unfeeling. Heartless. I’ve let the way my mother treated me into parts of my life where it doesn’t belong. I haven’t meant to, but it’s there. I want to be with you, with my body, but with my heart too. I’m not heartless, Jemma, but it’s frozen. That part is true. You’re not the only one who’s afraid you won’t be enough.”
His words move me, and I step between his legs and press my lips to his. As I kiss him, I undo the buttons of his shirt and brush my fingers over his hard chest.
He shudders, and I smile, just a little.
Slipping his tongue into my mouth, he unhooks my bra. The second it drops to the floor, he fills his hands with my breasts. He teases my nipples, pinching and pulling, and the sweet zing races to my core. I moan against his lips.
“You like that.” He lifts one to his mouth and sucks the sensitive skin.
I arch my back. “Dominic.”
Lifting his head, he asks, “Does that make you wet, sweetheart?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want more?”
“God, yes.”
He laughs. “Jemma, I enjoy you. I’ll never be bored around you.”
“Is that good?” I’ve never considered myself a great conversationalist or particularly interesting. I’m sure he’s been with women more worldly than I am, more educated. Women who can speak of current events or the next trending thing. All I know is what’s in my little bubble of art, business, and family.
Hooking his fingers over the waist of my panties, he pulls them down my thighs. “It’s good. Everything you do to me will be damned-near perfect.”
I have the power to break his heart, and I don’t mean because maybe he’s falling in love with me like I am with him. It’s something else entirely, and it’s a power I don’t want to have.
Determined not to be melancholy, I crawl onto the bed. “You’re wearing more clothes than I am.”
“Indeed I am. I suppose that’s something I should remedy.”
Lying on my side and propping up on my elbow, I pretend I’m a saucy pinup girl. “I think I’d like to watch.”
“The fee is steep.”
“I can pay.”
