Page 23 of Dominate
Most kisses are meant to be savoured, appreciated, welcomed.
This isn’t one of those kisses.
This kiss is a brutal, needful embrace. It’s hard and fast. It’s expressing years of pent-up frustration because, in the seven years I’ve known Callum, I’ve never felt true, selfless respect. What actual generosity tastes like. After what feels like a lifetime of loneliness being cured with one kind act, this moment is something I have to claim for myself.
Gareth groans into my mouth, his hands running firmly up and down my back. His grip squeezes my ass and neck as I violently shove my tongue into his mouth and press against him as close as I can. He accepts me—all of me—giving up the control and only taking what I offer, not a smidgeon more.
This man is too much. He’s too different. Too unique. Too special. The overpowering emotions raking through my body should terrify me. They should have me leaping out of this plane and never looking back because I have so much to lose in this fight. Instead, I slow my assault on his mouth and wrap my arms around his neck, hugging him to me as our lips hold against each other. Then we slowly, painfully, regretfully break apart.
Our breaths are hot on each other’s damp lips as we recover. Gareth moves a finger up between our mouths, running his digit along the flesh of my lower lip as our foreheads come together.
“That was a gift,” he husks, his peppermint-scented breath mixing with mine.
“What do you mean?” I ask, out of breath and nowhere near satisfied.
“You took that like you’ve taken other things from me before,” he replies slowly, my eyes fixating on his lips the entire time. “And I’m not complaining because, fuck, I love seeing that look in your eyes again. But things are going to be different this week, Treacle.”
I close my eyes, relishing in his endearment for me and nodding my agreement. “They are already more different than you know.”
With a soft, chaste kiss on my forehead, he helps me off of his lap. I move back to my rightful place and we both buckle up, ignoring the fact that one of the pilots had been telling us to fasten our seatbelts multiple times.
As the plane prepares for takeoff, my eyes drink in Gareth’s large frame as he adjusts the tightness around his groin. He looks exactly like the man I poured hot wax on, and blindfolded, and tied up. But somehow, he looks different. Changed. Maybe it’s because he made being a complete gentleman seem so casual and easy. I don’t know. Something is definitely different about him, though, and it’s something I really, really like.
As the plane begins to pick up speed for takeoff, I nervously run my hands up and down my thighs in an attempt to control my emotions so I don’t spontaneously combust.
Gareth sits back, eyeing me through his thick, black lashes. “Are you a nervous flier?”
I ball my hands up on my lap and squeeze my legs together. “It’s not the flying that makes me nervous.”
He smiles and the noise of the engine grows louder as the plane begins to ascend. Unable to hold Gareth’s heated gaze another moment longer, I turn to the window and watch Manchester shrink smaller and smaller behind us.
If I look hard enough, I can probably spot the giant Coleridge Estate—the home I lived in for several years with my husband and child before everything changed. I’m a completely different person than I was when I lived there. So much more opinionated and strong. Back then, I was a desperate housewife trying to keep my husband happy and give my daughter a chance at a normal life.
Now? I’m not sure what I am doing. There is nothing about a life with Gareth Harris that would be normal.
“Have you ever skydived before, Gareth?” I ask, turning my eyes back to him.
He shakes his head curiously. “No, I’m afraid I haven’t.”
“Would you ever skydive?”
He quirks a brow. “I could probably be convinced.”
I lick my lips and narrow my eyes. “It’s crazy, though, right? You go up as high as a plane can take you. Then you decide to bail out of the one thing that’s keeping you afloat and place all your trust in a tiny slip of fabric attached to your back. Why do you think people do it?”
Gareth shrugs. “The rush I guess.”
“And why do people care about getting a rush?”
His lips thin and he leans forward to prop his elbows on his knees. His knuckles brush my shins as he answers, “Probably because it’s dangerous and they come out of it feeling like they can do anything.”
I chew on my lip, pondering his answer as the plane levels out and the pilot announces that we’ve reached our cruising altitude. “What if someone’s too scared to skydive? Do you think that person’s life is less fulfilled as a result?”
His brows knit together. “No, not at all. But I think with great risk comes great reward.”
I nod slowly and do my best to hold Gareth’s watchful eyes on me. “What if they’ve had enough excitement for one lifetime?”
He continues to stare at me, trying to decipher the meaning behind my words. Honestly, I don’t even know the meaning behind my words. I know that I feel strange being so far away from Sophia. I feel protective over her history and my bond with her as a result of everything we endured together. I know it’s something important I should tell Gareth, but that conversation is a lot like jumping out of a plane when I don’t trust my parachute.
