Page 167 of By A Thread

“Just sleep,” I promised, watching as she removed her leggings and underwear. We stared at each other, naked and maybe even a little vulnerable, from opposite sides of the bed.

The linens were an unholy mess from our gymnastics mere hours ago. So much had changed so quickly, and there was so much more to come.

But I wouldn’t break that to her now. She’d been through enough for one day… or twelve hours.

For now, I would settle for holding her while I worked out what needed to happen next.

We slipped under the blankets, Brownie making himself comfortable at our feet. And when Ally hesitated, I made the decision for her, pulling her against me. Her back to my chest. My face to her hair.

She hissed out a breath and an honest to God giggle when her ass wiggled against my hard-on.

“Just sleep,” I promised her again.

“I won’t be sore forever,” she hinted.

“Shh,” I ordered, not ready to test my own chivalry or hydration levels.

She settled against me, sighed, and was fast asleep within minutes.

Having her in my arms, in my bed, felt foreign. Familiar. Right. Wrong. And everything in between.

We slept for three hours.

And when I woke with her round, soft ass pressed against my erection, I thanked my lucky stars. When she rolled over and looked at me with sleepy eyes and “please” on her lips, I promised my soul to whatever deity had delivered her to my bed. And when I slipped inside her slowly, sweetly, when she sighed out my name, I wondered if maybe I’d finally been forgiven for my own sins.

One thing I knew for sure when I felt her start to surrender was that I was going to fix everything for her. Whether she wanted me to or not.

55

Ally

Iwas officially living in an alternate universe.

Not only had I spent the night in Dominic Russo’s bed—and surprisingly snuggly arms—now I was riding with him to work. The streets had been cleared of yesterday’s modest snowfall, leaving the pavement clean and wet.

A new start. A blank canvas.

It looked as though there would be one for us too. We’d been summoned.

By his mother.

And I wasn’t sure if that was a good or very, very bad thing. HR and management could easily decide to fire us both.

Or just one of us. And I already knew which one of us that would be.

Just becauseLabelhad made strides since Paul Russo’s reign of terror didn’t mean that the son of the editor-in-chief would be judged on the same level as a lowly admin. Especially not one who admittedly pursued and seduced her boss… while coated in body glitter and shame in a strip club.

Technically, on paper, I was a Malina.

A thought that made my skin crawl.

I leaned forward to check my makeup in the mirror. With the swelling down, the bruising had been easier to hide under a thick coat of concealer and spunky side part.

“What’s wrong?” Dominic asked from the driver’s seat. The only outward sign of his nerves was the frenetic, silent tapping of his thumb on the wheel.

“Nothing at all. Just feel like I’m marching toward a firing squad.”

“You’re not going to get shot,” he assured me.