Page 84 of By A Thread

The beat changed, and I melted down to the floor in a slow, muscle stretching split. I crawled forward toward the mirrors, rocking and writhing on my hands and knees before climbing to my feet and kicking my leg into the air with violence.

Sweat ran in jagged rivers down my chest and back. My hair was escaping its confines in damp, sloppy curls.

Anderson East’s gravelly voiced “All on My Mind” had me slowing down. I slipped into a familiar choreography I’d been working on and let myself pretend that nothing else existed on the other side of that glass.

28

Dominic

Ihadn’t thought it was possible to hate myself more.

And then I’d gone and out-assholed myself.

Ally had every right to want to murder me. Hell, I wasn’t feeling too great about living with myself after tonight.

Delaney had tried to light into me after Ally and Austen had left—separately. I wasn’t fooling her with the whole “she’s just an employee” thing. So, I’d gently shoved her in my car, directed Nelson to drive her home, and then decided to walk as many blocks as it took until my anger cooled or I got hypothermia.

I’d fucked up. I’d crossed so many boundaries in that hallway that I didn’t think I’d ever be able to look at myself in the mirror again.

And then I’d gone and made it worse.

I hadn’t known she’d be there. But I’d still gone.

When I got to the dance studio she’d listed on her employment application, well, I almost made a further fool of myself. She was dancing in an empty studio, moving her body in ways that made me wish there was no glass between us, no barriers. I could hear the faint beat of her music as it pulsed inside.

Was this how my father had felt? Had he once been a normal man until something broke inside him and he couldn’t stop himself?

Was I destined to follow in the footsteps of Paul Russo, predatory motherfucker and general dirtbag?

I couldn’t stop watching her. She danced like it was a compulsion. Like she had to in order to keep breathing.

I understood it, recognized it even. But my compulsion wasn’t this pure, beautiful art. Mine wasn’t a celebration like Ally’s.

Mine was dark. Dirty. And I was drowning in it.

I stood there watching her, aching for her, as the night chill slowly worked its way into my bones. Cold. I was a cold man. I wasn’t capable of warmth. Of romance. Kindness. The woman on the other side of the glass deserved more than I could give her. But that didn’t stop me from wanting her.

I’d taken things that weren’t mine before. But not like my father. Never like my father.

My throat tightened, watching Ally slide to the floor and crawl toward the mirror.

I wanted what I couldn’t have.

I wanted her to the point of desperation. And it made me hate myself just a little more.

The office was closer than home. I couldn’t wait.

* * *

I gavea terse nod to building security and headed up to my office. The image of Ally crawling on her hands and knees was burned into my brain, distilled in my blood.

Tonight I’d done plenty of things to hate myself for. What was one more?

The forty-third floor was empty. And I fought my baser instincts by taking a slow lap. Daring myself not to do it. Willing myself to be strong enough not to.

But it was a losing battle.

I locked myself in my office, not bothering with the lights. By the time I crossed to the bathroom door behind my desk, I already had my cock out of my pants.