Page 18 of Laced With Secrets

But as usual, the words stuck in my throat.

So instead, I reached for the hem of my sweater, the soft wool sliding over my head to reveal the thin cotton t-shirt beneath.

Actions would speak where words failed me.

“I’m going to take a bath,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt. “I’m covered in attic dust from head to toe.”

Dominic turned from the window, his gray eyes finding mine with immediate focus. “Do you need help?”

The question was careful, respectful of my boundaries. But there was hunger beneath it—barely leashed desire that made the butterflies in my stomach flutter with interest.

“Yes,” I said simply.

His breath caught, and through our bond I felt a surge of hope mixed with caution. He was probably afraid to believe I was inviting him back in, afraid one wrong move would send me retreating again.

“Okay,” he said quietly, following me to my bathroom.

I watched as he prepared the bath—testing the water temperature, asking which scented bubbles I favored, making sure everything was perfect before turning to face me.

“Let me,” he said softly, reaching for the hem of my t-shirt.

I raised my arms, letting him slowly undress me. Each piece of clothing removed felt like shedding armor, exposing not just my body but all the vulnerability I’d been hiding. When I stood naked before him, his sharp intake of breath made me shiver.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, his hands skimming over my skin with reverent touches that didn’t linger. Still giving me space. Still respecting my boundaries even though I could see the strain it cost him. “So fucking beautiful, Leo.”

He guided me into the water, and I sank into the vanilla and honey scented warmth with a grateful sigh. The heat immediately eased the constant low-level aches that had become part of pregnancy, and I let my eyes drift closed in contentment.

When I opened them, Dominic was kneeling beside the tub, rolling up his shirtsleeves to prepare to wash my hair. His movements were efficient, practiced, but there was tension in his shoulders.

Something playful sparked in me then—the same mischievous instinct that had made me bold in the past, back before everything had gotten so complicated.

Back when I’d still been brave enough to reach for what I wanted.

When he knelt closer with the shampoo, I deliberately swept my hand through the water, sending a splash of bubbles directly at his chest.

He froze, water droplets darkening his expensive button-down. His eyes lifted to mine, and the look in them made my breath catch—predatory, possessive, promising delicious consequences.

But also uncertain. As if he wasn’t sure if this was play or rejection.

“Did you just splash me, omega?” His voice was careful, testing.

The endearment made heat coil in my belly. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?” His hand slid into the water, fingers trailing up my calf with agonizing slowness. “That sounds like a confession of guilt.”

I bit my lip, feeling reckless. This was it—my wordless way of saying what I couldn’t bring myself to voice out loud.

Come back. I want you back in my bed—in my nest.

“What are you going to do about it?” I challenged.

The uncertainty in his eyes shifted to understanding, then to that predatory focus that made my pulse race. “Depends. Are you going to do it again?”

In answer, I swept both hands through the water, sending a wave of bubbles and warmth cascading over his chest and shoulders. His shirt was instantly soaked, the fabric clinging to every defined muscle.

“Fuck,” he breathed, looking down at himself. “This was expensive.”

“Then you should probably take it off,” I said, my voice coming out breathier than intended.