Page 20 of Yearn

My nipples tightened against the fabric of my blouse, a small ache begging for the kind of mouth I had just seen shaping groans.

Heat crawled up my neck and stung my cheeks.

What is he doing now? Is he downstairs in the basement finishing what he started?

The thought hit me like a punch to the chest. I could see it clear in my mind—Dominic down in the basement, naked muscular body sprawled across that old leather couch, the same one where I once sat too close to him during the lease signing, where his thigh brushed mine and I pretended not to notice.

Now that couch was slick under his back, his head thrown back, jaw tight, fist working his big cock with a rhythm so desperate it made the cushions groan.

His breath would tear out of him, rough and hungry, bouncing off those low walls.

Oh damn. That’s hot.

I imagined the exact moment his control snapped—hips jerking, muscles clenching. Cum erupting from the swollen tip in molten white spurts, painting his fist, spraying across his abs, spilling onto the cushions, and staining the couch with his ruin.

The sight burned into me.

My pulse stuttered.

Alright. Alright. Calm down.

The kitchen was waiting, the kids were upstairs, but my body refused to leave him behind.

Still, I dragged myself into the kitchen to make sure everything was clean and tidy. The space smelled like citrus from the chef’svinaigrette and roses from the trail the kids had tracked around on their socks.

The clock on the stove blinked 8:32.

I exhaled once, then again.

Why did he do that outside? What was going on in his mind? And. . .he was facing the window. My window. Was he looking at me? I mean. . .what else? No way he was jacking off to me?

I laughed before I meant to.

The sound slipped out of me low and wild.

I covered my mouth, but the laugh came again, warmer this time.

I think. . .he was jacking off to me. . .

The words shocked me even more than the memory. But once I thought them, I couldn’t un-think them.

And that thought—it didn’t terrify me. It thrilled me. I laughed harder, realizing it was the first time in a year my body remembered how to feel anything but tired. In fact, the sound surprised me. It was pure, reckless joy—something I hadn’t tasted since before lawyers and late-night tears became my diet.

And suddenly I wasn’t the woman with bags under her eyes and bills stacked on the counter—I was just a woman happy to be alive for one unholy moment.

For several beautiful seconds, I was weightless, reckless, alive.

Then. . .soon. . .the laugh faded, leaving silence thick around me.

Dominic. Dominic.

For a breath, I just stood there, stunned that joy had made a home in me again, even if only for a moment.

Oh Lord. If he was jacking off to me. . .all I can say is. . .alright, Dominic. Watch yourself. With all this ass. . .I am a ride your young ass may not survive.

But. . .I knew he was no punk either. The man lifted 300 pound weights three times a week.

He wasn’t just sexy. . .he was smart as fuck and very fucking strong.