Page 34 of You Rock My World

“I am.” He shifts closer, his knee brushing mine. “I don’t know how to explain it, but when I’m with you, she’s not even a thought in my head.” He chortles out a small, breathy laugh. “You make me want to move forward, Josie. Not look back.”

The words settle something inside me. The alarms finally go quiet.

Dorian searches my face. “You believe me?”

I nod, smiling, because I do. “Can I ask another question before we get to the fun stuff?”

He pushes my hair back on my shoulder and leans in. “What fun stuff?”

I shift, gathering my thoughts, but it’s impossible with him this close. “You’re distracting me.”

He grins, tilting his head. “That’s the idea.”

I nudge his shoulder. “Is your plan to keep me flustered so I never ask you the tough questions?”

He backs off. “The opposite, I want you to ask all the hard questions. But I also love messing with you.”

I shift closer, pressing my hand flat on his chest and tilting my chin up, my lips a whisper from his. “What if I mess with you in return?”

His eyes darken, his fingers flexing. He looks two seconds away from grabbing my face. “Josie.”

I let my lips part, wetting them. “What?”

His gaze drops to my mouth before bouncing back. Then, with visible effort, he pulls back, dragging a hand through his hair. “Alright. You win. Let’s get through the hard stuff first.”

I swallow, letting the teasing slip away, because the words I need to say are not that fun. I straighten up. “Earlier, you got furious with Tessa. It wasn’t simple frustration, it was… more.”

“I’m stressed, I snapped. You never snap?”

“I do.” I watch him, weighing up how much to say. “It’s not just today. I’ve heard things over the years. At the agency.”

Dorian’s hand, which had been resting loosely on his thigh, now closes into a fist.

“The night we met…” I swallow, forcing myself to continue. “You were there because a video of you punching a guy went viral.”

He keeps his body very still, but tension ripples under his muscles. “What’s the question?”

“Do you always carry this much anger and struggle to manage your temper or is it just Billie who turns you like that?”

“It’s her. That night was about her, too.”

My insecurities crawl back out of the dark as he tenses at the mere mention of his ex. Fucking Billie. I’ve never agreed more with Tessa.

He says she’s the past, but then?—

“That night.” Dorian’s gaze gets distant as if he is staring through the floor, replaying something only he can see. “You want to know why I punched that guy?” he asks, still not looking at me.

“I do.”

Dorian drags his hands over his face, as if wiping away a memory he’d rather leave buried. When he speaks, his voice sounds like it’s being dragged out of him through broken glass.

“When I was in New Orleans with Billie, things were already bad. We were staying in separate rooms. Fighting all the time. But I hadn’t given up yet.

I thought if we got through that tour, we’d figure our shit out.

” He frowns as if looking directly into the past. “That day, she’d missed rehearsal before our show.

No texts, no calls. She wasn’t answering her phone, so I went to her room to check on her.

” He huffs a short, humorless breath. “I had a key. Walked in. And she was in bed with someone else.”

Nausea rolls through me. “Who?”

His mouth presses into a tight line. “Another woman I’d never seen before.”

I’m not sure what reaction to have.

He glances at me now, his expression unreadable. “But that’s not what fucked me up.”

I want to hug him, but I let him continue without interrupting.

“I still thought we were monogamous,” he says simply. “We hadn’t had sex in forever, but I never strayed. And that day, she looked me in the eye and invited me to join them like it was nothing. And when I didn’t, she threw a shoe at me and called me a pussy.”

My stomach twists.

Dorian leans forward, elbows on his knees, studying his hands like they hold the answer to something.

“I was hurting like hell. I didn’t go to my room because I couldn’t bear to be alone and went to get a drink at the hotel bar instead.

And that’s when some asshole comes up to me, already half-wasted, grinning like we’re old pals, and says, ‘Man, your wife has the best tits I’ve ever seen. ’”

I flinch.

“He told me I needed to keep her on a leash. Because the night before, Billie was flashing everyone in the lobby for beads.” Dorian pauses, considering. “The next part might be hard to hear. Do you still want it?”

I nod. “Always.”

His jaw works, but then he speaks. “The first time we went to New Orleans together for a concert was right after we got married. That night, a fan threw a string of beads on stage. I caught it.” He rubs his thumb along his palm as if remembering the sensation of the cheap plastic.

“Back in our room, Billie wanted it. But I made her earn it.”

I don’t want to hear this. I’m gonna get sick. But I don’t stop him.

Dorian keeps his eyes on me. “She flashed me for it.”

The nausea turns to a lead weight in my stomach. I don’t even know why—it’s his past, I have no right to feel this way. But I do.

He notices. He always notices. “Josie?—”

“Keep going,” I say with a dry mouth.

A beat passes before he nods. “That was… one of our best nights. She still has those beads. I saw them in her car the other night.”

I don’t speak. Can’t.

“So I was in that bar, having just walked in on her cheating, realizing it probably wasn’t even the first time, and now I’ve got some guy in my face, talking about my wife’s tits, destroying one of the last good memories I had of us.

” He lets out a bitter laugh. “I lost it. I forgot someone is always pointing their phone at me. Hell, I didn’t even care.

” The memory plays behind his eyes. “I hit him once. Broke his nose.”

“I’m sorry.”

Dorian rubs the back of his neck, tipping his head up toward the ceiling.

“That’s Billie’s special power. She makes me go nuclear.

” His gaze shifts to me, steady and certain.

“And it’s not because I’m in love with her.

It’s that she made me question who I was.

My instincts. My judgment. And for years, I defended her.

Gave her the benefit of the doubt. Told myself she was going through something, that we’d figure it out.

And every time I thought I was making the right call—sticking by her, believing her—it turned out I was only the biggest fucking idiot in the room.

” His throat works, swallowing down the bitterness.

“I hate that she still has the power to make me doubt myself. That’s what pisses me off.

Not her.” His jaw sets with conviction. “I’m over her.

But I’m still trying to unlearn the damage. ”

I want to reach for him, but I don’t know if he’d welcome it right now. “Can I hug you?”

Dorian’s lips twitch like he’s surprised I even had to ask. “Josie, I’d love nothing more.”

I shift closer, slipping an arm around his back.

He does the same, pulling me against him.

At first, it’s a chaste side hug, I don’t notice the shift, but gradually, the angle changes.

I move without thinking, climbing onto his lap, my knees bracketing his thighs.

His hands slide down to my waist, steadying me.

“Thank you.” I rub my hands up his arms, over his shoulders, feeling the tension still knotted in his muscles that he doesn’t know how to let go. “For telling me this.”

His fingers dig into my hips as if he were holding onto something more than my body. “I don’t talk about it. Not like this. Not with anyone.”

I thread my fingers into his hair, pushing it back from his face. He closes his eyes at the touch, exhaling slowly, his shoulders finally relaxing.

I trace small circles over his temples with my thumbs. “I’m sorry that happened to you.”

His lids flutter open, gaze locking onto mine, not searching, not uncertain, just present. Just here.

“But,” I continue, my lips curving, “if you hadn’t punched that idiot, we wouldn’t have met.”

Dorian releases a breath that’s almost a laugh, shaking his head like he can’t believe I said that. “Silver linings, uh?”

I lean in, letting my forehead rest against his. “The best ones.”

Dorian’s hands slide up my back, his touch light at first, testing the shape of me, then firmer, as if he decided to hold on. “You’re trouble, you know that?”

I smirk, brushing my nose against his. “You like trouble.”

His fingers press harder into my skin, just enough that I feel it everywhere. “I like you .”

I groan, straightening up. “I’ve never hated the rules more.” I push his hair back again, fingertips dragging through the strands, slower this time, loving the way he shudders under my touch.

“Agreed,” he croaks. “But you’re enjoying this,” he accuses, voice rough. “Torturing me.”

I smirk. “And you’re not?”

His jaw tics. “This is dangerous.”

I hum, threading my fingers deeper into his hair. “For who?”

His breath stutters. “For both of us.”

And yet—neither of us moves.

I want to kiss him. I crave to taste him. My gaze drops to his mouth, avid, and he notices. He, too, fixes on my lips and then looks back up at me, a question swirling in his eyes.

I’m not sure what my answer is, but it’s leaning dangerously close to, Fuck the rules, kiss me.

I experimentally rock my hips on his lap, and a choked, inhuman sound rips from his throat. His hands drag down my thighs. They skim over the fabric of my dress, creating the slightest friction, a whisper of pressure that makes my skin prickle underneath.

I shouldn’t push this. But I do.

I shift again, rolling against him just to see what he’ll do. His breathing is shallow, and he drops his head back against the couch, exposing the line of his throat.

I watch, fascinated, as his Adam’s apple bobs.

“Josie,” he warns, voice wrecked, breath jagged, like he’s wrestling the last thread of control and it’s slipping fast.

I smirk, dragging my nails lightly over his scalp. “Problem?”

His eyes snap to me, dark and glassy, while his hands skim lower, tracing the hem of my skirt on my thighs, but staying rigorously on top of the fabric.

It’s not enough. I don’t want him tame. I want to feel him on my skin.

I push into him again.

“You don’t want to test me right now,” he rasps, the sound a growl, a warning—or a plea, I can’t tell.

I kiss his neck. “Then stop me.”

He doesn’t. His fingertips sneak under my dress instead— finally —dragging up my thighs, stopping before he’s where I need him most. I could scream with want. But I’m not the only one suffering. His fingers spasm. He could wreck me so easily, and just when I think he might?—

A knock comes. Loud. Invasive. Reality barging back in.

We break apart too fast, two guilty teenagers caught doing something they shouldn’t. He lifts me and sets me up on my feet, standing next to me.

Tessa’s voice filters in from the hallway. “Dorian? You in here?”

I’m not sure if I’m more relieved or disappointed by the interruption. “Saved by the bell, Phoenix.”

Dorian lifts my hand and kisses the pulse point on my wrist. “For now.”

And that single, tender gesture unravels me more completely than if he’d ripped my dress clean off.