Built to Fall: A Rock Star Romance

I WONDERED IF ROCK star wives ever became immune to the sexiness of their men getting sweaty and intense, baring their soul for thousands. For a split second, I imagined myself with Dominic ten years down the road, and I couldn’t fathom ever not wanting to lick the beads of sweat off his chest and fit his hips between my thighs.

When Dominic left the stage in Seattle, I was there, waiting in the shadows. He homed in on me immediately, moving into the darkness with me, his body pinning mine to a cinder block wall. We didn’t speak. There was no need. Throughout the concert, we’d spoken through eye contact. He sang “Angel Moon” to me, and I danced for him. When his mouth finally moved over mine, it felt like it had been a thousand years coming.

He cupped my cheeks with hot hands, sliding his even hotter tongue between my lips to meet mine. His body aligned with mine, so flush, not even a ray of light could come between us.

I wanted him. I wanted him so badly, I ached from it. But I still had my period, and as adventurous as I was becoming, I didn’t think I was there yet.

He pulled away first, exhaling through his nose. “I like when I see you in my audience. Especially when you’re by yourself, no one distracting you.”

My teeth dug into my bottom lip, biting back a smile. I knew exactly what he was saying, even though he’d never come out and really say it. He didn’t like when Adam joined me to watch his shows. He especially didn’t like when Adam danced with me or talked to me, so I gave him my attention instead of Dominic.

“I like being in your audience, especially when you play ‘Angel Moon’ for me. I do wish you’d tell me the story behind my favorite song.”

His forehead dropped to mine while his fingers toyed with my hair. “Maybe someday.”

Which meant never, since we wouldn’t have a someday.

We went back to the house without Marta. She was going out with Iris and the others. I’d been invited, and while I’d been tempted, soaking up all the Dominic time I could had won out.

Showered, Dominic stood in the center of the glass-walled living room, rubbing his flat stomach. “I’m fucking starved.”

I curled my arms around his middle from behind, resting my head between his shoulder blades. “Should we order something? It’s midnight, but I’m sure something’s still open.”

He brought my hands up to his mouth, taking his time to nibble each fingertip. “I want to cook.”

“When you say that while biting my fingers, I think you want to cook me.”

I felt his low chuckle through his back. For once, he didn’t try to hide it, but then again, I couldn’t see his face. “When I eat you, I like you raw.”

My thighs instantly clenched. It had only been two days since we were last together, but my body had become accustomed to having him multiple times a day. I missed his weight covering me and the way he stretched me so perfectly when he slid deep inside me.

“I know you do. But since that’s off-limits, let’s cook together. As it happens, I’m kind of amazing in the kitchen.”

He brushed his lips along my knuckles. “I didn’t know that about you.”

“Well…” I circled around him so we were face-to-face, “this is probably your only chance to get to know that part of me. What do you want me to make you?”

“Pancakes.”

His response was so immediate, a laugh popped out of me. “Okay, I can do that. What are you going to make me?”

His dark brow lifted. “I’m making you something?”

I shoved his chest. “Weren’t you the one who suggested cooking?”

“Yeah. Guess I was.” He tugged at one of my curls. “Your wish is my command.”

“I’d like an omelet please. With a lot of cheese.”

He gave my ass a resounding smack, which caused me to jump closer to him rather than away. My instincts were rat bastards when it came to Dominic.

“Get in the kitchen, woman.”

I slapped his tight ass right back. “As long as you’re in there with me.”

Cooking with Dominic was maddening, but in the best way. I’d been trained over the years living with an overly fastidious husband to clean up behind myself, never allowing countertops to be anything but shiny, even in the middle of preparing a meal.

Dominic didn’t play that. He tossed flour around like confetti, wasted utensils and bowls, and copped a feel whenever he got near me—which was a lot, even in the spacious kitchen.

I had to stop myself from cleaning up after him and live in the moment like I’d promised myself. Playful Dominic didn’t come out too often, so I didn’t want to miss a second of him that way.

We ended up sharing the massive omelet he made, and the chocolate chip pancakes I made. We took them out to the deck, which was surrounded by lush forest, the lights of the city twinkling in the near distance.

He watched me take a bite of his omelet. I took my time chewing, moaning faintly.

“Yum. It’s about fifty-percent cheese. The perfect ratio.”

He huffed a laugh. “My girl wants cheese, she gets cheese.” Then he shoved a forkful of pancake into his mouth, groaning with pleasure.

“My man wants chocolate chips, he gets chocolate chips.” I waggled my eyebrows, ignoring the stab to my chest at calling Dominic my man. That was an entirely new feeling, and I really didn’t like it. To drive it away, I added, “Too bad you’ll never get to experience the extent of my culinary skills.”

That hadn’t felt much better.

“Too bad,” he murmured, his black-as-night eyes searing into mine for a beat. Then he glanced down at his plate, pointing to it with his fork. “My grandmother would have appreciated these pancakes. She was always trying to up her ‘cake game.’”

That made me laugh, instantly lightening the slow wave of melancholy that had threatened to take me under.

“Did she cook a lot?”

“Oh yeah.” He leaned his head back, face up to the sky. “She was a true southern lady. She made biscuits and fried chicken like it was her religion. Sweet tea pumped through her veins. I spent my summer mornings singing along to Joni Mitchell—wait, are you too young to know her?”

“I know who Joni Mitchell is.” I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.

The cocky curve of his lips made my belly flip.

“I should’ve known, music girl.” He shook his head, escaping back into his memory of his grandmother. “We’d sing to Joni Mitchell while she baked. She was ahead of her time concerning gender roles. She taught me how to make pie and shared all her secret family recipes.”

“Are you telling me you could make me an apple pie?” I asked.

“I don’t know.” He ran his thumb along the edge of his bottom lip. “I’m rusty, but I could probably do it. For you.”

“You’ll have to send me one in the mail one day.” I ate another bite of omelet, ignoring the pang in my chest yet again. “So, every summer in Georgia, huh?”

“That’s right.”

“My sister, Annaliese, and I went to Girl Scout camp for half the summer from the age of eight onward, and the other half we’d take some crazy family road trip in a rented RV. I was always jealous of other kids who went to Europe or the islands, but not anymore.”

“I get that. The best things that ever happened to me came from simple, human connection. Even my music, it connects me to souls I’ll never meet, but I feel.”

My hand went to my chest, which had grown warm from that little piece of Dominic.

“When I was lying in my tiny room after I left my ex, listening to ‘Angel Moon’ a thousand times, I felt connected to those words like I never have before. It’s pretty wild the way life brought me to you.”

“Yeah.” His voice turned to gravel. “Wild.”

We ate in silence for a bit, and it wasn’t quite comfortable, but it wasn’t bad either. I had too many thoughts and questions whirling around in my head to relax. Curiosity got the better of me, so I finally asked, “Why don’t you ever go inside their house? When you took me there, I thought maybe the house held some dark, tragic memories you didn’t want to relive. It doesn’t sound like that’s the case, though.”

“No, nothing dark ever happened there.” He set his fork down and pushed his plate away. “Maybe that’s why I don’t want to go back. I’ve never really thought about it, except that I have no desire to step foot in that house. I’m not the kid I was then. I’m not even the man I was the last time I visited them. And I think…I think who I am now will sully some of the only good memories I still have. Every other good thing has already been dirtied by me. But not them. Not those summers, not that house. That is still pure, and if I have my way, it always will be.”

This was the sorrow I saw in Dominic. He had demons he’d never dealt with. Deep wells of sadness I knew nothing about. He didn’t see himself the way I did. Or Marta did. I couldn’t fix him or heal him—even if I had all the time in the world with him, it wasn’t something I was capable of—but damn if I didn’t wish I could.

He slapped his legs. “Come here.”

As a woman who had never been tiny, sitting on boy’s laps wasn’t something I’d ever been comfortable with. But the first time Dominic pulled me into his lap and I tried to protest, he very quickly reminded me he was a man. So now when he made the request, I readily complied, scooting in close, burrowing my face beneath his beard.

He stroked my hair and breathed some of that hot sorrow onto my cheek. “Don’t feel sorry for me, Claire.”

“You really shouldn’t tell me how to feel.”

“I’m not. I just don’t need pity. It’s a waste on me. Some things are fact and not a thing will change that. I shouldn’t have said as much as I did.”

I picked my head up and pressed my hands to his cheeks. “I’ve seen you from the beginning. I might not know where you grew up or who your best friend was, but I do know you hate to let yourself laugh. You are drawn to happy, funny people. You surround yourself in their laughter, but don’t allow yourself to have it.”

He sucked in a breath, his hands curling around my wrists. “Claire—”

I went on, because I wanted him to know what I saw. “You’re intensely private, but when a reporter from a small website wants to interview you, you always give them your time. You never flirt unless you mean it. Sometimes when you don’t know anyone is looking, you seem to fade away from everything. I know something terrible happened in Houston, but I don’t expect you to ever tell me, because I also know when you gave us an end date, there was no wiggle room. So, while I’m here, before we fade on each other, I would like to be as real as we can.”

He fisted the back of my hair, jerking my head. “I really need you to stop speaking.”

He kissed me like his life depended on it. And maybe it did. Maybe opening up any more than he already had would be like spilling his own blood. I had pushed down my own sadness, doubts, fear, for years during my marriage, until they hit me over the head—literally—and I couldn’t ignore them anymore. I had no idea what Dominic had gone through, but I did know a man who hadn’t yet walked through the pain when I saw one.

I kissed him back. If all I could be was his brief reprieve and he could be mine, that was what we’d be. His mouth tasted like chocolate, and his tongue pushed away my questions and curiosities.

His hands were all over me, beneath my shirt, kneading my ass, rubbing between my thighs. I squirmed in his lap, wanting more, always wanting more.

“I need inside you.” He sounded desperate, like he really did need me.

“I have to shower first. My period…”

He was up and out of his chair before I could finish my sentence, pulling me through the house wordlessly.

In the master bath, he flicked on the water and tossed his shirt aside. He looked at me like he was angry, but I wasn’t afraid. Not of Dominic. The only thing I feared was how much my heart had begun to ache.

Despite his anger and desperation, when we stepped into the shower together, he gave me space to wash myself. He’d just showered a couple hours ago, but he went through the motions again too.

When he got to his swollen cock, I took over, gliding my soapy hand over his length. He grunted, rocking with my rhythm, his hands exploring every part of my slick body. This man made me feel sexy like I never had. He touched me like he was the lucky one for getting his hands on something so rare and prized. Because of that, I’d never once tried to hide what I used to see as imperfections. Not from him.

His fingers slid through my folds, and for a split second, I thought of objecting. Period sex had never interested me. But the heat in his eyes, the hold he had on my nape, the shakiness of his muscles, all had me forgetting why I’d ever say no.

Dominic turned me, pushing me to the back wall of the shower. He cuffed my hands, raising them above my head to the stainless steel towel rack.

“Don’t let go,” he gritted out. “I’m not going to go easy on you.”

You never do.

The head of his cock nudged between the valley of my thighs, sliding through my folds a few times, then he angled my hips just right and pushed inside me.

Dominic’s hips were pistons, need powering every thrust. He held onto my sides, the rough tips of his fingers digging into my flesh. Water sprayed wildly each time our bodies collided.

Teeth clamped on my neck, biting down hard—hard enough to bruise, in a spot high enough it would be difficult to cover. I tossed my head back anyway, giving him more access. I loved carrying his marks all over my body. My inner thighs, breasts, and neck were never without his signature.

My fingers curled around the metal rack as I rocked between pleasure and pain. Dominic grunted in my ear, whispering filthy nothings. He talked about my body and all he wanted to do with it. He told me it was his, that I was his. He claimed his position as the owner of my pleasure.

If he was trying to prove this was all we were—physical, sex, desire, and nothing else—then he failed. There was nothing casual about the unwavering pull between us. When we were together, everything else fell away.

Dominic brought me over with his fingers, and then again with his cock. He rubbed the place inside me that caused my knees to go weak, but held me up.

One arm banded around my torso, his other holding my head against his shoulder. His breath was heavy and hot in my ear, and his filthy words had morphed into frantic grunts.

“Claire.” My name had never sounded more like a plea.

He groaned so loud, it echoed off the tiled walls, then he pulled out of me, spilling his liquid heat between my ass cheeks and on my lower back.

When I finally let go of the towel rack, my fingers were sore from holding on so tight. I reached behind me, clutching his sides. He hadn’t let me touch him at all, but I needed to, if only for a moment.

His chest rose and fell against my back. “Did I hurt you?” he murmured.

“Not in a way I didn’t like or want.”

His head fell against my shoulder. “You’re just…I’ll let you have some space to get cleaned up.”

He left me in the hot shower, and when I stepped out a minute or two later, my folded pajamas were waiting for me on the counter. The simple thoughtfulness of that gesture, after he’d just fucked me so hard I’d be sore tomorrow, had me leaning against the wall, slightly overwhelmed.

Not just from Dominic, but from everything I’d missed out on by settling for Derrick. When I had my period, I was practically untouchable. He never would have brought me my pajamas or made me a cheesy omelet at midnight. Was this what most men did for women they cared for? My dad did for my mom, but I had always thought they were the exception.

I hated that I thought that. Regret threatened to take over, so I left the bathroom, snug in my pajamas. Dominic pulled back the covers for me, and I climbed into bed beside him. He didn’t hesitate to wrap his body around mine and lay his head on my damp hair.

“Promise me you’ll never be with another fucked-up man like me. You are too good for this, Claire.” His warm palm pressed against my chest, right above my heart. “You have to be a lot pickier with who you allow to be close to you.”

“I don’t want to talk about that, Dominic.” My fingers toyed with the darker hair that grew from his chin. “Stop it.”

“Promise me and I won’t bring it up again.” He cupped my cheek, his eyes searching mine.

“I promise,” I whispered.

He released a long, slow breath, his heavy gaze still on me. “You do see me. But I see you too. I’m thinking it was better back when you were scared of me.”

“Who says I’m not?”

His lips parted, like he wanted to say something, but he gave a sharp shake of his head. “Goodnight, Claire.”

Dominic held me close as he fell asleep. It took me longer, my head filled with questions that would never be answered, aches that would eventually fade, and worry I had already fallen for a broken man who wouldn’t be there to catch me.