Smoothing down the front of the dress, I turn to the side and
stare into the mirror. “Hmm. Guess it’s a good thing I didn’t ask for your
opinion. Isn’t it?” I ask, my fingers running along the cut out in the fabric,
skimming over my ink. “This is a yes. Don’t wrap it up either, I’m wearing it
out,” I tell Trey, but my eyes never leave Dominick’s in the mirror.
After
nearly three hours, and varying degrees of annoyed and broody Dominick, all my
other outfits are being packed up in gold tissue paper and red boxes. By the
time Trey had paired up shoes and accessories to go with each outfit, I was
feeling like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman.
Minus
the whole being a hooker thing…
“It
was so much fun working with you today, Ireland,” Trey says, hugging me at the
door. “You come back again soon. Oh,” leaning in, he plants a kiss on each of
my cheeks. “Tell those gorgeous bandmates of yours I’ll be waiting for them to
come see me too. With open arms, open legs, and if need be, an open mouth,” he
says, with a wink. “Mmm,” he purrs, fanning himself dramatically. “That Hunter,
mmm, he makes me thirsty.”
In
the car, tension hangs thick and heavy between Dominick and I. He says nothing
to me, but I can tell by his jerky movements, and how tightly he squeezes the
steering wheel with his left hand as he drives, that he is angry. His jaw ticks
as he stares out the windshield, everything about his body language is closed
off and unapproachable.
Crossing
my leg over the other, I turn toward the window, figuring the scenery flying by
is better than the broody ass man beside me. Though, every second I spent in
front of the mirror he was watching me like a hawk. However, he didn’t say
another word after the dress comment. Part of me wonders if he was afraid of
what I would do, had he kept criticizing my clothing choices.
That
doesn’t mean I couldn’t see what affected him…
And
I was more than happy to let the asshole look his fill and eat his heart out.
Each
time I caught him watching me, his breathing changed and everything about his
body stance shifted. With every hard, uncomfortable swallow he made, my smile
got bigger. My face damn near split in two when I caught him adjusting himself.
Guess my knee shot to the cock, the other day, didn’t fully put him out of
commission.
Dominick
weaves the Mustang in and out of the early afternoon traffic. Slamming on the
gas, he passes an eighteen wheeler before skirting around a Greyhound bus and a
minivan. “What the hell is your problem?” I ask, tightening my seatbelt. “Slow
down.”
He
doesn’t answer me. Instead, he tightens his grip on the steering wheel.
Slamming on his brakes, he ducks behind an old Chevy pick up to change lanes.
Without signaling, he exits the highway, speeding down the ramp so fast, that
when he takes the right turn at the bottom, the tires squeal.
“Dominick!”
I shout, my voice sounding shaky. Turning in the seat as best I can to face
him, I grip his arm, digging my fingers in his biceps. “Either slow the hell
down, or let me out of the goddamn car!”
Ducking
into a mutli-level parking garage, I can barely make out the concrete barriers and
parked cars flying by in a whirl, as we climb to an empty level. Slamming on
his brakes, Dominick shoves the shifter into park and flings open the door.
Before
I can catch my breath, he’s around the front of the car, yanking open the
passenger door, and is on me. Undoing the seatbelt, he pulls me from the car so
fast my heels don’t even touch the ground. Kicking the door closed, he grips my
forearms with both hands. Turning us, he pushes my back to the concrete beam.
“How
long are you planning to keep punishing me, Ireland?” he growls, pinning me
with his icy stare. “I’m all for jokes and shit, but that’s not the game you’re
playin’. Is it?”
“Let
go,” I ground out, trying to shift my body to get a knee shot to his balls.
This time I’ll make
stare into the mirror. “Hmm. Guess it’s a good thing I didn’t ask for your
opinion. Isn’t it?” I ask, my fingers running along the cut out in the fabric,
skimming over my ink. “This is a yes. Don’t wrap it up either, I’m wearing it
out,” I tell Trey, but my eyes never leave Dominick’s in the mirror.
After
nearly three hours, and varying degrees of annoyed and broody Dominick, all my
other outfits are being packed up in gold tissue paper and red boxes. By the
time Trey had paired up shoes and accessories to go with each outfit, I was
feeling like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman.
Minus
the whole being a hooker thing…
“It
was so much fun working with you today, Ireland,” Trey says, hugging me at the
door. “You come back again soon. Oh,” leaning in, he plants a kiss on each of
my cheeks. “Tell those gorgeous bandmates of yours I’ll be waiting for them to
come see me too. With open arms, open legs, and if need be, an open mouth,” he
says, with a wink. “Mmm,” he purrs, fanning himself dramatically. “That Hunter,
mmm, he makes me thirsty.”
In
the car, tension hangs thick and heavy between Dominick and I. He says nothing
to me, but I can tell by his jerky movements, and how tightly he squeezes the
steering wheel with his left hand as he drives, that he is angry. His jaw ticks
as he stares out the windshield, everything about his body language is closed
off and unapproachable.
Crossing
my leg over the other, I turn toward the window, figuring the scenery flying by
is better than the broody ass man beside me. Though, every second I spent in
front of the mirror he was watching me like a hawk. However, he didn’t say
another word after the dress comment. Part of me wonders if he was afraid of
what I would do, had he kept criticizing my clothing choices.
That
doesn’t mean I couldn’t see what affected him…
And
I was more than happy to let the asshole look his fill and eat his heart out.
Each
time I caught him watching me, his breathing changed and everything about his
body stance shifted. With every hard, uncomfortable swallow he made, my smile
got bigger. My face damn near split in two when I caught him adjusting himself.
Guess my knee shot to the cock, the other day, didn’t fully put him out of
commission.
Dominick
weaves the Mustang in and out of the early afternoon traffic. Slamming on the
gas, he passes an eighteen wheeler before skirting around a Greyhound bus and a
minivan. “What the hell is your problem?” I ask, tightening my seatbelt. “Slow
down.”
He
doesn’t answer me. Instead, he tightens his grip on the steering wheel.
Slamming on his brakes, he ducks behind an old Chevy pick up to change lanes.
Without signaling, he exits the highway, speeding down the ramp so fast, that
when he takes the right turn at the bottom, the tires squeal.
“Dominick!”
I shout, my voice sounding shaky. Turning in the seat as best I can to face
him, I grip his arm, digging my fingers in his biceps. “Either slow the hell
down, or let me out of the goddamn car!”
Ducking
into a mutli-level parking garage, I can barely make out the concrete barriers and
parked cars flying by in a whirl, as we climb to an empty level. Slamming on
his brakes, Dominick shoves the shifter into park and flings open the door.
Before
I can catch my breath, he’s around the front of the car, yanking open the
passenger door, and is on me. Undoing the seatbelt, he pulls me from the car so
fast my heels don’t even touch the ground. Kicking the door closed, he grips my
forearms with both hands. Turning us, he pushes my back to the concrete beam.
“How
long are you planning to keep punishing me, Ireland?” he growls, pinning me
with his icy stare. “I’m all for jokes and shit, but that’s not the game you’re
playin’. Is it?”
“Let
go,” I ground out, trying to shift my body to get a knee shot to his balls.
This time I’ll make
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