I smiled, breathless. "Really hi back."
His hands slid from my face down my neck, over my shoulders, tracing the curve of my spine through my old sweater. Every touch was both familiar and electrifying, like coming home to a house that had been redecorated in my absence—still mine, but more exciting somehow.
"I missed you," he said, his lips moving to my jaw, my earlobe, the sensitive spot just behind it that made me shiver. "I thought about this. About you."
My hands found their way under his shirt, tracing the warm skin of his back, the muscles tensing and relaxing under my touch. "Show me," I whispered. "Show me how much."
That was all the encouragement he needed. The kiss caught fire, his mouth claiming mine with an intensity that stole the air from my lungs. His hands tightened on my hips, pulling me flush against him, and I could feel him already hard and wanting through the layers of our clothes.
Somehow, we were moving—stumbling toward the bedroom without breaking the kiss, my mismatched socks sliding on the hardwood floor. His hands were everywhere, mapping my body like he was trying to commit it to memory. My sweater was pushed up, his palms flat against the skin of my waist, thumbs stroking circles that made my knees weak.
We reached the bedroom, and he kicked the door shut behind us. The room was dimly lit, the morning light filtering through the blinds in soft stripes across the bed. He pulled back just enough to look at me, his eyes dark with desire, his pupils blown wide.
"You're so beautiful," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "Every time I see you, it's like the first time all over again."
He reached for the hem of my sweater, and I lifted my arms to let him pull it over my head. His eyes roamed over me, worshipful and adoring, before he leaned in to press kisses to myshoulders, my collarbones, the hollow of my throat. His hands moved to the clasp of my bra, deftly undoing it with practiced ease.
"God, Rachel," he breathed against my skin. "I could look at you forever."
I reached for his shirt, fumbling with the buttons in my haste. "Less looking, more touching," I demanded, and he laughed, low and husky, as he helped me undo the last few buttons.
His shirt joined mine on the floor, and I took a moment to just look at him—the broad chest, the scattered tattoos, the way his muscles shifted as he moved. My fingers traced the lines of his abs, down to the waistband of his jeans.
He shivered under my touch. "Fair's fair," he murmured, his hands moving to the waistband of my leggings. "These have to go."
I stepped out of them, kicking them aside, suddenly feeling shy under his intense gaze. But then he was kissing me again, slow and thoughtful, his hands cupping my face like I was something precious.
"I've been thinking about this since I got on that train," he admitted between kisses. "About you, about this."
"Me too," I confessed. "Every minute."
His kisses grew more demanding, his tongue delving into my mouth, the cool metal of his piercing a familiar thrill against mine. I loved the way he kissed—thorough and passionate, like he was trying to consume me, to memorize every part of my mouth.
He backed me toward the bed, and when my legs hit the edge, I fell back, pulling him with me. He settled over me, his weight a comforting pressure, his hips cradled between my thighs. The denim of his jeans was rough against my bare skin, a delicious friction that made me arch against him.
"Too many clothes," I gasped, my hands moving to the button of his jeans.
He chuckled, low and sexy. "Patience, Flash. I've waited forever to see you again. What's a few more minutes?"
But he didn't make me wait. He stood up just long enough to shed his jeans and boxers, and my breath caught at the sight of him—all lean muscle and golden skin, his cock hard and ready, the silver ring through the head glinting in the dim light.
I reached for him, but he shook his head, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Not yet. First, I want to taste you."
He knelt on the bed between my legs, his hands tracing my thighs, his eyes dark with intent. "I've been dreaming about this," he murmured, lowering his head. "About the way you taste, the way you sound when you're close."
His tongue found my clit, the metal ball of his piercing adding an extra layer of sensation that made me gasp. He knew exactly how to touch me, exactly how to drive me wild, his tongue circling and flicking, his lips sucking gently, his fingers finding my entrance and sliding inside.
"Dominic," I moaned, my hands tangling in his hair. "God, don't stop."
He didn't. He worked me with his mouth and hands, building the pleasure slowly, methodically, until I was writhing beneath him, my hips bucking against his face. The room filled with the sounds of my breathing, his soft groans of pleasure, the wet heat of his mouth against me.
"Come for me, Rachel," he murmured against my flesh. "I want to feel you come."
His words, combined with the relentless stimulation, sent me over the edge. The orgasm crashed through me, wave after wave of pleasure, my body arching off the bed, a cry tearing from my throat.
He didn't stop, drawing out every last bit of pleasure until I was limp and breathless beneath him. Only then did he raise his head, his face glistening with my arousal, a smug, satisfied smile on his lips.
"Miss me?" he asked, his voice husky.
