Page 132 of Say My Name

“Look at me,” I whisper.

His eyes lock on mine.

I hold his face and give him what I can, the truest words I am brave enough to say right now. “I want you here.”

His mouth parts, and for one second he looks as shaken as I feel. “You have me.”

His hand slides between us. I cover it with mine and guide his fingers to my clit.

“Here.”

His thumb circles slowly. “Like this?”

“Yes.”

Pleasure gathers low in my stomach, tightening with every slow drag of his cock and every deliberate stroke of his thumb.

I say his name without being asked. “Dominic.”

His control flickers. “Big D belongs to a stupid college story. Mr. Rowe belongs at work.” His voice turns rough. “Dominic is the man who’s wanted you for years. That’s the name I want from you.”

He wants the part of me that knows him beyond the story and the title, the part that chose Dominic before I was ready to admit it.

“Dominic,” I say again, holding his gaze.

My body tightens around him. He groans and drives deeper, his thumb pressing more firmly against my clit as his rhythm begins to break.

“Stay with me.”

“I’m here.”

The pressure coils tighter, each slow stroke keeping me open to him.

I hold his face and refuse to look away.

I gasp his name as I come, clinging to him while every muscle pulls tight.

The clench of my body takes the last of his control. He buries his face against my neck and thrusts deeper, his arm tightening around me.

“Elena.” My name tears out of him. “Fuck, I can’t⁠—”

His rhythm breaks. He drives into me once more, then stills deep inside me while his body shudders against mine.

I hold him through every pulse, my fingers moving into his hair as his breath burns against my throat.

I love you rises to the back of my tongue, terrifying and true.

“Dominic, I…” The words are right there, behind my teeth. I look at him, at the hope softening the sharp lines of his face.

He lifts his head.

Hope flashes across his face, so unguarded it nearly gives me the courage to finish.

I can’t make myself say the words.

I touch his cheek and look into the eyes of the man who has spent years arranging his life around me.

My thumb strokes over his cheekbone, a silent apology for the words I can’t say. “I know,” I whisper.