Page 65 of Say My Name

His mouth returns to me.

The pleasure breaks with a force that pulls his name from me again. My thighs shake around his shoulders while he keeps his fingers inside me, slowing only when I stop moving against him.

When he rises, I pull him down and kiss him. I taste myself on his tongue and reach between us, pushing his pants and boxer briefs lower until he’s free in my hand again.

Dominic unhooks my bra. His palm closes over my breast while I stroke him, and his thumb moves across my nipple. I open my legs wider around his hips.

He settles between them. The head of his cock brushes my inner thigh.

Compatibility was the last practical wall I had, and now I’ve knocked it down myself. I want him. That’s all that’s left, and I don’t know what to do with how much.

Dominic reaches toward his discarded pants.

“Wait.”

He stops immediately and shifts his weight off me.

“What do you need?”

My pulse is still racing. “I can’t have sex with you tonight.”

“Okay.”

He doesn’t ask me to reconsider or point out how far I let this go. His hand settles at my waist, warm and steady.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

“Don’t apologize.”

“I brought you here.”

“And you can stop whenever you want.”

The calm answer leaves me staring at the side of his face, searching for something to push back against.

I avoid his eyes. “This was supposed to answer one question.”

“Compatibility.”

“Yes.”

“We answered it.”

I laugh, breathless and embarrassed. “That’s the problem.”

Dominic brushes my hair away from my face. “Tell me.”

“Sex changes this,” I say, the words rushing out. “It wouldn’t just be for the clinic. Not just part of the plan to make a baby.”

“I don’t want you only inside the plan, Elena.”

My hand tightens on his shoulder. I’m naked beneath him, and he says it as calmly as if wanting me outside the plan is simple.

“I need space to think.”

He nods. “Then you have it.”

Dominic helps me sit up. He’s already buttoning his shirt when he hands me my dress. I pull it on and turn, waiting. He closes the zipper, his knuckles brushing my bare skin. The careful, impersonal touch is more unsettling than anything we did on the couch.