“Then what did you mean?”
“I’m trying really hard to hold onto my anger at Frank.” He stared down at his plate. “Knowing he’s been there for you all that time…it makes it harder.”
I reached out to touch the back of his hand until he looked up at me. “You can’t hold on to anger for the sake of it. It’s not healthy. It’ll eat you from the inside out.”
His throat bobbed. “Guess you’re the expert on that.”
I stiffened and withdrew my hand. “Guess I am.”
“Your pancakes are cold.” Dom nodded at them. “Want me to make you some fresh ones?”
“No, it’s fine,” I said, picking up my cutlery and stabbing a piece. Even cold, the flavour made me moan. “Fuck, you’re good at these.”
“I keep telling you I’m full of surprises.” Dom smiled softly as he watched me eat. “I’ve got another for you after breakfast.”
I went to glare at him, but my own words rang in my ears.
“You can’t hold on to anger for the sake of it. It’s not healthy. It’ll eat you up from the inside out.”
Instead, I took a deep breath and offered him a tentative smile. “You’d best eat up too, then.”
The surprised smile he gave me added kindling to the fire he’d started.
If I wasn’t careful, it was going to burn my entire life down.
Question was—did I even care if it did?
Dom coveredmy eyes as he led me down the hallway.
“What are you doing?”
“Just shush,” he said playfully. “Don’t spoil the surprise.”
“Is it a dead body?” I sighed. “Because we won’t get the security deposit back if it is.”
Teeth scraped against my earlobe, too fast for me to react before he pulled away. “God, your mind is fucked up sometimes.”
I shivered, my cock stiffening at the lingering feel of him. “How we started should’ve clued you in to that already.”
“That was stubbornness and your inability to resist me.” I didn’t need to see Dom’s face to know he was smirking. “Wait right here and don’t open your eyes.”
My lips twitched. “Okay.”
There were some rustling sounds and then Dom cleared his throat. “You can look now.”
I opened my eyes and sucked in a breath. The small third bedroom had been transformed. All the furniture had been pushed up against one wall, leaving an open space bythe window. There sat an easel, illuminated by the soft morning sunshine. On a high table beside it, there were palettes of oil paints. Tin of pencils—both graphite and coloured. Charcoal. Tubes of watercolour. Countless brushes. There was also a small stack of sketch-pads neatly arranged on the windowsill. I didn’t need to get any closer to know they were the exact brand I’d preferred as a teenager.
“Dom, I…”
“Did I get it all right?” He rubbed the back of his neck anxiously. “I know you preferred graphite pencils when we were younger, but I didn’t know if that was because that’s all you could afford at the time.”
Fierce heat burned behind my eyes at the accuracy of that statement.
“I wanted you to have options either way,” Dom continued. “This way, you can experiment and find what makes you happiest.”
I had to swallow a few times before I could get the words out. “I don’t…I don’t do this anymore.”
Dom crossed the room, touching my chin lightly. “Maybe you should. How can you know what truly makes you happy if you’re too scared to take the leap?”