Dominic POV
The week was hell. Absolute hell.
Every second I had to pretend, to restrain myself from touching her the way I craved, was slow, painful torture. I was barely hanging on. Kennedy had no idea what she was doing to me—or maybe she did. Maybe the little smirks she gave me when no one was looking were deliberate. Maybe the late-night texts, the way she crawled into my bed hours after midnight when the whole house was asleep, were her way of slowly killing me with need.
And God, I let her. I welcomed it.
I’d stay awake just for the chance to hold her in the dark. Wrap my arms around her. Bury my face in her hair. Kiss her like I was starving for it—which I was. Always. I’d spoon her close under the covers, let my hand drift under her shirt just to feel the warmth of her stomach
