At home, the academic armour comes off and my first name in his mouth in this room sounds like something being unwrapped in the dark.
I sit on the leather couch – my mom’s couch, the one she ordered online and was so excited about that she made me help her arrange the pillows – and the leather is cool through my skirt and my mom’s throw pillow is pressing against my hip. Dominic sets his book down and removes his glasses and folds them and places them on the side table with that precise unhurried motion that makes everything he does look premeditated.
He stands and walks to the couch and sits beside me, close enough that his thigh presses against mine through the fabric, and his cologne mixes with my mom’s perfume in the air and the combination makes me dizzy in a way that should be repu
