7. Stake kiss
1501 Words
Dominic didn’t look away.
Not even for a second.
Instead, he took a sharp breath — the kind that sounds like restraint — and stood so suddenly the chair scraped against the floor. He stepped closer, not threatening, but intense, like something inside him had snapped into focus.
“Are you sure no one’s been following you?” he asked, voice low. “Because this doesn’t sit right with me. You might’ve crossed paths with someone who wants more than just to be generous. And you are smart, Thumper — but you’ve been pushed to your limits lately. I don’t trust people around a woman like you.”
The words hit wrong.
They hurt.
Stalking.
Emotional.
A woman like you.
Each phrase lodged in my chest like a blade.
It sounded like frustration.
Like exhaustion.
Like I’d become another problem he hadn’t meant to take on.
My appetite disappeared instantly.
I stood, pushing the stool back. “You’re reading too much into this,” I said firmly. “If he isn’t someone you know, then I won’t go looking for trouble. But you don’t get to talk to me like that.”
My voice wavered despite my effort to keep it steady.
“I haven’t been able to do anything for myself,” I continued. “Every step forward has been strangers stepping in. I don’t even know how to thank anyone properly anymore — but I won’t sit here while you get angry over something I don’t understand.”
I turned to leave.
He moved so fast it startled me.
One second he was by the stove — the next he was standing directly in front of me, close enough that I could feel the heat of him, close enough that his breath caught the edge of mine.
“Stop,” he said quietly. Not commanding — pleading.
“I wasn’t insulting you.” His voice softened, stripped of tension. “I scared myself. The idea that someone might be circling you — trying to make you owe them something — it hit harder than it should’ve.”
His eyes searched my face, open now. Honest.
“I haven’t done all of this to make you feel indebted to me,” he said. “I did it because I wanted to. Because I care about you. And the thought of someone else trying to buy their way into your life — when you’ve already been stripped of so much — it made me lose my footing for a second.”
He exhaled, slow and controlled.
“You didn’t do anything to deserve being treated like property. Or like you’re fragile. Or like you need to be handled instead of chosen.”
The word settled heavy between us.
Chosen.
“I should’ve said this better,” he added quietly. “I want you safe — yes. But more than that… I want you here because you want to be. Not because you owe me. Not because you need me.”
His gaze dipped, just briefly, to my lips before returning to my eyes — like he hadn’t meant to reveal that much, but couldn’t help it.
“I wasn’t angry at you,” he finished. “I was afraid of losing the chance to know you — to take you out, to see who you are when no one’s hurting you.”
My chest tightened.
His words didn’t feel like control.
They felt like vulnerability — raw, unguarded — something I wasn’t used to being trusted with.
And for the first time since everything fell apart…
I believed someone wanted me not because I was broken…
…but because I was me.
The soft sizzle from the stove drew Dominic’s attention back to the food, and as he moved away, something unexpected stirred inside me.
Hunger.
Not just the kind that came from an empty stomach, but the kind that followed relief — the fragile sense that maybe, for this moment, I was allowed to want something. I let myself feel it, even though a quiet fear followed close behind. I didn’t want to disappoint him. I didn’t want him to look at me the way my husband once had — with boredom first, then resentment.
During the hearing earlier today day, my past had been dragged out and twisted into something ugly. Lies paraded as truth. Accusations stacked neatly against my name while the real betrayal stayed conveniently hidden. He had been the one who grew tired of me. The one who sought comfort in the arms of the blonde woman from the gas station while I stayed faithful, believing in vows that only I seemed to honor.
He froze our shared account. Called me a gold digger. Said I had taken advantage of him — when the only thing I took was a tent from his car after he locked me out of our home. A tent I had agreed to repay. A debt I had accepted as mine.
And now… a stranger had erased it.
What if Dominic woke up one day and decided I was too much?
Living with him hadn’t been my choice — but neither had my marriage. And if one man had grown tired of my presence, what made me believe another wouldn’t?
“The food’s ready,” Dominic said gently taking me away for a moment from my mind. “What would you like to have it with? I saved a good bottle of wine for us. Would you like a glass tonight?”
The question was simple. Kind. Unpressured.
I nodded.
Yes — I needed the air wine might give my lungs. The quiet it could bring to the chaos circling my thoughts.
The last month replayed in fragments — the tent, the cold, the locked door, the courtroom, the mansion — all of it collapsing inward until I felt hollow. I sat down slowly, grounding myself in the chair as Dominic placed our plates in front of us and then took the seat beside me.
He lifted his glass, eyes warm but steady.
“To a brighter future, Thumper.”
The words caught somewhere deep in my chest.
I clinked my glass against his and took a sip. The wine burned softly on the way down, loosening something tight inside me. The tension eased. My shoulders lowered. The world shrank to the table between us.
The meal was incredible — rich, comforting, made with care. And as I ate, a quiet thought crept in, almost shy in its curiosity.
What couldn’t Dominic do?
What kind of man cooked like this, read the books he read, offered safety without demand, was well known in this side of town — and still stood alone?
When I finished, I leaned back slightly, exhaling without realizing I’d been holding my breath all evening. That’s when I felt it — the solid warmth of his arm brushing against mine. Not accidental. Not invasive.
Intentional.
I turned my head, and he was already leaning toward me — eyes searching, asking without words. Time slowed, narrowed to the space between our breaths.
Then he closed it.
His lips met mine in a kiss that was gentle but certain — not rushed, not hungry — just honest. A kiss that didn’t take.
It chose.
And for the first time in a very long while, I didn’t feel like I was being left behind.
I felt like I was being found.
Dominic found the courage to let the moment shift — gently, deliberately — from uncertainty into something warmer, heavier, undeniable.
The kiss didn’t rush. It lingered.
His hand settled at my waist, firm but careful, like he was grounding himself just as much as he was grounding me. I could feel the way his breath changed, slower now, deeper, brushing against my cheek as his lips moved against mine with a quiet intensity that made my knees weak.
It wasn’t desperate.
It was intentional.
The world narrowed to the space between us — the warmth of his body, the faint scent of wine and spice, the steady rhythm of his heart so close I felt it echo in my chest. My fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt before I even realized I’d reached for him, the simple contact sending a spark through me that settled low and warm.
For a brief, reckless second, I thought about leaning into him more. About closing the distance completely. About what it would feel like if he stopped holding back.
I felt him hesitate — just barely — like he was giving me time, giving me the choice.
And I was just about to take it.
Just about to move closer, to let the moment deepen into something we wouldn’t be able to pretend away—
When the doorbell rang.
The sound shattered the quiet like glass.
We pulled apart, breath uneven, the air between us still charged, still humming with everything that hadn’t happened yet.
And somehow… that made it worse.
- Writer
