HARDCORE: Storm MC(20)

But Dom was asking me to ask more of him. To rely on him. To trust in him.



And god, did I want to.



He gave me a long squeeze, a backward hug, then kissed my shoulder blade and pulled himself up and out of me, slowly so I could feel every inch of him again. I groaned. I hated the emptiness he left behind, but I think both of us were also ready to get in a more comfortable space. I wished we would have been in a normal bedroom, but maybe there would be a chance for that later.



Later. Oh my god, I just realized what I had promised him. I had sworn off my plan for tonight; there would be no big shootout with Mr. Ronn. I was at once both regretful and supremely relieved. Fuck it all, I was Hamlet. The truth was that I desperately wanted—no, needed—to revenge my sister. But my nerves and anxiety tonight—not to mention my utter relief in the safety net of Dom—forced home that I really did not want to become, in the process, a killer. I had no idea where to go from here.



“Okay, baby, let’s get out of here. We have some things to work out still, yeah?” While my mind had been wandering, Dom had apparently taken care of trashing the condom and already had his jeans on. Barefoot and bare-chested—hot damn, but he was beautiful—Dom looked at me expectantly.



“Yeah, you’re right. I guess we do.” He watched me for a minute, as I peeled myself off the couch and reached for some Kleenex to wipe myself off before redressing in my scant G-string. He tossed me his T-shirt and drew on his kutte over his bare torso, then put on his socks and boots again. I still had my stilettos on, so it seemed we were good enough to go. I just had to drop back into the dressing room to grab my duffel and handbag, throw on my black miniskirt and a top, return his tee to him, and we could be off. I’m not sure why, but we seemed to have an automatic mutual understanding that no matter the time, my shift was over.



He followed me home on his bike, and I gave him the two-second tour of my one-bedroom apartment. There wasn’t much to it; everything in it was Goodwill furniture and secondhand articles. I’d been ready to just leave it all behind, obviously. There was nothing of sentiment, nothing of attachment or personal value. So there wasn’t much for him to investigate that might have been of note. His gaze swept the space once, and he looked at me knowingly, as if he could read right off the bat that this was just a space I slept in, and not one that reflected me at all.



“Have a seat, Dom. You want anything to drink?” I asked, trying to act like a normal person might under normal circumstances, having a new friend over to visit. It had been a very long time since anyone but Asia or Tania had been in my space, and I was out of practice. But I seemed to get it right.



“Just a glass of water, babe. Get yourself one, too. Then come over here and sit. Get off o’ your feet.” He quickly made friends with my iPod and speaker set, picked out one of my favorite bossa nova albums, and cornered himself on the couch.



I did as requested, put the glasses on the coffee table, and joined him there. He pointed me to the opposite end and adjusted himself to face me so he was sitting sideways, one foot tucked under his knee, the other on the floor. He gestured to my feet and patted his lap. “Right here, babe. Gimme your feet.”



I did, and he slipped my shoes off easily and proceeded to rub my left foot with both of his huge strong hands. He had magic in those hands. I almost started moaning, it felt so good. He was rubbing into my heel, my arch, pulling out and stretching each toe, rolling his thumbs along lines on my soles. It was like heaven. My eyes rolled to the back of my head.



Astrid Gilberto was crooning light and smooth, and my mind was floating out near space as Dom spent several minutes on the left and then switched to give equal attention to the right. He gave me that time in silence, knowing intuitively that this was a rare and special treat for me. How often does a dancer without a romantic partner actually get her feet massaged? Speaking only for myself, the answer was never. The building could have been on fire, and I would not have noticed, nor cared.



But all good things must end. Eventually his hands slowed down, and he held the tops of my feet, keeping them warm but no longer at work. I slowly peeled open my eyes and righted my head from its recline. I gazed at him gratefully, breathing a little heavily through my open mouth. He smiled lightly, then asked, “You ready to talk, baby?”



I just about cried. He was being so sweet. “Yeah, Dom. I’m ready.”



“What’s got you goin’ lately, Sienna?”



I took a deep breath and pulled my feet from his hands, then curled my legs under me. I grabbed my water, took a sip, then raised my eyes to his. “You know about my sister?” I asked.