My Dom (Boston Doms Book 1) Read online

  "You know, we have rules in this complex," he said, folding his arms across his chest and walking… stalking… slowly down the stairs. "Rules about dogs," he elaborated. "And leashes."

  Heidi flushed.

  "Those rules protect everyone's safety," he concluded when he was standing right in front of her.

  "I know… I just… It was kind of an emergency," she stammered. "And I was holding the leash. I didn't expect her to pull away like that."

  "Sounds to me like you need a firmer hand on the leash."

  He did not just say that to me.

  Heidi looked up at him, eyes widening in amazement at the double meaning, but his return look was bland. God, she was paranoid.

  She cleared her throat.

  "It won't happen again," she promised.

  "See that it doesn't," he said softly but sternly, sending an uncontrollable flush of warmth through her body and making her fucking traitorous nipples harden again, right there on the spot.

  Quickly folding her arms across her chest once more, a quick glance at his face told her he suspected exactly what she was trying to hide.

  Some demon compelled her to add, "I'm really sorry about Tammy. She seemed fairly traumatized."

  He smiled, a smug, knowing glance that should have warned her, but didn't.

  "I wasn't aware that you two were on a first-name basis," he drawled.

  Tammy hadn't given her name. Caught.

  Heidi could feel her face flush.

  "Well, trauma brings people together quickly," she joked in a strangled voice, pretending to misunderstand.

  He merely nodded, but she had the sense that he was fighting off laughter.

  "Right," she squeaked. "Well. Nice to meet you. Come on, Princess."

  Heidi walked quickly down the sidewalk, but the blasted dog refused to go.

  "Princess! Come!" Heidi said sternly.

  But the dog gazed forlornly at Dom, and refused to be budged.

  She inhaled sharply. Honest to God, if she had to bend down in this outfit to pick up her dog, that would be the final…

  But she didn't even have time to complete the thought, because Dom knelt down, caught Princess's eye, rubbed her head, pointed firmly at Heidi's door, and sent the dog running back home, eager to do his bidding, trailing a mortified Heidi behind her.

  Chapter 4

  "Don't move until I tell you. Keep your hands right there and do what I say."

  Dominic lay on the weight lifting bench, pursing his lips with a glare at his wiseass brother.

  "I'm not your fucking sub, Matteo," he growled.

  His twin brother, a mere four minutes his junior, stood over him and glared back. Dom looked up at a near mirror-image of his own reflection, the same short-cropped hair and green eyes. A tattoo of a skull and crossbones, with the words Death before Dishonor, flanked the uppermost part of his right arm.

  "You're on the bench and I'm spotting you; you're my fucking sub," Matteo said out loud, with a good-natured grin. "You wanna break your neck or knock your teeth out, do it on your own time."

  Dom snorted, though his laughter immediately fled as he lifted the bar up. Matteo wasn't fooling around. He really had upped the chest weight. Dom pushed, every muscle and tendon straining and flexing, while Matteo stood over him, braced and ready.

  "Push for muscle fatigue," Matteo always said, mixing up shit concoctions in his blender for Dom before and after they hit the weights. "You wanna break 'em down then build 'em back up again."

  Matteo had learned a shitload of body-building protocol in his stint overseas, and he helped Dom train as well. At first, Dom was reluctant, but he soon came to enjoy the high after a hard workout, the challenge of the bench, and most of all, the effects of his workouts. He never would push to be a large, Hulkish bodybuilder, but there were decided benefits in strength training.

  Matteo had always been first at everything. When they were kids, he was the first to hit the playground. First one to win a race. First to decide what he was doing when they graduated high school. First to learn how to weight train.

  First to take a submissive.

  Never one to hide what he did, he was open and honest with Dom and their brother Tony about how he liked things. It was only a matter of time before Dom was curious himself, and his hangups about telling a girl what to do, or inflicting measured pain, fled when he realized how erotic the whole scene was when cloaked in the consent he was always careful he had in place. Matteo did things boldly, with abandon and no apology. So, after polishing off a six-pack to whet their whistles one night when Matteo had returned home, he'd hooked Dom into coming, and taken him into a fairly tame club near Kenmore Square.

  A whole new world was opened up to Dom.

  That had been ten years ago. Unlike Matteo, Dom had eased into things, trying out what he liked and didn't, making careful choices as to whom he brought home.

  Dom was always, always careful to be sure the girls he took home weren't looking for full-time. Matteo had warned him in the beginning—full-time, long-term was serious shit. In it for the kink, there were plenty of options, but if he didn't wanna be some girl's daddy, he had to choose carefully.

  It pleased Dom to know that his naturally stern, take-charge demeanor and desire for control were, contrary to what he'd believed to be true, actually attractive to a certain type of girl. And it pleased him to know how erotic the shit could be.

  "Good," Matteo said, lifting the bar and replacing it on the rack. "Time for some lower body shredding. Get up."

  "No."

  Matteo's eyebrows shot up. Dom chuckled.

  "Get over yourself, Matt," he said, getting to his feet and on the mat, grabbing the bar to start their squats. He liked pushing his brother's buttons. As close as two siblings could be, they rarely actually got into a fight. Still, one dominant personality versus another, egos occasionally battled it out, though they mostly understood each other. If push came to shove, they had each other's backs. What happened at a club stayed at a club. Though everything they partook in was consensual, they knew the dangers a dominant faced. Secrecy and caution prevailed.

  "Shit," Matteo muttered under his breath. "Why don't these assholes do some real training here? They've at least gotta hire some floor monitors that know their asses from their elbows. Somebody's gonna kill themselves one day." His eyes were focused on a workout station behind Dom, and he was shaking his head as if disgusted. Dom casually craned his neck to see what Matteo was griping about, and when he did, he almost dropped the bar.

  It was her. That sexy-as-all-hell girl from the day before, apartment… what did she say again? 9A? 8G? Whatever. Had she told him her name? Pollyanna or something? He remembered her yippy dog. Forget about the girl's steel blue eyes and those high cheekbones sprinkled with adorable freckles. Her full, wavy, chestnut-colored hair she'd been wearing in a messy up-do thing, had barely covered her voluptuous full figure with the skimpy outfit she'd been wearing. And now was no different. He'd given thanks to the gym gods many times for the way women's gym clothes were designed. The girl was wearing a vibrant blue top, and black capris, the stretchy material of the workout pants making her ass look delectably spankable.

  "She's gonna break her neck," Matteo muttered, and as Dom looked, he could tell Matteo was right. She'd probably looked up some workouts on YouTube or something, as the girl clearly hadn't had any training, tipping sideways in a move that looked vaguely like a lunge.

  "I know that girl," Dom said in a low voice, turning his back to her again and facing Matteo.

  "Girl? She's no girl. She's a full-blown woman," Matteo corrected.

  "No shit," Dom said in a strangled voice.

  "How do you know her?" Matteo lifted the bar up and over his head, laid it on the meaty portion of his back, and started squatting, his eyes still trained behind Dom.

  "Apartment near me," Dom panted, suddenly short on breath as he followed Matteo's squat position. Shit, that hurt.

  Matteo grunted i
n return.

  "Think she's into the scene?" Matteo asked, as he stood again.

  Dom grunted. He remembered the way she mentioned Tammy's name. Clearly, she'd been privy to something. He'd seen the way her cheeks flushed and eyes widened when he'd intentionally, nonchalantly dropped the line about a firmer hand on the leash. Was she into the scene? Maybe not. Could she learn to like the scene?

  Hell yeah.

  "No."

  Matteo frowned. "Too bad," he said, his eyes still trained on her. "Hey, I saw your Tammy at The Club last night. You let her flirt with other men?"

  "She can flirt with whomever the hell she wants to flirt with. And she's not 'my' Tammy."

  "Shit, man, I wish I knew that last night."

  Dom squatted down, exhaling as he came to his feet.

  "You're better off staying away."

  "Yeah? She's shit in bed? Tries to top from the bottom or something?"

  "Clingy, manipulative, sent me twenty-seven texts after I told her we were done. And by all intents and purposes, I made it clear it was a one-night thing we were into, no more."

  Matteo whistled low. "You had me at clingy."

  Dom snorted. He strategically moved so he could get a better view of the girl. Had she noticed them? He watched. She'd replaced the barbell she was lifting and sat down on the ab machine. There was a padded seat, weights one could adjust with a small metal lever, and once in position, the user sat up, pulling the upper pads down to squeeze the abs. She gave a slight toss of her head—Intentionally?—lifting the small lever to adjust the weight, and pushed it in. Dom's eyes narrowed. That was a fucking heavy weight she was lifting for a girl her size.

  She squinted her eyes at the instructions plastered on the side of the machine.

  He wanted to drop his weights and go over. What kind of an idiot figured out how to use a machine by reading the instructions on the side? She needed a real trainer. But no, it wasn't his job. She had to figure this out on her own. He did another low squat as he watched her.

  She swallowed, giving a toss of her head and her eyes cut over to them. When she saw they were both facing her, she flushed.

  Yeah, she'd seen them.

  She dropped her head back, got into position, and tried to sit up, pulling the weights with her in a crunch. Dom bit his lip to keep from laughing. The weights didn't budge, as her face grew red and the veins bulged on her neck.

  Drop the weight, girl.

  Frowning, she sat up, and threw the lever down a few notches to a more manageable weight.

  Good girl.

  Where the hell did that come from? He felt himself oddly pleased that she'd stopped endangering herself, and was being more sensible about what she could handle. She sat back down, and crunched her way through, looking like she was gonna pass out any minute.

  "Ten more reps," Matteo grunted.

  Dom pushed to his feet, squatted back down, feeling the burn along his thighs and hamstrings, the weight of the bar on his back bearing down on him. He squatted low, then pushed to his feet firmly, looking away from her. He didn't need to look at her. He didn't need to see the way her skin glistened, her hair clinging to her cheeks in damp tendrils, the way her chest was heaving and her breath coming in shallow gasps. It reminded him too much of—

  "Two," Matteo said, as Dom willed himself out of his sordid reverie. "One."

  Dom lifted the bar over his head carefully, flipped it over and replaced the weights. Matteo stood next to him, standing on one foot, releasing his muscles, and Dom imitated his brother.

  "God," Matteo said. "She's gonna kill herself."

  Dom intentionally didn't spin around to look, but turned carefully. Her back was to them now. She'd grabbed her bar again, and she had a crazy weight on it. Why was she choosing such high weights? Didn't she have any training? Most women who trained used frequent, low reps to tone. It was the heavier, shorter reps that built muscle, and most women preferred not to bulk out. She was back in the lunge position, or what he assumed was supposed to be the lunge position. Lunges were supposed to be performed as if the feet were on railroad tracks, slow, deliberate dips of the knee, with the feet about two feet apart. One of her legs stuck out at an odd angle, but she looked determined, lips set in a straight line.

  She was gonna hurt herself.

  As she dipped low to the ground, he cringed. Her lower back was way out of line, leaning too forward, and the weight was too much for her. She wobbled as she began to dip.

  Finally, her bravado failed her. She was so low to the ground that her knee was almost touching. And then it did touch.

  Dom waited to see her get to her feet. But she didn't.

  It took him about two seconds later than it did Matteo to realize she didn't get up because she couldn't.

  Matteo was already over there.

  Asshole.

  Dom could tell from where he was that Matteo was in full-on pick-up mode.

  The hell he was.

  Dom didn't even know why he was already on his way over. Why he felt like socking his brother in the jaw. Why he felt anger surge through him when Matteo's hands grasped the bar on her shoulders and lifted the weight off of her. Why it took all he could do not to shove him out of the way when he heard his brother's low, suave voice asking her if she was okay.

  But physical limitations were on his side.

  Matteo had the bar in his hands as the girl tried to stand, painfully, looking as if she'd pulled something. Matteo couldn't help her to her feet.

  Dom reached a hand out to her. She blinked, ignoring his hand and trying to struggle to her feet, but she nearly toppled over. He reached out and grasped her reluctant hand.

  He was unprepared for how it would feel. His plan was to haul her to her feet before Matteo had finished replacing the bar and could get his hands on her. He didn't know when he took her small, fragile hand in his, as he towered over her, that she would wobble and trip, and that he'd have to brace her fall by placing his hand on her waist to steady her. How could he know that she would involuntarily reach out for him with a pained yelp? He didn't know that a girl who was sweaty and panting could smell so good as he placed both of his large hands on her waist, or that her wide eyes would be so transparent and heated, as they stood suddenly far too close for two people who hardly knew each other.

  He felt the vibrating heat between them, an electric pulse he hadn't experienced with girls he'd taken to bed, much less with a girl he hardly knew who was standing next to him in a crowded gym. Her top was so thin, one of those flimsy wicking workout tops, it almost felt as if his hands touched the warm, soft skin beneath the top. He could feel her intake of breath, and her ragged exhale pulsed straight to his lower abdomen.

  Shit.

  She tried to let go, but nearly stumbled again.

  He held fast.

  "I… I'm okay," she said. "Gosh, thank you, I'm such an idiot, I didn't know—" Her eyes widened, as if in sudden recognition. She stood straighter, composing herself, as she continued. "It would feel so heavy when I lunged."

  "Honey, that was no lunge you were doing," Dom said, and her eyes immediately flashed at him.

  "Oh yeah?" she said, trying to pull away again, and stumbling. She was hurt.

  Matteo stood behind her, giving him a 'what the fuck?' look. Dom gave him a 'go the hell away' look in return. Matteo sighed defeat, and stood behind them, arms crossed on his chest.

  Finder's keepers.

  "If you were doing a proper lunge, you wouldn't be so hurt right now."

  "Oh yeah?" she said again, her voice rising.

  Why was she getting so pissed off?

  "Yeah," he said forcefully, feeling his own temper rising.

  Why was he getting so pissed off?

  She looked as if she were about to say something else, and she tried to pull away from him, but as she moved, she winced. It was her back. She reached for it, obviously in enough pain that it was difficult to walk. His anger softened.

  "You hurt yourself,"
he said.

  "No shit, Sherlock," she quipped, eyes squeezed shut in pain. Matteo masked a chuckle with a cough.

  She had a temper, and a wiseass mouth.

  Who was he to think this girl would be into the scene? She was no more submissive than he was.

  "Well, maybe you shouldn't have taken so much weight on your bar," he scolded. She could mouth off all she wanted, but he was still holding her upright.

  "I didn't know how heavy it would be," she said, her voice dropping as her pained eyes opened. His anger vanished.

  Of course she hadn't. It was a complete accident, and he was being an asshole lecturing her on gym safety when she could barely stand.

  "You're the girl I met the other day," he said. "Right? With the dog?"

  She nodded. He surmised she was in too much pain to talk. She swallowed, as if trying to stop herself from crying. Shit.

  "We live in the same apartment complex," he said. "I'll drive you home."

  She shook her head and pulled away from him. "I'm fine to drive," she said, as she nearly toppled over and barely caught herself on a machine next to her.

  "You're not fine to drive," Matteo said, as he came to her side. He was no longer scoping her out, but looking at her with concern. As he looked over his head at Dom, Dom knew. Matteo was no longer hitting on her, but had given up the fight. Now he was helping Dom.

  "You got someone who can come get you?" Dom asked her.

  She looked at the ground and shook her head. "Could call my assistant but he's already at the office," she said with a sigh.

  "I'll drive you," Dom insisted. "But look, I've gotta head home and shower first. You've got your cell phone with you?" She nodded.

  "Then let's go. You've got stuff in your locker?"

  She shook her head. "I left my wallet and bag in my car."

  Seriously?

  "You can't leave your shit in your car!" he growled. She glared again. Matteo shook his head and raised his eyes heavenward.

  "Well I did," she spat out, but her voice caught at the end. He sighed.

  "All right. I'll bring you to my car, then we'll drive to yours to get your stuff." She nodded.