Love Her or Lose Her Read online

  If that’s too much to ask, suffice it to say, I’m proud to have you as my wife.

  I’m proud of the person you were that night at homecoming, the person you became when I was away, and most of all, the person you are now. You’re incredible. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you often enough.

  Yours,

  Dominic

  The letter fluttered into Rosie’s lap. Her fingers were tingling too much to hold the piece of paper for a second longer. You’re incredible.

  In that moment, that’s exactly how she felt. Light and heavy all at once. Substantial.

  Rosie was a strong woman and liked to think she didn’t need a pat on the back. But Dom’s letter was just truth. It was revealing and she couldn’t deny the new energy flowing through her, knowing she made someone proud.

  I should have kissed that freckle more.

  She could almost feel Dominic’s lips behind her ear, whispering those words that made her feel so desirable. Not as a sexual object, but as a singular woman. As Rosie. A hot mudslide seemed to break loose inside her, traveling all the way to her stomach. She suddenly felt so full. So aware of every inch of her skin and every breath entering and leaving her lungs. Her thighs felt uber-present on the seat, covered in goose bumps, and she moved them around, just to feel the soft, worn-in material of the driver’s seat rasp against her panty hose. She tipped her head back and recalled that night at homecoming, her lips lifting into a smile. This was how she’d felt then. Like a woman. Like the object of someone’s notice.

  Important.

  Real.

  She could do anything when she felt like this.

  Heart trapped in her throat, Rosie read the letter again. And again. She was preparing to read it a fourth time when a knock on the window shaved approximately nine years off her life.

  Joe the security guard waved from the other side of the glass. Thankfully he kept his flashlight averted, because she didn’t need the sweet older gentleman getting an eyeful of what Dominic’s letter was doing to her body. Her nipples were in rigid points, her thighs squeezed together, those tiny muscles inside of her bearing down, searching for that invading thickness her husband usually provided.

  “You all right in there, Rosie?” came his muffled voice through the window.

  “Yes,” she croaked, stuffing the letter back into the envelope. “I was just getting ready to leave—thanks for checking on me.”

  Joe nodded. “Wouldn’t want to catch hell from Dominic,” he said almost absently, throwing her a wink. “Or miss out on that extra fifty dollars a week he gives me to make sure you get to your car safely.”

  “He . . . what?”

  “I’ve been putting it into a college fund for my granddaughter.” He chuckled. “She wants to do something with computers. Hell if I understand any of it. You take care, Rosie!”

  Shell-shocked, Rosie stared at Joe’s retreating back. Until he turned around and waved her into action. Fingers still tingling, she started the car and pulled out of the lot, grateful the road back to Port Jefferson was mostly empty this time of night, because no way should she have been operating a motor vehicle. On her way through town, she found herself taking a detour down one of the side streets, just off Main, and stopping in front of the empty commercial space she’d been dreaming about since it appeared for sale in the classifieds.

  Tonight was the first time she’d actually come to see it in person—and it was everything she’d hoped. It was out of her price range, even with the GoFundMe donations, but it had been sitting vacant for a while. At the very least, she could afford to make an offer, even if it was significantly lower than the asking price. The storefront might be a little closed off, but eventually, when she had the capital, that could be fixed, turned into a restaurant that beckoned customers closer. Open windows, music pouring out, the scent of Argentinian spices wafting onto the street. Lights. There would be so many lights, all colors, strung from the ceilings, hung from the rafters of the patio in back. Plants. Green, lush plants would be placed all over, giving diners the impression they’d gotten on a plane and traveled a long, long way from Port Jefferson.

  If Rosie’s mother were still alive, she would have wanted the waitstaff to be impeccably dressed. It was one of her mother’s pet peeves—going out to eat and being served by a waiter with messy hair or an untucked shirt. She’d send Rosie and her father a sniff and an eye roll. God, she missed that eye roll. Missed having them both around so much. Maybe when . . . if Rosie opened the restaurant, she would give a nod to her mother by making an all-black uniform mandatory. She’d add a splash of red, though. That would be for her.

  What was she doing here? Lingering at the curb at this time of night, weaving dreams through her car window? Rosie didn’t know for sure, but there was a confidence sitting on her shoulders—a sense of self that hadn’t been there at the start of the day. Or even when she’d finished her shift. It had come when she read the letter. Words. She really did need them. Her friends had been encouraging her verbally since they’d formed the Just Us League and that had gone a long way toward helping her realize she deserved more. More out of her life, her relationship, her career. But there was something about hearing Dominic’s voice, even on paper, that made her feel more like her old self than anything else could. And the further she traveled toward her core, the more her self-esteem built.

  Rosie took one last look at the storefront and pulled her car back onto the street, hesitating a moment before turning at the end of the block toward Bethany’s house. She had to resist the temptation to drive the opposite way. To her home. To Dominic. He would be inside her before the click of the lock faded from the air. They would have sex instead of talking, which really, really didn’t sound terrible at the moment. Afterward, though, what would happen? Would unspoken—necessary—words be forced into the open if they gave in to that other, extremely satisfying outlet?

  Before she climbed out of the car, Rosie groaned up at the ceiling, all too aware that the seam of her panty hose was damp. It was only Thursday night and they didn’t have therapy scheduled again until Monday. Would they get the all clear to be physical? Would she take it? God knew her body was ready, but her mind . . . she wasn’t sure.

  One thing Rosie knew for certain?

  A few things couldn’t wait until Monday for clarification.

  When Rosie walked into Bethany’s house, the blonde was lying prone on the couch with a cold eye mask draped across the top half of her face. She lifted a hand and wiggled her fingers in greeting. “Hello, gorgeous.”

  “Hey, yourself.” Rosie took off her red coat and dropped it on the hook, staring at it for several long seconds. “I’m going to head up early, okay?”

  “Long day?”

  “Something like that,” Rosie murmured, heading for the stairs. “See you in the morning.”

  Bethany hummed, thankfully picking up on Rosie’s need for a quick exit. As soon as she was in the guest room, she toed off her shoes and started to pace. Her purse sat on the bed, cell phone visible in the inside pocket. One button and she’d be connected to Dominic. The prospect of hearing his deep, cigar-ash drawl sent a rush of heat through her belly, and although she told herself to ignore those bubbles of yearning, she unzipped her skirt and let it drop to the floor, followed by the hose. Her silk blouse came next, the buttons feeling extra-smooth on her finger pads. It joined her skirt on the floor, and Rosie was left standing in panties and a strapless bra.

  Biting down on her lower lip, she inwardly cursed the warm exhilaration creeping up the insides of her thighs. God, she was needy tonight. Every inch of her flesh was sensitive and restless. Hungry. Before she could stop herself, Rosie slid her feet back into the high heels, unable to suppress the naughty tickle of pleasure it gave her, being dressed so provocatively. Ignoring her blaring common sense, she snatched up the phone and called her husband.

  “Rosie.”

  She covered the bottom half of the phone and let out a shaky exhale. Oh my God. One w
ord out of his mouth caused the wetness to spread in her underwear, sent her nerve endings into chaos. “Hi, Dominic.” In the background, she could hear the familiar slide of their living room curtain rod. “I’m not outside.”

  The frustration was evident in his lack of response.

  What if he’d found her walking up the brick pathway? He’d already be unzipping his pants, stripping off his shirt to reveal all that honed and hardened muscle—

  “So . . .” Rosie licked her lips, toes flexing in her high heels. “Let me get this straight,” she breathed. “First, you sneak my coat into Bethany’s house. Now I find out you’ve been paying the security guard to watch over me?”

  Silence passed. “Joe was supposed to keep that between us.”

  “Dominic . . .” She shook her head. “Don’t you think I would have liked knowing that?”

  His low, noncommittal rumble reached her ear. “You should assume I’m doing everything I can to keep you safe.”

  Her laugh sounded dazed. “But it would have made me feel special. It would have told me that I’m special to you.” Pressing the phone to her ear, she lay down on the bed and trailed light fingertips around her belly button. “A lot like your letter.” Her body might be in full protest mode that she hadn’t gone to see her husband tonight, but her brain could acknowledge how important it was for them to talk. Like this. So even though it was hard ripping off Band-Aids, she forced herself to do it. To be revealing. “Your letter made me feel like . . . the old me. I read it three times.”

  There was a change in the nearness of his breathing, as if he’d moved the phone away. He came back almost as fast. “I wasn’t sure I did it right.”

  “What were you hoping to do? With the letter.”

  “Truthfully? I wanted it to make you come home.”

  The raw quality of his voice made her throat temporarily close up. “Don’t you agree there are things we have to straighten out way before that happens?”

  He cleared his throat and fell silent for a moment. “You couldn’t even look me in the eye for ten goddamn seconds, Rosie. I know we’ve got a big problem now.”

  Their marriage might have gone radio silent, but she knew this man better than anyone. Enough to know he’d been holding on to this one thing, possibly even obsessing over it. Should she have been more sensitive to that? “I’m sorry. I’m still not sure what happened.”

  “I hate this.” She heard him swallow. “I want my wife home. We can work out what’s wrong right here. We don’t need to separate.”

  “Do you want me back because I’m your wife and I’m supposed to be there? Or do you miss Rosie?” Her chest lifted and fell. “Can you imagine how hard it is to believe you want me home when . . . you barely seemed to register I was there before?”

  His laugh held no humor. “Jesus Christ. If you only knew.”

  “Tell me. How am I supposed to know anything unless you talk to me?” She closed her eyes and evened out her breathing. “We can start easy. Even you telling me about your day would mean so much to me. Actual details. Not just it was good.”

  A floorboard creaked on the other end of the line and she knew exactly which part of the house he was in. The hallway. Right in front of the pictures of them together. High school graduation, the day of his first deployment, on the steps of the courthouse on their wedding day, Dominic looking serious with an arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her into his side. She’d stood in that same spot thousands of times, listening to the echoes of the past, wishing they’d carried into the future.

  “Stephen hired a new guy. Wes from Texas. He wears a cowboy hat.”

  “Get out of here.”

  “It’s true. Bethany didn’t mention him?”

  “No, but she’s wearing her heavy-duty eye mask. It only comes out of the freezer when she’s mega-stressed.”

  “Trust me, he’s the cause.” She heard the scrape of a picture frame being adjusted. “Count on him being the topic of discussion at an upcoming Just Us League meeting.”

  That same sensation she’d experienced in the mall parking lot was back. That sense of fullness, being grounded. Talking to Dominic, hearing his words, reminded her who she’d been when talking to him hadn’t been such a rare event, but a constant. It brought back that optimistic, anything-is-possible state of mind. Made her loose, light, and woke up every section of her body from the tips of her breasts down to the softening flesh between her thighs. Before she knew her own intentions, Rosie slipped her fingers into the waistband of her panties, running her middle finger through the slickness Dominic had created with his voice. His words.

  “Um.” She shuddered as her fingertip grazed her clit. “A-anything else?”

  Dominic’s breathing cut out. “What are you doing?”

  “Nothing,” she said too quickly.

  “Where are you?”

  “Bethany’s house.”

  “Where are you in the house?”

  “Lying on the bed,” she rasped.

  “Fuck, Rosie. I knew it.”

  Her breath caught at the sound of his fist hitting their hallway wall.

  “I knew it. You think I’m not well aware when that pussy is wet?”

  This had been a mistake. They weren’t on solid-enough ground yet. For all she knew, the therapist would consider phone sex a violation of his rules and . . . and she didn’t want to mess this up. Walking into Armie’s office, she’d been prepared to plow through all four sessions just to say she’d tried. Now, though? Trying seemed like a real option. Dominic was in this. And it seemed like every day they were apart, she was discovering new things about him. Things that made her wonder if the old Dominic was there, right under the surface. So yeah. She didn’t want to do something to jeopardize what little progress they’d made. “I’ll go—”

  “You hang up this phone, honey girl, and I’ll kick Bethany’s door down to get to you,” Dominic growled, that dominant side she knew so well coming out to play. “When you’re being a hot little tease like this, I find a way to make you come. Don’t I?”

  “Yes,” she whimpered, adding a second fingertip and rubbing her clit in slow, unhurried circles. “You do.”

  “You want to talk, Rosie? Let’s talk about Tuesday nights.”

  She heard his belt hit the floor, the buckle clacking off the wood, and moisture rushed between her thighs.

  “With the exception of last week, you usually come home those nights and go straight to the bedroom. Strip down to your thong and pretend like you left the door cracked by accident. But you know. You know I’m watching you and getting hard. Christ.”

  He grunted a curse and Rosie knew he’d wrapped a fist around his erection, could picture his tattooed knuckles stroking up and down that thick column of flesh.

  “I should have known something was wrong when you took off your high heels at the door. You usually leave them on Tuesday nights, don’t you? They’re the very last thing that come off when I fuck you, aren’t they?”

  Rosie cast a look down the writhing form of her own body, the breasts spilling out of her bra, the panties hiding her moving fingers, ending at the pointed black leather encasing her feet. “I’m wearing them right now.”

  “Rosie.” He made a choked sound and she could hear the pace of his strokes pick up. “If you were here, they’d have come off by now. Never can keep them on when I’m thrusting, can you? When I’m hitting you deep and your legs can’t stay still, those size sevens hit the floor faster than your panties.”

  If there was one fact that was infinitely true about her husband, it was that he had no problem talking a blue streak when they were like this. Whatever filter he usually kept in place evaporated, and pure, raw sex rolled right off his tongue. She craved his filth. It was a constant between them. His obsession with her body was the one thing she could count on one hundred percent. Tonight, though? Tonight, after having read his letter, talked to him, Dominic’s filth was even more effective. The insides of her thighs were coated with the
evidence of that. She wished she could smell that faint tobacco scent he carried everywhere. The one he seemed to think she minded, but she actually craved. Her heartbeat echoed in her ears, and her hips arched, circled, arched, two fingers using the ample moisture to massage her swelling clit.

  “Dominic,” she gasped, feeling her walls start to quicken, that low, low thrum in her belly going from a ten to an eleven. “I want you to come.”

  “That right? I was starting to wonder.” He groaned, and Rosie bit her lip, listening to the wet stroke of male fist on flesh, happening across town and in her ear at the same time. There was a twang of bedsprings, too, the sound achingly familiar. “I’m in our room, honey girl. Kneeling on your side of the bed. I’m picturing you in front of me with your thighs wide open.”

  Rosie rolled over onto her stomach and moaned into the mattress. With that erotic imagery in her head—Dominic pleasuring himself on their bed while she posed in front of him—Rosie bore down on her fingers, pumping her hips and rubbing up and back at the same time. “Dominic, Dominic, please . . .”

  “Please, what?”

  “Come all over me,” she sobbed. “Paint me in it.”

  His growl almost hurt her eardrum. “Come home and I’ll do it. I’ll cover you in what I’ve got, all over that incredible body. And soon as I’m hard again, I’ll flip you over and remind the neighbors how loud you can scream.”