A Breath 3/8
Chapter 3
TITLE: A Breath
AUTHOR: La Mamacita
FANDOM: TFATF
PAIRING: Dominic/OFC
RATING:Rated NC-17 for explicit sexual content.
DISCLAIMER: TFATF ain't mine - all original is
SUMMARY: Only Dom is carried over from the movie. The rest of the characters are original. It is the tale of a middle-aged woman who takes a spontaneous vacation to Puerto Vallarta in Mexico and meets a sad, lonely and gorgeous man hiding from his past (Guess who?). They connect almost instantly, and set about healing one another through love, understanding, and damn good sex.
Chapter 3
They never made it to the bedroom, locking their mouths the instant the front door was closed behind them, and this time there was a pulling urgency, a need to consummate the startling connection they'd just made on the beach, fully recognize the blissful oblivion, lose themselves in the realization of this and everything it stood for. It had been so long. Too long. For both of them. So long since they'd experienced unadulterated, unfabricated happiness.
This time there was no thought given to practicality. Dominic made his gentle way into her body with absolutely nothing separating his skin from the warm, wet pressing glove she provided him with. And there was no reservation. He was swift, giving long, deep strokes in and out of her, smooth and deliberate and entirely painless. As his breaths became husky hisses and his thrusts weakened, he worked his hands beneath her and tilted her hips up, up off the floor. He moved on, and she was surprised to feel the slow, fire-tongued spread of need building between her legs, the increasing, mindless madness, and she gripped his shoulders.
"Oh, God yes, Dominic."
He loosed a throaty whimper at the altered sound of her voice, his hands shaking as they gripped her, pounding her up to meet him, and she was sure of it now. For the first time in her life, she would come with a man inside of her.
Boiling her blood to quicksilver, it became all consuming, seized her and coursed sure and strong through her body. She felt the beginning of the contractions of her orgasm, the clench of her body around him, and somewhere through her weak gasps, his rumbling words reached her ears and seeped hot and sweet into her core;
"That's it, Leah. Good girl. Do it."
She could not keep quiet and didn't want to, breathy cries into his throat, nails buried in the flesh of his back, and he let himself be washed along the pleasantly strangling current of her epiphany, surrendering to the seductive undertow and reveling in the delicious deeps of his release.
They were silent after, shell-shocked and spellbound and prettily sated, yet energized rather than exhausted.
It was Dominic who spoke first, pressing his mouth into the shallow dip at the base of her throat, lips tickling her skin as he spoke.
"Wanna go for a little ride?"
She moaned and laughed huskily.
"Haven't I just?"
He chuckled."
"I suppose I meant in a car. My car."
"Let me shower?" she asked, and he pulled away to smile down at her.
"Let me watch?"
"Watch, no," she shook her head. "Join in, yes."
The water snaked over the massive bronze expanse of his back in delicate rivulets, which merged to form a thick fast stream and rushed through the deep crease of his buttocks and halving itself, sheeting chaotically across the muscular masterpieces that were his legs. He leaned with his front against the shower tile, arms outstretched, fingers splayed against either wall. She stood behind him, so close she was nearly pressed flat to him, and took a bar of simple white soap and worked a lather from it between practiced palms. At first they were silent, Dominic's face completely at peace, eyes closed, features slack, lost in the slick slip-and-knead therapy of her hands on his body.
But eventually, as someone always had to, he broke the silence.
“Where in England are you from?”
“From the north,” she said. “From Manchester. But I’ve moved to New York, now. Where are you from?” Her words were soft and easy, working over him like her fingers did, and she could feel the tension leave him each time she spoke. "From the city. Some big city, somewhere." He rested his cheek against the wall and smiled back at her over his shoulder.
"San Diego, California," he said. "But I'm living here, now."
"Here? In Puerto Vallarta?"
"This very abode," he grinned, and she paused for a moment. Surely no one could afford...And especially not such a young man. But she drew a line for herself, in that instant. Swore herself off from probing interrogation. Who he was, where he got his money, and what he called home was of no real importance to this time they were sharing. "Something wrong?" he asked.
"Nothing at all," she replied, and pressed her mouth forward to kiss his shoulder blade. "So it's just you, then." Again, that gentle, caressing, comfort-voice.
"Yes." He nodded. "Is it just you?"
"I have a son," she said. "Benjamin Bradley."
"That your last name? Bradley?"
"No," Leah shook her head. "His middle name."
"Where is he now?"
"In New York, at home. His father flew in to be with him on his vacation off from school."
"You're divorced, then?"
"Getting there," she said distantly, and then cleared her throat a little. "Your skin is the most beautiful color. You know that?"
She let her fingernails trail down his back, down over the wounds they'd left not an hour before. She dipped her head and tongued the scratches softly, cupping his butt in her hands and trailing her mouth down to bite it. He drew a sharp breath, but didn't pull away as she nipped him again, dragging her teeth down and biting the back of his thigh.
Leah kneeled on the floor of the tub and took his hips in her hands, urging him to turn his front to her. She chewed her bottom lip and smiled up at him, and he grinned, leaning back against the wall and allowing his eyes to roll back and close.
He grew almost impossibly hard under the slick wet guidance of her hands as she washed the part of him she'd intentionally saved for last. Over the pounding rush of thundering shower water, she heard his throaty moan as she took him into her mouth.
Leah knew nothing about cars. Nothing at all. She'd never owned one and didn't plan to anytime soon. However, a cognitively challenged kindergartener would have had absolutely no difficulty discerning that the sleek outline of the car under the silver nylon tarp was no jalopy.
Dominic was all unimpressed nonchalance as he gripped the cover's edge and yanked it back in a furling, glinting flash.
A Dodge Viper, two or three years old, a custom paint job in glittering hematite with two broad chrome racing stripes up the hood and over the back. The windows were black tinted, the chunky rims flashing chrome in the moonlight, and when Dominic opened the passenger side door, the carefully preserved aroma of new leather wafted into the garage.
Leah was in awe of the machine, found herself suddenly slowed and silenced, raping it with curious blue eyes. He leaned one hip against the side of the car, folding his arms over his chest and gazing on her with a self-satisfied smile, pleased by the fact that he'd somehow managed to impress her.
"Isn't she pretty?"
Leah nodded.
"Beautiful."
"You're not into cars," he stated.
"No, I'm not. Are you?"
"No. But this one is nice. Do you want to drive?"
A giddy fluttering took her hostage, and then her heart began to pound.
"Dominic, this is a -"
"Five hundred thousand dollar car, I know. I was there when I bought it. It's an astonishing piece of work. But it's just a car. Just metal and rubber and leather. Anything that gets broken can be fixed. In fact, anything that gets broken I can fix."
"I thought you're not into cars."
"I know my way around a car," Dominic conceded. "And it was a hobby when I was younger."
She snorted.
"When you were younger? How old are you now, Dominic?"
"Twenty six," he answered, raising his eyebrows and running a hand back across his scalp. "How old are you?"
"Forty-one," she said.
He smiled a little and shrugged, all confident indifference.
"Come on. Let's go for a little ride."
The car was pissy and temperamental, lurching and jerking along under Leah’s virgin command, and Dominic was laughing so hard there were tears streaming down his face. She killed the engine three times before she made it past the resort gates onto the main road, and on the fourth such occurrence, about a mile out into the inky blackness of the Mexican countryside, she flopped back into the custom black Connelly leather upholstery and folded her arms over her chest, adamantly refusing to torture the beast one foot further.
“Drive,” Dom purred. “Come on, baby, you’re doing all right. You’ll never learn if you don’t practice. I won’t laugh anymore.” He laughed. “I promise.” He laughed again.
“Fuck you,” she said incredulously, but cracked up. “I am not going to drive this poor car anymore.”
Dom growled, exasperated and loud.
“Woman!” He threw open the car door and stormed out and around the car. She was still fumbling with the buckles on her harness when he reached the driver’s side. He tossed her hands from their struggle and unhooked her, pulling her bodily out and biting her throat noisily before giving her a gentle shove and a thwack on the bottom. “Get in. I’ll drive.”
She smiled, silent self-satisfaction, as she did so, and was still as he fastened her in.
Yes, you drive, she chuckled inwardly. You look so damn good doing it.
“You want me to show you what this thing can do?” he asked, and she laughed.
“Just don’t get me killed.”
“I’m not going to get you killed. Hold on to something, you’ll be fine.” She did as she was told, and as he hit a switch on the dash, a raucous, thumping rap beat pounded out at her, banging in her bones, heavy and hard. It seemed to galvanize him, because he revved and redlined, then slammed the car into gear. Leah was thrown back against the black leather of her seat, gasping sharply as the wind rushed out of her. The car was frozen, tires screaming, smoke rising around them, and she was terrified. The only lights anywhere were their headlights, and whirling endless back surrounded them on all sides. She felt the blood drain from her face, and he looked at her, threw his head back, and laughed.
“Relax,” he said. “I told you, I’m not going to get you killed.”
“Okay,” she grinned, encouraged by his casual air, and released her manic panic grip on the door handle. “How fast are we going?” She wasn’t sure she really wanted to know, but she was beginning to feel the warm, giddy speed-tingle, the headless heart pounding insanity, and his effortless enjoyment of careening down the midnight road was infectious.
“Not fast,” he shrugged. “Ninety.”
“ Ninety?”
“This car maxes at two hundred and ten miles per hour, Leah. Goes twice this fast, no problem.” He was shouting over the music and the roar of his big black bastard of a car.
Two hundred miles per hour? The prospect sent a jarring spear through her body, a hot little current, and Leah felt her fear ebb away, felt the boiling, beautiful scared-shitless sensation build to a hunger, a restless need for fulfillment, and Dominic knew. By way of some twisted sixth sense, he detected the telltale awakening in her, the quickness of her blood and the kamikaze eagerness in her eyes. He smirked at her.
“Should we give this bitch a go?”
"A little more..." he muttered, then slid his hands down to the
center of the wheel and rested both thumb over small red buttons. He met her
gaze for a fraction of an instant, smiling cockily. "Go, baby,
go."
And he pressed down, and the rubber screamed on the asphalt, and they were catapulted forth, the night whistling by the onyx bullet body of the Viper as it raced into the vaulting black beyond.
***
"Oh God," she breathed, several heart attacks later. The sun was coming up over the lip of the world, bathing the horizon with a slow, honeyed caress. The poor car was disengaged. Dominic had parked at the edge of a jutting overhang, a flat-faced drop off ending in a jagged smattering of rocks 150 feet below. The mist-muted brilliance of morning's arrival seeped lazily into her line of vision, creating a tranquil backdrop for the peaceful power of Dominic's sun bronzed silhouette.
The hood of the Viper was still warm from its recent abuse. Leah lay across it on her back, arms resting over her head, the skirt of her dress around her waist, eyes open, head pillowed on Dominic's balled-up tee shirt.
He was tired, holding her thighs at his hips with strong, gentle hands and stroking, slow and rhythmless, completely naked and glazed, perspiring. His eyes were closed and his bottom lip was tucked into his mouth, the sweat on his lashes glittering prettily in the rising sun. On and off for the better bit of two hours, they had been making love and he had not come. He was exhausted now, though, ready for release. He let go of one of her legs and dropped a hand down between them, and with all the intuition she used to touch herself, he brought her easily to the edge and nudged her gently over it.
As she contracted powerfully against him, he relented and covered her body with his, whimpering huskily into her throat and gripping her upper arms with shaking hands.
Spent, he withdrew gently and kissed her brow, breathing hard down the bridge of her nose.
"What hurts you, Leah?" he asked, easing his big body down next to her and tugging a cigarette from behind his ear. He reached for a pocket but found only a naked thigh, cursed, and hauled his weary self up. She propped herself on her elbows and watched him pull on the soft old khakis, retrieve a lighter, and draw long off his smoke.
"What hurts you?"
He walked to the edge, standing with his bare toes curled over it and raising his great arms straight out like wings.
"I fucked up," he said, and the words were taken by the wind. All that reached her was a distorted blurb.
"Come again?"
"I fucked up!" he boomed, from the bottom of his belly and at the top of his lungs, over the thundering of the waves beneath. She stood, the pale blue cotton billowing at her ankles, and came up behind him, pressing her cheek between his angel bones, wrapping her arms tightly around him.
"So did I, love. So did I."
Written by La Mamacita