Domino (The Domino Trilogy) Read Online Free Page B

that. My roommate would kill me if she’d heard.”
    “Honesty is a good quality in a writer. Or any creative artist, for that matter. You should be very proud of that trait, Miss Delaney. You’ll go far with it.”
    I was completely taken aback at his compliment. “Thank you, Mr. Rostovich.” An artist? Me? I’d never thought of myself in that way, and yet he did.
    “Please, call me Peter.” He smiled and extended a hand. “Look, we haven’t been properly introduced, and I think we sort of got off on the wrong foot. So let’s start over. I’m Peter Rostovich, the featured artist of this exhibit. And you are Nancy Delaney of Arts News Now. It’s a great pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
    I hesitated for a moment, then accepted his hand. His grip was tight and firm as he shook it, staring me straight in the eye all the while. I could feel his gaze upon me like a warm shower; it resonated deeply, all the way down to that curious spot in my groin that had been nagging at me all evening. It was a part of myself I’d never noticed before, but it was standing at full attention now. Standing at full attention and demanding solace. And the more I spoke with Peter Rostovich, the more vocal that deep, dark place in my body became. It called out to me, loud and clear. It was all I could do to keep the volume down to a dull roar.
    “Nancy---- er, Miss Delaney---are you all right? Are you sure I can’t get you something?” Peter’s voice broke into my reverie. I felt my face go redder as I broke yet another cardinal rule of professional journalism----tuning out the subject in the middle of a face-to-face interview. What on earth was the matter with me?
    “I’m um, I’m fine,” I lied, fanning myself with one hand. “But it is rather warm in here, isn’t it? Could I get some ice water or something? And a snack?”
    “Of course. And by the way, you’re right about the room temperature. The thermostat in this room is set to eighty-five degrees. It has to do with the exhibit, w hich I’ll be unveiling shortly.” He patted me gently on the shoulder and scurried off.
    Zap.
    Peter’s touch was nothing short of electric. He might as well have hooked me up to a power generator. I felt his touch from the crown of my head all the way down to my toes. And that strange voice coming from deep inside me----it was an actual voice now, with an actual face. A smaller, yet far bolder version of myself, dressed in sexy satin lingerie and wearing red lipstick. My inner voice stood up and declared to all within hearing that she wanted far more of that kind of touching---preferably in a region further south.
    I took several deep cleansing breaths as I struggled to get myself back under control. How many unprofessional moments could I possibly have in one evening? At one level, I wanted to dash right home and spend the rest of the week hiding under a rock. But at another, I’d never felt so alive before. Every nerve ending in my body was buzzing, a hotpoint of sensation. Even the very air around me seemed different somehow. My skin felt as if it were being caressed by a million invisible fingertips. My groin felt heavy and hot, my panties too tight and more than a little damp. I crossed one leg over the other to hide that feeling from the world, as if it were a blinking neon sign proclaiming to anyone passing by that I was a virgin in desperate need of some attention in the nether parts department. That unfamiliar inner voice---I wasn’t sure whether to call her my inner virgin or my inner slut---that voice was loud, clear and husky. She seemed to know my body’s needs better than I did, and she wanted those needs satisfied.
    Now.
    But what exactly did I need to do to meet her demands? I didn’t know. I only understood the mechanics of sex in terms of the broadest general principles. The sum total of my sexual experience amounted to one three-minute blowjob I’d given my high school prom date in a dark car when I was