Dream Spinner (Dream Team Book 3)

by Kristen Ashley

  Nope, definitely not one to let things slide.

  “No,” I answered. “I think you want me to feel good about myself.”

  “And you think I’d do that by feeding you a line?”

  I studied him closely.

  He didn’t seem mad.

  He seemed inquisitive.

  “I … don’t know,” I told him honestly.

  “Okay …” he began.

  He then tossed the last bite of his croissant on the plate and focused on me.

  Or focused entirely on me.

  “I wouldn’t do that,” he stated.

  “All right,” I replied.

  “Also,” he went on, “I’m aware I’m not gonna fix all your father broke down in you by blowing sunshine up your ass.”

  Oh boy.

  “Okay,” I said.

  “Which brings us to talking about your dad.”

  Ugh.

  “Can we just … not?” I requested.

  “Why not?”

  “Because we’re having a perfect Sunday morning.”

  His expression warmed with that.

  But sadly, that warmth did not mean I was off the hook.

  “Okay, honey, then when? In the mornings, I’m out of the house before you. I come home to have some dinner with you, and there’s not time to do much more. And regardless, it wouldn’t be great to get into the heavy with you right before you have to work.”

  This was a valid point.

  “You didn’t go to your dad last night,” he noted.

  No, I didn’t.

  “I texted him at lunch,” I told him. “After the, uh … sitch at the bridal shop, and, well, the state I was in, I thought it was best to concentrate on you.”

  He grinned.

  It was a nice grin.

  It was a hot grin.

  Then he asked, “And how’d he handle that?”

  “He didn’t reply.”

  Which meant he was ticked.

  Further, that meant I’d catch it the next time I saw him.

  I didn’t share that last part with Axl.

  Then again, I might not catch it, since apparently Axl was coming with me to Dad’s when I went.

  “And tonight?” Axl pressed.

  Bluh.

  I totally didn’t want Dad encroaching on my Sunday with Axl, not this conversation, not having to leave the house to make him dinner.

  In fact, until Axl just mentioned it, I hadn’t given a thought to Dad.

  Which, really, was a first.

  I gave a thought to Dad a lot.

  Hmm.

  “I hope you know, if your dad was a loving father, and genuinely needed your day-to-day assistance, I would not have an issue with that,” he remarked.

  “I know,” I replied quickly. “Of course I know.”

  “This is something else.”

  I knew that too.

  I delved into the butter and made a study of carefully spreading it on my croissant.

  “Hattie,” Axl called.

  I looked up at him. “I can’t stop. He won’t take care of himself. And he’s my dad.”

  “Okay, then as I told you, tonight, I’m going with you.”

  Oh boy.

  “Has he met any of your other boyfriends?” he inquired.

  Whoa.

  Just … whoa.

  Axl was my boyfriend?

  My boyfriend?

  Major flutter.

  “Hattie,” he called again, a little less patiently this time.

  “You’re my boyfriend?” I asked.

  “Were you there post-first-fuck convo yesterday?” he returned teasingly.

  I so was.

  Thank God.

  Okay, he was my boyfriend.

  There was that cashmere blanket again.

  And okay times two, we were talking about this.

  Last, I was procrastinating again.

  We could either have this conversation now, or have it when I had to leave to go to Dad’s, something I actually couldn’t do without Axl because I hadn’t been behind the wheel of my car in a week, not to mention, my vehicle wasn’t even there.

  “We need to go get my car,” I noted.

  “Baby,” he murmured.

  Procrastinating!

  “Right, no,” I belatedly answered. “About the boyfriends. And that’s not a hard no, because I actually have, but it was a high school boyfriend and we went to Dad’s so he could take pictures of us before prom, so it kinda counts, but also doesn’t. Because … high school.”

  “And how’d that go?”

  “Dad was charming and funny, and at my next visitation with him, he told me Tyler was a loser.”

  “Was he a loser?”

  I shook my head. “No, he was nice. Then he went off to school at Cornell. He broke up with me his second week there. It bummed me out.”

  “Sorry, honey,” Axl said through a grin.

  The grin was cocky and amused.

  Then again, if Tyler hadn’t moved on from his high school girlfriend, I might not be in bed with Axl eating croissants and being annoyed by my father who wasn’t even there.

  “But he was the only one,” I continued. “Tyler, I mean. Dad might actually like you,” I added. “He’s a man’s man. You being all commando-y, he might understand I scored a winner.”

  Axl’s lips quirked. “Commando-y?”

  “Even in sleep pants, you look like you could topple a dictator.”

  Axl burst out laughing.

  “It’s the chest,” I pinpointed it.

  Axl laughed harder.

  I smiled and watched while he did.

  Then I realized, with him being my boyfriend, I was his girlfriend, and this afforded me certain rights and privileges.

  So I took advantage of one, pushed up to my knees and kissed his morning-stubble jaw as he did it.

  While I was moving away, he caught me by the back of my neck, pressed his lips hard to mine, and only after he did that did he let me go.

  I sat back on my ass as Axl said, “You know, a real man’s man does not depend on his daughter to check his blood sugar and cook his meals.”

  “Mm,” I hummed noncommittally.

  “Right, let’s boil this down,” he suggested.

  I shoved my last bite of croissant in my mouth and gave him my full attention.

  “Obviously, I think any adult should be responsible for their own life and health.”

  “Hmm,” I agreed, but only tonally.

  “And obviously, I’m not a fan of your dad abusing you, not only verbally, but by controlling your time and thus your life by landing a heavy responsibility on you that you have to consider every fucking day, so essentially, he’s got you on a lead he yanks every fucking day.”

  I said nothing to that, not even making a noise, because …

  Holy shit.

  He did.

  Onward from my earlier realization that I gave a lot of thought to Dad, I also had to fit him in every day.

  Which meant I not only had to think of him, but actually fit him in. What I’d make him for dinner, then make it. If he had groceries, his prescriptions, and if he didn’t, buy them.

  All of this countless times every single day.

  It was just my day, and I did it.

  I didn’t think about it, except to think it was inconvenient, or to worry about what other people thought that I did it.

  I knew it was control, but I hadn’t really grasped how far that went.

  “We don’t need to go over my opinion about his verbal abuse. I think that’s clear,” Axl went on.

  It sure was.

  “And I sense you have no real idea how much through his past, and likely his current abuse he’s inserted himself in your life, your thought processes, the image you have of yourself. I think he controls a good deal of your thoughts without you even realizing he controls them.”

  Okay, I had to admit, this had come clear with the whole fasting thing and it was something I needed
to take some time to ponder.

  Though not over croissants on a perfect (or it was) Sunday morning with my brand-new, super-fit, had-the-chest-of-a-god boyfriend.

  “So,” Axl sounded like he was about to sum up, “if it were up to me, you’d tell him to kiss your ass and be in touch only if he wanted to take you to dinner or a Rockies game.”

  Wow.

  Wouldn’t that be a dream.

  “Hmm,” I repeated to share that thought.

  “It isn’t up to me,” he kept going. “That’s your choice. And I’d like to tell you I won’t go over there tonight and tell him that I know he called you a whore, and then explain somewhat thoroughly how I feel about that, and how I’d like him to refrain from allowing it, or anything like it, ever to happen again. But I can’t tell you that. Because when I go over there with you tonight, that’s precisely what I’m gonna do. With my job, I can’t be there every time you go over to see him. I can only hope you won’t hide that shit from me if it happens, so if I have to have another conversation with your father, I can get on that without delay or without him breaking down what I built up.”

  All that was awesome, and scary, in equal measure (maybe a wee bit more scary).

  But …

  Hang on.

  “What you built up?” I queried.

  “Babe, you gotta learn how to take off the blinders he put on and see you.”

  “Okay, I like that, honey. But you don’t have to make a job of that.”

  In fact, I really didn’t want him to make a job of that.

  I wanted to be his girlfriend.

  No, I was his girlfriend.

  What I wasn’t was so deep in the la-la land of Axl Pantera (and his bare chest) post-orgasm, croissants-and-coffee-in-bed goodness that I didn’t think that we’d hit rough patches and it would take work to keep our relationship strong. And frankly, at this point, build that relationship. Because we were in our infancy and anything that was shiny and new was exciting and seemed like it’d never lose its luster, but it always did.

  But I didn’t want to be a job to him.

  I didn’t want to be work.

  His head ticked. “Sorry?”

  “You don’t have to make a job of that,” I repeated.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Telling me all the time I’m beautiful and perfect and you like how I dance and stuff like that. Make it your job to do that.”

  He fell silent.

  So silent, his silence was the definition of silence.

  And after it went on awhile, it started freaking me out.

  “Axl,” I said.

  “I thought we went through this,” he replied, his voice strange. Low. Careful.

  “We did.”

  “I’m not blowing sunshine.”

  “Okay.”

  The silence came back and now he was examining my face in a way I felt he might be able to count my pores.

  “Axl.” That one came out as snappish.

  Because, what was the deal?

  Again with the careful tone. “You’re not hearing me, Hattie.”

  “I am.”

  He shook his head. “No. You’re listening. But you aren’t hearing.”

  “I don’t get what you mean.”

  “I’m not feeding you a line.”

  “You’ve said that, now repeatedly,” I reminded him.

  So suddenly I jumped, he reached out and caught my face in both hands and brought his so close to mine, all I could see were his eyes.

  “Fuck,” he muttered.

  “What?” I breathed, now not starting to freak out.

  I was in a freak-out, full bore.

  “You were beautiful in that dress yesterday, Hattie.”

  “Okay.”

  “Listen to me.”

  That was not careful.

  It was deep. Resonant. Luke-I-Am-Your-Father intense.

  “When you were doing those twirls up on the tips of your toes to Joan Jett—”

  “Pirouettes,” I corrected.

  “Yeah, those,” he said. “The table next to me gasped. Punk is pounding through Smithie’s sound system and I could hear them gasp.”

  Wow.

  That was huge.

  I stared into his eyes.

  “You doin’ ballet to Joan Jett with dark eyes and safety pins in your shirt was genius.”

  My heart started beating hard.

  Axl continued.

  “You say ‘Okay,’ you say ‘Thanks,’ you brush it off when I’m telling you the god’s honest truth. I told you that you were remarkable—”

  “I know and that’s sweet and—”

  His hands pressed in and he got so close, the tip of his nose was brushing mine. “I told you that, Hattie, because you’re remarkable.”

  Okay.

  Wow.

  I began panting.

  “You have no idea because you heard him tell you over and over again that you’re not. But he’s wrong. You are. And it’s not because you have a fantastic body, and I swear to fuck, it took a lot out of me not to drag you to the dressing room and bang you against the mirror when I saw you in that dress yesterday. It isn’t because you trained for years and know the moves so you can execute them. You make people feel when you dance. You make them gasp. Your dad’s been a dick to you all your life, he messed with your head, hurt you, and your loyalty to blood doesn’t break. Your art, babe, we haven’t even gotten to that. Fuck, we haven’t even scratched the surface of you.”

  Scratched the surface of me?

  Yup.

  Definitely panting.

  “I’m not tellin’ you shit because I like you or I wanna get in your pants. I’m telling you the truth. I misspoke when I said I was building you up. I didn’t mean propping you up. I meant putting back together the pieces he tears from you. Pieces that are already a part of you. They’re who you are. The compliments I share with you aren’t a means to any end except to remind you of who you are.”

  Okay.

  Enough.

  Putting my hands to his shoulders, I kissed him while shoving him to his back.

  He rolled me, and I was pretty sure jam and butter got on his sheets, and even if his hands had a firm clasp on my ass, he lifted his head and said, “Hattie, not sure we’re done talkin’ about this.”

  I had a firm hold on his head and was trying to pull it down to me. “We’re done.”

  He pushed back on my pull. “I need to know you heard me.”

  “I’ll assure you of that after I suck you off.”

  There we go.

  A steely flash of blue in his eyes and then he quit talking and let me pull him down so I could kiss him.

  This I did.

  Hard.

  And so, he could do no preamble before giving head?

  I could too.

  I planted a foot in bed and rolled him.

  I slid down his body.

  No, wait.

  Maybe I couldn’t dispense with any preliminaries.

  Because there was his chest.

  I sucked in a nipple.

  And shift …

  I raked my teeth over the other one.

  The noises he was making?

  The way his long, strong body was shifting under mine?

  I sucked that nipple too.

  He wasn’t playing fair, and I knew this when he cocked a knee, separating my legs, which meant his thigh was pressed to the heart of me.

  Well, since it was there …

  I rubbed against it.

  “Jesus, Hattie,” he growled.

  As I started to head to that line of hair that pointed to buried treasure, I lifted my eyes to his.

  Man.

  Those eyes all turned on …

  I shivered.

  He helpfully straightened his leg that I was straddling so I could reach my goal.

  “Shift, beautiful, wanna play with your pussy while you go down on me,” he invited.

  “No, just you.”

 
“Baby, get your cunt up here beside me,” he ordered roughly.

  Okeydoke.

  Shivering again, I modified positions as he wanted.

  He yanked my panties down to the bend in my knees.

  That caused a quake.

  I yanked his waistband down his hips.

  His pretty, heavy, rock-hard cock jumped free.

  My mouth watered.

  And now was no time for preamble.

  I swallowed it whole.

  “Christ,” Axl groaned, driving his hips up and sliding two fingers inside me.

  Yeahyeahyeahyeahyeah.

  I got in position to bob, to suck, to use my hand when needed.

  Then I did all that.

  And yup.

  His cock was hefty.

  Way more than a mouthful.

  Delicious.

  Eventually, after I spent some time licking, sucking and pumping, while Axl stroked and rubbed, Axl tore my panties over my calves, off my feet, caught me at my hips, lifted me bodily up, and planted me on his face.

  Then he sucked hard on my clit.

  My head jerked back, and I rocked against his mouth.

  He pulled me down deeper.

  “No fair,” I gasped.

  He tongue fucked me.

  Totally no fair!

  But God.

  So good.

  “God, honey.”

  I lost even the visual of Axl’s cock (not that I was in the state to do anything with it anymore) as he slid up between my legs.

  “Stay still,” he rumbled.

  I stayed as I was on knees and elbows.

  I heard the crinkle of plastic.

  Seconds later, he was inside me.

  Oh yeah.

  Yeahyeahyeah.

  “Sit up, lose the nightie.” His voice was gruff.

  I pushed up on his cock and pulled off my nightie.

  One of his hands trailed up my belly, my ribs and cupped my breast.

  The other one just moved up, up, and around the back of my neck, into my hair, pressing my head down.

  I watched my body bounce as he drove his cock up inside me.

  Man, that was hot.

  “Axl,” I whispered.

  “Fuck,” he ground out, grinding something else too (nice), and twisting his fingers in my hair. “This mane.”

  He shoved me down into the bed again, coming with me, covering me, mounting me, and fucking me.

  His hand at my breast went to my clit.

  I bucked under him when he hit and rolled.

  “That’s my girl, Hattie,” he grunted in my ear. “Reach for it.”

  “Honey,” I breathed.

  He went faster, deeper.