by S. L. Scott
“You slept with me just hours after we met, so there’s that.”
“Nice,” I reply with a giggle, hitting him on the chest.
“And I’m definitely judging you by your choice in music.” He pulls me close and kisses the top of my head. “But you’re still fucking sexy as hell and I have a feeling your musical taste has improved since then.”
“It hasn’t. I still have one of their CD’s that I sneak and listen to sometimes and I have a couple from this little known band called The Resistance.” I smile against his chest, rubbing my finger over his abs.
“You already know I think that band sucks. I hear The Rolling Stones might tour. If they do, I’m taking you, so you can hear real music.”
“It’s a date.” Leaning my head back on his forearm, I ask, “Wanna fuck again?”
“You had me at fuck.” He moves over and kisses me with gentle pressure.
This round we take our time, reacquainting ourselves in a new way, learning each mole and scar, the sex torturously slow, but amazing. I feel everything—all of him inside of me and all of him above me, learning all I can about the two sides to this man who’s trying to be all he can for me.
Rolling on top, I rock back and forth, savoring each time he hits that special spot buried deep inside. His eyes stay open, watching me, his hands running over my hips and up to my breasts, kneading them. I lift up, but he pulls me back down, grounding me to him in more ways than just physically. Time passes with exaggerated ticks on the large watch wrapped around his wrist, a subtle reminder that we have tonight, only tonight and to make the most of it.
Though I want this to last all night, it doesn’t. The power of our attraction, our needs being met, and feeling too good to last, we end up in another heap of satisfaction.
“You’re really fucking fantastic,” he says, holding me.
“Best sex ever.”
“I don’t just mean the sex.”
Oh. “I feel the same about you,” I say, trying to be open without freaking him out. “You want to move into the bedroom?”
“Yeah. It will be more comfortable.”
Lying in bed together, facing the window where The Strip beckons with colorful signs and lights, he has his chest to my back. His finger traces my tattoo, covering even the smallest of details hidden in the design. “This is the sexiest tattoo I’ve ever seen,” he says, keeping his voice low. “Did you sleep with the artist?”
Rolling onto my back, I run my hand down his neck and over his shoulder, stopping on his flag tattoo. “Why do you want to know that?”
“The lines are clean and the shading impressive. The way the colors blend like the ocean and sky. He took his time with it and he knew your body well enough to play off your curves.”
Rubbing his cheek, I say, “I didn’t sleep with him.”
“Did you fuck him?”
I swat his shoulder. “No. I didn’t sleep with him or fuck him. But I shopped around. I did the design and had it made into a temporary tattoo and lived with it before I ever laid down on the table.”
“You designed this?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me what you do for a living?”
His interest is genuine, so I tell him the story. “I was partying with friends one night three years ago. We were doing tequila shots and I started pretending, in my drunken state-of-mind, that the lime kept saying bite me.”
“You’re kidding me, right?” Dalton sits up, staring down at me like he can’t believe what he’s hearing.
I sit up, pulling the sheet up to cover my chest. “I’m not kidding.”
“You designed the Bite Me Lime?”
“I did. You know it?”
“Who doesn’t know it? Everybody fucking knows that lime. You seriously just blew my mind, Holliday Hughes.”
I smile and laugh. “Yeah, most people are pretty shocked when they find out I’m the woman behind the lime.”
“I bet.” He lies next to me and I slip back down into his arms. “I’m impressed.”
I pretend to pop my collar. “Well, I’m not a rock star or anything …”
Rolling on top of me, he says, “No, you’re better and completely fucking hard to resist.”
“Who said anything about resisting? Hope you’re not getting tired on me. I’m having way too much fun to stop now.”
With a light chuckle and a cunning look in his eyes, he smiles. “Don’t worry. I’m just getting started.”
CONTINUED in The Resistance, Book 1 in the Hard to Resist Series. For a special outtake, keep reading.
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Chapter Twelve
Love Email Exchange – Holliday Hughes to Jack Dalton
First Valentine’s Day After They Start Dating
From: Holliday
Date: Feb 14 8:45 pm
To: Jack
Dear Dalton,
I miss you.
I know you told me not to say that anymore because it made you sad, but it makes me sad to be spending our first day made for love alone. And since when did I start listening to you anyway? Lol
Sighs I miss you. I miss you so much. I miss your smirky smile and gorgeous eyes. I miss your strong arms and your abs. God I miss your abs. Don’t go soft on me while you’re on the road. Okay?
But back to this lonely missing business—my body misses yours. My boobs miss your hands. My calves miss your shoulders. My neck misses your caresses. My lips miss your lips. I just miss you completely. Too much. My townhome never felt so empty. You’ve invaded my heart as well as my space, and I love that. Every knock has me hoping it’s you. I’m sure I sound like a heartswoony groupie. I’m sure you’re used to that. Hopefully not TOO used to it though.
On a positive, I have a new favorite pastime. Did you know you have an unauthorized biography for sale? It’s true. You do. And it’s hot. I might have bought it… Okay, fine. I did. I totally bought it.
Oh and just to add insult to injury, I ordered it through Prime. Sorry about supporting the shady publication of a unscrupulous paparazzo monger, but have you seen it? Like I said, it’s SO hot! And before judging me, please refer to the aforementioned missing you part of this email. Desperate times call for desperate measures and all that.
This book though. This book is amazing. It’s got all of these incredible photos of you, in at least half you are shirtless… it’s very entertaining and extremely sexy. Page 147 had my full attention last night and I was inspired. Page 216 slept next to me. You might be wondering at this point, so I’ll just say this is no ordinary coffee table book. It’s Johnny Outlaw sex-personified. RAWR!
On a side note—on page 78 you wear a pair of leather pants that really highlight your ASSets nicely. Please tell me you still own them. I’m gonna need you to wear those just for me one night. You show me yours and I’ll show you mine. I know how much you like it, since that is what caught your attention in the first place.
So I just turned the page, and as I stare down at a photo of you strumming your guitar backstage in some city, I miss you. I miss you so much and wish you were here strumming your guitar for me.
I should probably go and send this email before the merlot wears off. I’m sure I’ll be terribly embarrassed by this book obsession confession in the morning, but for tonight, I’ll snuggle it close remembering how you hold me close.
Come back to me soon.
Jack Dalton’s Biggest Groupie,
Holliday
From: Jack
Date: Feb 14 11:11 pm
To: Holliday
Dear Holliday,
It wasn’t about your ass. I swear it.
I know you think that’s all that got my attention the first time I saw you in Vegas. And I’ll give you a lot of credit for that ass. It was and still is spectacular.
But it wasn’t about your ass.
It was about the way you walked up to the bar with all
this bravado and pent up frustration. I wanted you the moment I saw you. I wanted to taste your
fire
anger
fever
You were passion in the purest form and I fell in love the second your eyes met mine. They were big and beautiful, pinning me to that barstool. Despite the topic of that first exchange, I could hear your soul speaking directly to mine. I hear it now across the miles that separate us.
The band moves to another city tonight, playing for a crowd that pulses with admiration, dedication, and fascination. My heart only pulses for you, all those emotions felt just for you.
Holliday, you were never going to be just a one-night stand. Sure I wanted to fuck the frustration right out of you. But I also wanted to see your fire ignite beneath me, even at the risk of getting burned.
You may be in a different city, under different stars, but you are, and were always meant to be mine.
And I will be yours. Always.
And I don’t care about single days. It’s the years that matter and I only want to spend them with you celebrating one Holliday.
Sincerely, President of the Holliday Hughes Fan Club,
Dalton
P. S. I’m gonna need a book of you, preferably photos of you naked. That’s only fair. And btw, we’re gonna take a few unauthorized photos the next time I’m home. The nights on the road are long without you. I need some inspiration. Feel free to send some in the meantime.
To read more of Dalton and Holliday’s love story, New York Times and USA Today bestselling novel, The Resistance, and The Reckoning are now available.
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Chapter Thirteen
The Redemption - Outtake
Rochelle
I miss him.
It’s only been two days, but I miss Dex so much. I never considered myself to be overly-dramatic, but Valentine’s Day has broken my resolve. Stupid heart-shaped candy boxes. I bought two … for myself this morning and as I look at them open on the bed in front of me, wrappers spewed everywhere, I sigh.
I’m weak, damn it! To chocolate … and that man.
Grabbing my phone, I touch the button and call him. Listening to the rings—One. Two. Three. Four. Voicemail. Ugh! I hang up though all I want to do is gush to him about how much I love him and pout about how much I miss him.
I lay in bed bemoaning my loneliness and feeling totally sorry for myself when I realize if I’m feeling like this, maybe he is too. I immediately text Beth to see if she can spend the night and watch the boys. While I’m waiting for a response, I look up flights to Denver. The band is playing a show there tonight.
Beth: My plans fell through, so I’m free, and happy to take my mind off my lack of a love life. I can pick the boys up from school too. We’ll make heart-shaped pizzas and eat lots of candy.
Me: LOL. They’ll love you more than they already do. Limit the candy though. It’s a school night. I have Valentine’s gifts for them set up in their rooms as a surprise. I owe you big time for doing this. Thank you.
My flight takes off at five and I’m landing in Denver before nine their time. The band should be taking the stage just about now. I wish I could make it to the concert because I still get chills when Dex launches the show with that first drumbeat.
An hour later, I’m in Dex’s suite. Tommy was more than happy to arrange to leave a key at the front desk because he says Dex is a moody bastard when I’m not around. I’ve got one short night to make the most of our reunion. Standing there, it doesn’t smell like him. He hasn’t spent time here. In a way I’m disappointed there doesn’t seem to be any part of him here, but I’m also glad that a hotel room has not become his home. He belongs with me and the boys back in LA.
Dex’s suitcase is open on the floor and it makes me realize I should have brought some clean clothes for him. On the desk in the corner, I spy a notepad and go and sit down. I write:
To the Man that Makes My Heart Race,
Though some days we aren’t together, you’re never alone. You’ll always be with me—even if time zones and cities separate us, I’m with you and you’re with me, in our hearts we will be.
Happy Valentine’s Day!
I love you always,
The Woman Who Can’t Live Without You XOX
I tuck the note into his case, under a T-shirt, feeling so happy I came here. When I stand up, I smile, excited to start our night. I grab the lingerie out of my case and lay it out on the bed, and then hurry into the bathroom to shower off the day from traveling. After getting cleaned up, I spend some time applying my makeup much heavier than usual and styling my hair to be as much of a sex kitten as I can. I want to blow Dex’s mind when he sees me. No yoga pants or jeans for me tonight.
After ordering champagne, beer, and a decadent dessert from room service, I glance at the time. Twenty minutes until the concert will be over and Tommy promised to deliver Dex right afterwards.
Room Service comes and I usher him out as quickly as I can. As soon as the door shuts, I drop the robe and slip on the black lace one piece. It’s high on the hips and low in the cleavage, but it’s flattering and makes me feel sexy. I pop open the champagne and fill two glasses. The anticipation of seeing him again, surprising him on this sweetest of days, has me feeling giddy inside.
I start to hurry to make sure everything is in order and how I want it before slipping on totally inappropriate, but too hot to pass up fuck-me heels. I know he’ll love them. I move to the bed and start positioning myself, but I roll my eyes, kind of starting to feel ridiculous in this unnatural pose. But then I hear the key in the card reader of the door and freeze. I’m as still as I can be, my heart in my throat, as I watch the entranceway. I suck in a staggered breath, then hold it along with my sexy pose. The door slams closed and I hear him sigh as if relieved to be back. Right when he turns the corner, he stops in his tracks … or the surprise of me stops him in his tracks.
Surprise morphs instantly as his gaze slides over my body. Dex leans against the wall with his hotel key still in hand and the smile that I traveled a thousand miles to see slides across his face. “What a coincidence meeting you here.”
It’s so good to see him, so good that all I want to do is run to him, jump on him and kiss him until we fall onto the bed for more. But I hold the pin-up girl pose a moment longer, hoping to tempt him to me. “It’s not a coincidence at all,” I say, holding the eye contact.
He tosses the key on the dresser and comes over. Dropping his jacket to the ground, he crawls up the bed until I’m forced to lie flat on my back. He’s above me, looking down and says, “This is the best Valentine’s present I’ve ever gotten.”
I stretch my arms above my head, wiggling and wanting his hands all over me, and say, “I was lonely and today is made for lovers, so love on me, big boy.”
“Oh, Sweetheart, I’ll love on you all right.” Our lips meet and my body relents under his touch. As his finger rocks back and forth under my strap, he adds, “You’re so fucking sexy, but I want this off.”
Shifting, I lift up onto my knees and say, “Then take it off.”
The action is slow, and though I know he would love to look down and enjoy the show, he holds our gaze instead. The gesture is intimate and defining, the love he has for me shining through. His hand cups my breast when it’s exposed, then the other. As we come together, our fervor elevates, our movements pick up, a frenzy building between us. Within minutes, my love is inside me, his breath covering my bare chest as our bodies rock together. The room is heated by our passion and we become slick with shared emotions until we lose control in each other’s arms while still connected.
We fall into a heap, but turn to look into each other’s eyes. He whispers, “You’re here.” I can hear the affection in his words.
“I miss the way you look at me and your scent. I miss your tattoos and running my fingers over your biceps, your laugh and your smile. I miss all of you, Dex. All of you and I just don’t like missing my heart.”
His hand touches my cheek, his fingers rough and wonderful just like I remember. “I miss my heart too. It’s never easy leaving you, but seeing you makes me forget all that. Seeing you completes me.” He shakes his head while closing his eyes. “I hate that I just said that. Such a bad fucking line.”
“Dex,” I say, trying to pry his hands away from covering his face.
“No. It’s out there. It’s horrifying and out there forever. God, you’ll never look at me the same now.”
“You’re right. I’ll look at you entirely different from this moment on.” He lowers his hands and looks my way, and I continue, “You’re the man who opened his heart to me and showed me how deeply one person can love. You taught me love has no boundaries, nor limits, just the capacity for openness.”
“Now you’re just trying to humor me,” he says, chuckling.
“If it takes away you being embarrassed over something that made my heart melt, then I’ll humor you.”
He slides his arm around my neck and brings me closer, kissing me on the forehead in the meantime. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Sweetheart.”
“Happy Valentine’s Day.”
With our heads bumped together on the same pillow, he asks, “How long can you stay?”
“You’ve got me for seven more hours.”
Maneuvering on top of me, he spreads my legs and rests his body on mine. With his face just inches away and his eyes on my lips, he says, “Let’s not waste a minute.”
The End.
To read more about Dex and Rochelle, The Redemption, a bestselling novel is now available.
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Chapter Fourteen
Until I Met You
