“She has none,” I say. “I looked. That is, speaking of social media. I didn’t think about looking for a dating profile. I’m not even sure how to do that.”
“I’ll check the hot dating sites,” she offers, “and see if I can find her, though I’m certain that will be challenging. As for social media, she has an Instagram. She just uses a cute nickname to keep her professional name protected. Shelly at the office forwarded me a post she did way back when. I’ll look for it when I’m at a stoplight.”
My pulse leaps at the promise of a link to the woman I’ve come to know and yet don’t know at all. “What’s her nickname?”
“A southern girl and her cat,” she says. “She has a Balinese kitty. Beautiful girl, too, like Allison herself.”
A kitty cat, I think, feeling yet another bond to the other Allison, despite not sharing my home with a furry child. I’ve longed to adopt a kitty, but my rental doesn’t allow it. Cute kitties aside, Allison having a social media presence is encouraging. Really encouraging actually. I now have a new way to reach out to Allison and to check in on her.
“And I’m sorry,” Bella adds, “I have to go.” She points at me. “If I find out you’re seeing Tyler and Dash—”
“Never,” I say. “I have never done anything but argue with Tyler.”
“With your clothes on?”
My cheeks heat and there’s a pinch of anger in my chest that I push aside for one reason: she’s reacting to me out of love for Dash. And as painful as it is now, I do appreciate this about her. I like that she protects Dash and as bad as that might feel to him today, I believe it affects his life in a positive way. “There is nothing between me and Tyler, Bella,” I repeat, “and yes, of course, I had my clothes on.”
She studies me a moment and then says, “Okay good.” She looks at Dash. “You know what to do.”
My heart races with the potential meaning behind that statement, but before I can ask her to clarify if that means keeping me or getting rid of me, she rushes to the door and disappears.
CHAPTER NINE
You know what you have to do.
At this point, neither me nor Dash are on our barstools. We’re both on our feet and facing each other. “What does that mean, Dash? You know what you have to do?”
He catches my hip, and drags me to him, his free hand sliding under my hair, folding possessively along the line of my neck. “It means she wants me to do what I want to do and make you mine, Allie. If you’d even let me. But then she doesn’t understand that you’ll run before I ever get the chance. And you should run, Allie.”
He’s hit a raw nerve and the impact vibrates through my body.
Running and me are synonymous and a little too obvious. Meanwhile, Dash doesn’t run, not even from me after I saw him fighting. Or did he? Does he still want me to live with him? He did, yes, he said so, but half a day has changed everything, and inviting me to stay last night is not inviting me to live with him.
I want to live with him. I want to be with him. And I didn’t want to admit that to myself, let alone him, until now. I owe him the truth after all that happened in the past several hours. He’s vulnerable and exposed by way of what I’ve learned, and witnessed, about him, aware of the questions I will surely ask. If I want him to open up to me, I have to shove aside the past. “What if I don’t run, Dash?”
“That’s the problem,” he says softly. “I don’t want you to run.”
That’s the problem.
I’m a problem.
And yet, on some level, I understand this and welcome the confession that tells me he might want to walk away from me and us, but like me, despite all reason, he cannot. My hands go to his waist. “If I didn’t run already, do you really think I scare that easily?”
“There is so much you don’t understand, Allie.”
“Make me,” I challenge, eager to see behind the curtains.
“That’s what you don’t seem to get. I don’t want you to understand.”
His mouth closes down on mine, his tongue sliding deep. I moan with the rush of sensation through my body, with the taste of hot man and torment, and deep, biting self-hate. And I’m not oblivious to the fact that he intends for me to find these things, he wants me to feel what he feels, and it’s the most honest thing I’ve ever known. With all his secrets, somehow Dash is the most real man I’ve ever known, and I am suddenly hungry for him in every possible way.
I kick off my shoes, letting him know that I plan to be naked, the sooner, the better. Even as I do, my fingers slide under the tail of his shirt, my palms pressing to his hard body. He tears his mouth from mine, breathes with me, a second dragging into two and then three.
“Dash,” I whisper, shoving his shirt up, telling him what I want.
He responds by pulling it over his head. I have a moment, maybe two, to appreciate his sculpted torso before he’s turning me to face the island, my hands catching the counter, his lips pressed to my ear. “I’m wrong for you, Allie.”
“Do I get to decide that?” I pant out, a flashback of last night with me pressed to the door, his hand on my neck, his cock buried inside me, reminding me of how much he needed control, how much he still does.
“Yes,” he says, his hand sliding under my sweater and covering my breast. “You do. Because that’s the thing about me being the selfish prick you met last night. Now that I found you, cupcake, I can’t make myself let you go.”
My reaction is a mix of relief and a surge of desire so intense it clenches my sex. His fingers are on my nipple, teasing it, a rough tug following that, parts my lips in a pant. I moan with the ache building in my sex and Dash drags my shirt over my head, tossing it away. That part of him that’s all about control is alive and well, and I won’t take that from him. I don’t want to take it from him. There’s something about this man in control that should make me step back, pause, but instead, he arouses me in ways that astonish me. And right now, there’s a furious heat about our energy that is downright combustible. The kind of heat that requires I touch him. I attempt to turn around but his hands scoop under my pants and drag them down my legs. Just when I think this will become a game of push and pull, that is not where he leads me.
Dash’s arm wraps my waist, and he lifts me just enough to untangle my legs from my leggings. The minute I’m free, I anticipate his hand on my backside or some sort of teasing in a power-play we both know he will win. Instead, he goes down on one knee, turns me around, gripping my hips, and the look on his handsome face, the combination of possession and tenderness, weakens my knees. Anticipation burns between us and when he leans forward and presses his lips to my belly, I tremble beneath the touch.
Dash squeezes my backside and then one hand catches my leg and lifts it to his shoulder. And there is nothing that feels more vulnerable and yet wonderful, than being this open and exposed to a man like Dash. He knows, too. I see it in those eyes, the window to his soul. He wants me to trust him. He wants me to give myself to him. And after last night, at any moment, he expects me to say no.
CHAPTER TEN
Dash watches me, and I watch him, the burn of our shared desire present and charged, the tug of emotion layering all that is between us, with complicated, and yet somehow, addictive and bittersweet need. Me for him. Him for me. The two of us need each other.
In my life, I’ve never felt that feeling with any other person. I feel him, inside out and in every way possible.
He leans in and licks my clit, sensations spiraling through my entire body. My lips part and one of my hands finds his shoulder, the other slides into the silky strands of his hair, tangling there. I almost expect him to forbid the touch, to tease me, and build anticipation until it’s all but unbearable. I’ve experienced just how good Dash is at the art of the tease.
As if proving me right, he glances up at me and asks, “Where do you want my tongue, Allie?”
It’s then that I realize I’ve had men try to be dirty with me, but somehow it felt just that—dirty. Wi
th Dash, everything is sexy, exciting, and I’m back to the word: addictive.
As for where I want him to lick me, there, I think. And there, is everywhere. Okay, maybe I’d start with one particular spot. “You know where,” I breathe out.
“Here,” he says, stroking a finger over my nub.
I tense with the intensity of my reaction that doesn’t allow me to be coy. I just don’t have it in me right now, not with his hands on my body and his warm breath promising me his mouth will soon be on my body. “God, yes,” I whisper.
I’m not sure what he’d expected, but a deep, sexy rumble of laughter escapes his lips and vibrates against my sex, as his mouth closes down, right there, the exact place I wanted him. He suckles me, licks me, his fingers slide inside me. He owns me, I think, God how he owns me, and for just a moment, I remember my tears last night, how badly he hurt me. I shove the idea aside, reminding myself that I hurt him, too. And we’re here now.
He is merciless in his exploration, licking me, teasing me, his tongue sliding inside me, over me, all over me. His fingers slide inside me, stretching me, caressing me, traveling in and out, and all over me. The combination of his fingers and mouth, his tongue, are everything, consuming my senses, and I am so on edge, I can barely stop the tumble over the edge, and yet, I want to, I want this to last.
The room fades, my pulse racing, and I am lost in the moment, goosebumps lifting on my skin, with sensation after sensation, quaking my body. My belly clenches and rapidly radiates downward. I’m panting, moaning, too, I think, though I have no real reality outside of the pleasure, so much pleasure. Dash suckles my clit and I grab the back of the barstool, because oh God, oh yes, he’s right where I need him, and I silently plead for him not to move. His fingers pump into me and I arch my hips, lifting, and pumping into his hand, whimpering as that clench in my belly rapidly travels lower and lower. I quake into orgasm, spasms of pleasure, rolling through me. Dash licks me, a sultry sensation that eases me up and then down, with my release, and when he lowers my leg, my knees all but buckle.
Dash is there instantly, catching my waist, and pushing to his feet, his fingers tangling in my hair, his mouth, his mouth that tastes like me, slanting over mine. I moan with how badly I need him inside me, and slide my arms around him, my breasts pressing to his chest. Wildness ignites between us and we are all over each other. I reach for his pants. He shoves them down, and kicks them aside, the thick jut of his cock between us as he lifts my leg again, and presses inside me.
I gasp with the shock and pleasure of finally having him inside me, God, yes, finally, he feels so good. Dash lifts me, holding my weight, and easing me backward. I catch my hands on the island, my breasts thrust in the air, his gaze hot, raking over my body, as he trusts, and thrusts, again. Over and over, he pumps into me, his hand sliding between my shoulder blades, and he leans over me, kisses me, thrusts some again.
Incredibly it seems, because I never, ever orgasmed with Brandon, and I mean ever, I’m there again, my sex spasming with an intensity that steals my breath. Dash drives into me again, his hand on my breast, as he groans with pleasure, his body quaking.
“Holy fuck, woman, you’re trying to kill me,” he says, long moments later, his lips at my ear.
“I’m half on you and half on the kitchen island.” I can feel him smile, as crazy as that sounds, and he turns me, and sets me on the barstool, grabbing me a napkin and pulling out of me, pressing it to me.
“You okay?”
I laugh. “Just okay? Is that all the credit you give us?”
His expression softens and he brushes hair behind my ear, his touch tender, sending a shiver down my spine. That’s how responsive I am to this man. I’ve just succumbed to not one, but two orgasms, and he can still make me shiver. “You’re good for me, Allie.”
I catch his hand. “But you don’t think you’re good for me.” It’s not a question. I don’t have to ask. I know his answer.
It’s at that moment, his phone rings where we’ve each automatically left them sitting on the kitchen island. Dash’s lips press. “That thing has terrible timing.”
“Maybe it’s Bella with good news. You better take it.”
He reaches for it and glances at the screen. “It’s Bella.” He answers the call.
I slide off the stool, and around him, to find a trashcan, and Dash hasn’t said much. It’s all Bella with this conversation it seems. I start getting dressed and finish pulling on my clothes when Dash ends the call and reaches for his pants.
“Well?”
“No news yet,” he says. “She sent us both the link to Allison’s Instagram.”
“And?” I ask eagerly. “What aren’t you saying?”
He folds his arms across his chest, his expression troubled. “She hasn’t posted in about six weeks. Up to that point, she posted daily.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Allison won’t return calls. She won’t return text messages. She left her dream job and from all accounts unexpectedly and abruptly. “Dash,” I say, scooping up my clothes, “This feels off. Don’t you think?”
“You have to remember that she chose to leave her job and her home. She resigned, she packed up her house—”
“Unless she didn’t,” I argue. “What if she didn’t pack up her house, Dash? What if someone just wanted her to seem as if she packed up on her own?”
“Didn’t she resign?”
“That’s what I’m told, but I want confirmation. What if it wasn’t official? What if it was just an email or voicemail to Tyler?”
“Baby, I’m former FBI. You know I know how these things work. Right now, we don’t have much to stir urgency in the police. She left by choice and until we know more, that’s a documented fact. Until that changes—”
“If Tyler tells us differently? Will that help?”
His lips press together with the mention of Tyler. “We just need to know more.”
“Can you check in with Jack on her new contact information?”
“He sent me a text this morning. No new contact information available.”
“Should there be?” I ask.
“Not necessarily. For all we know, she’s local and living with that guy she was seeing and everything is in his name.”
Or she’s dead, I think, and it’s such a horrible thought, I don’t say it out loud. “What if she was running away from something or rather someone, and they caught up with her? She isn’t posting. She won’t reply to messages. I know I’m on repeat, but I’m making my case, to an FBI agent, who I know knows more than I do. Make me feel better about this. Please.”
“All of what you said could all be by design,” he argues. “Maybe she doesn’t want to be found. I’ve seen that more often than you might think.”
One of those raw nerves of mine rears its ugly head and drives my response. “Maybe she needs help, Dash. I mean, if my mom is gone, I’m alone. Maybe she’s alone.”
He catches my hand and pulls me to him, stroking my hair. “I know how afraid you are of losing your mother. I know how alone just thinking about it makes you feel, but you are not going to lose your mother. And you are not alone. You have her. You have me.”
I have him. Do I? I don’t really know. And yet, after all that has happened, we’re together, we’re surviving. Which is why I remind myself to dare to be vulnerable with him, because he has to feel vulnerable with me after all I saw last night, and he is still standing here. “I need to tell you why I pushed back at the idea of moving in with you, Dash.”
His hands fall away from my body, a clear physical and emotional withdrawal “And why you’re going to say no now?”
My heart leaps with the inference that he still wants me to live with him, to call this magnificent apartment, that is only truly magnificent because he lives here, home. “I’m not going to say no, Dash. I was scared. I am scared. You scare me, and that has nothing to do with anything I saw last night. I have a past, too. I have my own inner struggles. I’m afraid of how badly
it’s going to hurt to leave in January, after months of waking up next to you, but I don’t want to miss that time with you, either. But I don’t want you to tell me I’m not alone. I don’t want to pretend. We have an expiration date. We have—”
His expression softens, his hands framing my waist again. “Why the hell do we have an expiration date, Allie?” His tone is low, roughened up with emotion.
“My job,” I say. “New York. I live in New York.”
“Don’t overthink this. Don’t overthink us.”
“I’m not sure how to do that. Not with you.” My fingers curl on his chest. “What are we doing Dash? You’re not a long-term guy. You said that. You made sure I knew. And I was just fine with that. I was. I really, really was.”
“And now?” he challenges softly.
“And now, you already know the answer. I didn’t want to live with you because leaving would hurt even more. I’m attached. I’m too attached. You can hurt me, Dash, in a way I didn’t even know I could be hurt. I didn’t expect that. I’m not prepared for that.”
His hand slides to my lower back and he molds me closer. “That’s not how this ends, baby. And you’re not leaving me. You’re going upstairs to take a hot shower with me.” He kisses my hand, his eyes meeting mine. “And who knows what will happen when we get there.” His lips curve, mischief lighting his eyes, and then to my shock, he scoops me up and starts walking.
I laugh, “What are you doing, Dash?”
“What Ghost would do. What he wants to do.”
I laugh all over again. “What Ghost would do? The assassin? Oh God. Are you going to kill me?”
We’re already in the bathroom and he sets me down in front of him and cups my face. “It’s you who is going to be the death of me, Allie. Haven’t you figured that out yet?” He doesn’t give me time to argue. His mouth comes down on mine in a searing kiss and allows me to do just what I want to do. Forget all the bad. And focus on the here and now, with Dash. That’s the good.
Because I Can Page 4
