When I Say Yes

by Lisa Renee Jones

  “Dash,” I pant out. “Dash.”

  “I know, baby. I know.” He catches my waist and lifts my body, adjusting, his shaft now between us.

  I reach down and touch it, and he groans, that rough, masculine sound urging me forward.

  I guide his cock between my legs, press him inside me. He’s so big, so thick and hard, I moan as he fills me, and I can barely catch my breath. I pant as I slide down the length of him, take all of him until we’re skin to skin, consumed by one another.

  Our eyes meet and we just stay there, locked together, unmoving.

  There’s this connection between us that I don’t know how to explain, it’s both sexual and emotional, magnetic, addictive. The air thickens and seems to burn with that connection and Dash tangles his fingers in my hair and drags my mouth to his. “He hurt you.”

  “What?” I gasp, shocked at his observation.

  “I saw it in your eyes, baby. He hurt you. I will never hurt you.”

  I drop my chin and my lashes lower with the impact of those words on our relationship. I try to push away from him, but he folds his arm around me. “Don’t run, baby. Don’t run.”

  “I’m not glass that will break, Dash. One minute you want to fuck me hard and dirty and now you think I’m too weak or you think—”

  “No. I don’t. You are the strongest person I’ve ever known, Allie Wright. You make me stronger.”

  “And yet you want hard and dirty, and you give me gentle and sweet.

  “And what if you don’t?”

  “Stop protecting me from you, Dash. That doesn’t work for us. Stop.”

  He doesn’t reply. He doesn’t speak but we’re breathing together, and a spark seems to ignite all over again. Dash drags my mouth to his and he’s kissing me, wildly, hotly, and any reserve I’d had evaporates. He’s cupping my head, my breast, rocking with me, his cock pressing into me. And I’m riding him, rocking with him, swaying against his body.

  We’re fucking.

  And yet, it’s so much more.

  He consumes me and I consume him. There is no time, no past—there isn’t even a future. There is just right here, right now, or so I think. Dash squeezes my backside and says, “You won’t break,” before he smacks my ass.

  I gasp and he thrusts into me, a sweet burn where his hand and cock torment me. I bury my face in his neck, and he does it again. I can feel my fingernails digging into his shoulder. “More?” he asks me, his hand on my face, dragging my gaze to his. “More, Allie?”

  “God, yes,” I plead, and that’s what he gives me. More. And more. Of his hand, his mouth, his body pressed inside my body. And it doesn’t take much before I am at the place of no return. I go from holding back, trying to make this last, trying to hold onto every last second of this, all of this, to tumbling over that edge none of us ever want to fall from just yet, to that place of ultimate bliss. My body jerks, and the spasms of my sex around his cock follow. His arm is back around my waist, and he drags me down against him, thrusting with a lift of his hips, a rough, guttural sound rumbling from his chest and lips. I shudder. He quakes. We eventually collapse into each other.

  I’m draped forward, over his shoulder, when time comes back to me. Dash grabs a tissue from the bedside. We end up on our backs, naked and staring up at the ceiling. The implications of all that just happened, of what I somehow confessed without confessing, come back to me. “How did you know?” I ask softly, turning my head to look at him.

  I find that he’s already looking at me. “I saw it in your eyes. What did he do to you, Allie?”

  My gaze returns to the ceiling and I decide that I was wrong. I wasn’t vulnerable when I leaned over the bed, naked. That wasn’t the test. This is the test, my willingness to bear my soul.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  What did he do to you?

  Dash’s question hangs in the air, deserving of an answer.

  Fighting for words—no, fighting my embarrassment—I sit up and scoot to the edge of the mattress. Dash grabs the blanket at the end of the bed and pulls it around my shoulders, as if he understands that naked is really naked right now. He stands and grabs his pants, pulling them on, leaving them low-slung and unzipped as we both sit on the side of the bed.

  When I still haven’t spoken, Dash glances over at me. “Do you know why I fight?”

  “Tell me,” I urge, eager for this look into Dash’s mind, eager for an escape from my own.

  “I give the other guy control. Then, I take it back. I make sure he knows I always had control.”

  “What are you saying?”

  He strokes the hair from my face and tilts my face to his. “You always have control with me, baby. You say no. You say yes. Remember that.”

  “If that were true, you wouldn’t have gone to fight tonight.”

  “Did I fight?”

  “No. No, you didn’t fight. Well, except with me.”

  “And I didn’t win, nor did I want to win. Submission isn’t weakness, Allie,” he says, and suddenly I don’t believe we’re talking about his fight tonight. “It’s a choice. What we just did, that was about—”

  “Trust,” I supply. “I do trust you, Dash.”

  “I didn’t do much to deserve it tonight.”

  “Yes, you did. You walked away from the fight.”

  “Well, that was my point I was getting to. That was me submitting to you.”

  I laugh. “You did not submit. You never submit.”

  His lips curve. “No?”

  “No,” I say, but my mood shifts back to serious. “And I don’t want you to, either.” I twist around to face him. “Don’t stop fighting for me. Stop for you. It’s destructive. I know you know that.”

  His jaw sets hard and he closes his hand over mine, a sign he is present and with me, but his gaze shifts forward. “It was never my intent to fight again.”

  “But your father triggered you.”

  “My father will always trigger me.” He glances over at me. “The good news is our exposure to him will be rare.”

  Our exposure. I like this phrase, but I focus on the content. I want to ask questions. For instance, why does his father blame him for his brother’s death? But asking too much and giving too little doesn’t seem fair or right. He gave this information to me, to ease me into a conversation about me, not him. And so, I say, “You’re nothing like Brandon, Dash. And please don’t misread what happened tonight. I would do anything with you.”

  “That’s just it, Allie. You don’t need to. We just need to do us. There’s no such thing as too little or too much with me. Not with you. You’re the only person who could step into hell with me and pull me out. You need to know that. And if you need me to pull you out, I will.” He pauses for obvious emphasis and adds, “When you’re ready.”

  “I am ready. I think seeing him, having him come at you like he did, just made him more present.”

  “Brandon,” he says.

  “Yes. Brandon. He triggered me. Your dad triggered you. All of this is a bad combination.”

  “Tell me all the reasons I want to beat his ass.”

  “You can’t beat his ass or he wins.”

  “Not with my fists. I’m smarter than that, baby. That’s why I keep the fighting underground. Tell me. What did he do to you?”

  I turn away from him and when I would stand, Dash catches the blanket on either side of me and turns me to face him. “There is nothing you can’t say to me,” he says.

  I could tell him the same applies to me, but that feels like me pushing him, and my gut says that’s not what he needs right now. Give trust. Get trust, I think. I’ve kept too much from him, and if I hadn’t, Brandon would never have become a problem. “All right. I’ll tell you.” I swallow hard and launch into my story. “My father had just come back into my life. I’d hungered for a relationship with him in ways I didn’t realize until he showed up at my door. And Brandon is close to him, or was close to him. He introduced us. I think I fell for the idea of Brandon,
and the new little family I’d have with him and my father, rather than actually for him.”

  “How did your mother feel about your father being back in your life?”

  “She didn’t know. She can’t know, Dash. I don’t know why I got so infatuated with the idea of my father. He was terrible to her. He was terrible to us. He just—he convinced me he had regrets, and he said he wanted to know his daughter.”

  “It’s normal to want to know your parents, both of them. They’re a part of you.”

  “He’s not a part of me I want to claim.”

  “You know I understand. Tell me about Brandon.”

  “He wined and dined me and seemed really wonderful. Not your kind of wonderful, Dash. I never loved him. Like I said, it was the idea of him, so much so that I found out the hard way that I really didn’t know him at all.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Not long after we were engaged, he’d had a bad day at the office. I was at his place and he—” I look away, my heart thrumming faster now. “He likes control and power. And I found out that meant while having sex.”

  Dash catches my chin and forces me to look at him. “What does that mean, Allie?”

  “It means you aren’t the first man to put a hand on my ass. I think that’s why it surprises me that I like it when you do it.”

  “Did he hurt you?”

  My fingers curl into my palms and my lashes lower. “Dash—”

  “Allie,” he says softly, insistently. “Did he hurt you?”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  I pull away from Dash and stand up, wrapping the blanket around myself, giving him my back, and forcing myself to mentally travel to that night. I rotate to face Dash, who is still sitting on the bed as if he understands I need to be in control right now. I need space to achieve that control.

  “He was drinking,” I continue, “angry over a client who dropped him, and how much money he’d lose. He told me to undress. He wanted to watch. It felt very cold, kind of out of nowhere. We weren’t kissing, or even talking. In fact, we were awkward because he was so damn agitated.”

  “And?” Dash prods.

  “When I didn’t want to do it, he got angry. He grabbed me and shoved me against the window, and told me again to undress. I did it because I was scared. I can’t explain why, but I was scared. He’d never hurt me, but that night, I felt he was capable of such a thing.”

  “So you undressed,” he assumes.

  “Yes. And then he told me to get on my hands and knees.”

  Dash stands up and I hold out a hand. “Wait. Just let me get it all out. I did it. I knew I had to do it.” I don’t let myself linger on the words or even hold them inside. I just spit them out. “He spanked me and not gently, then he—he fucked me. When it was over, he told me the next time I dismiss him, he’d make it hurt worse.” I laugh, but not with humor. “The next morning, he actually told me how hot that game we’d played had been.”

  “Allie,” Dash says, but I cut him off.

  “I’m not done, but I was done that night. I couldn’t wait to get out of his apartment. When he left for work, I didn’t call my father. I was ashamed. I didn’t even go to work. I spent the day in Central Park, just walking and thinking. That night, I called him to break up with him, but he cut me off and told me he was working before I could get the words out. I couldn’t let the relationship continue. I went to his office. I knew there were cameras and other people who would be working late. It felt safe. His secretary was gone and his door was open.”

  “What happened, Allie?”

  “I heard him telling someone how he could fuck me any way he wanted, literally or otherwise. Turns out, he planned to marry me to inherit my father’s money. My father knew, but my father just wanted to pry me out of my mother’s hands and keep me close. I was Brandon’s money card.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I walked into his office, flung the ring at him, and told him he’d better cash it in because it’s all the money he would get from me. I left then. I went to my father’s apartment. Told him I knew everything, and that I never wanted to see him or Brandon again.”

  “But he keeps trying?”

  “He did for a while. I thought that was over, and then he showed up in Nashville. I don’t want my mother to deal with that right now. And I suddenly know how she feels when I coddle her. I don’t want you to suddenly start thinking I’m going to freak out on you every time we get naked, Dash. I’m not.”

  Dash pushes to his feet and catches my hands. “I know. It’s all about trust, which I’m going to do a better job of earning. Let’s go back to the hotel. If you want to. Or we can stay here.”

  “No. I don’t want to stay here. I didn’t like feeling like this was home again.”

  His hand slides under my hair and he eases my gaze to his. “You have common sense, baby. I didn’t want to have common sense. I didn’t want you to be here, where you could stop me from fighting. But home always meant being with me.”

  “If you send me away again—”

  “I will never be that foolish again.” He captures my hand and kisses it. “How about a pizza, New York style?”

  And just like that, Dash shuts the door on further conversation about his father. I know that’s a problem. I’m sure he knows it, too. But I let it happen with good reason. I think it’s just all too much right now: too much drama, too much pain, too much fighting, just too much.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Once we’re back at the hotel, Dash and I stuff our faces with pizza and without much ado, crash into the bed and each other. And how can we not? This Saturday has felt as if it lasted a week, not twenty-four hours. We wake Sunday morning, our bodies melded together, rain pitter-pattering on the window and my cellphone ringing. I groan and grab it from the nightstand to find my mother calling. “Mom?” I answer. “Why are you calling so early?”

  “It’s Sunday. You always get up early on Sunday.”

  Dash kisses my neck and says, “I’ll order coffee.”

  “Tell Dash I said hello,” my mother offers, as if him being in bed with me is old news.

  “My mother says hello,” I say, over my shoulder.

  Dash calls out, “Morning, Mom,” and rolls out of the bed.

  Mom.

  He called my mom, Mom.

  “He called me Mom,” my mother says. “Sounds like a man who plans on marrying you. Is there something I should know? You do need to get busy on making me some grandkids.”

  I sit up and watch Dash disappear from the bedroom into the living area in only a pair of pajama bottoms, naked from the waist up, muscles from here to Texas. “Let’s not put the cart before the horse, Mother,” I say, forcing my attention back to the call, and adding, “Your saying, not mine.”

  “All right then. How about Thanksgiving? Can I count on you both to be at our house?”

  “I’ll talk to Dash.”

  “Perfect. He can help put up the tree. Your stepfather’s back is not what it used to be. How was the signing?”

  “The fans love Dash,” I say, avoiding the explosive parts of the day and night. “That was fun to experience.”

  “Was his father there? Did I read that? Did you meet him?”

  “Yes. He was.” I soften my voice. “Bad topic. He ranks right up there with my father.”

  “Oh no. I’m so sorry to hear that. What about his mother?”

  “He lost her at a young age. She was the owner of Alice Home Shopping Network.”

  “What an interesting family, but oh my. A dad like yours but no mother to love him.”

  “He has a sister, Bella, who I’d like to invite to Thanksgiving as well.”

  “Please do. I’d love to meet her. All right, now I need to go make breakfast. When will you be home?”

  “I’m not sure yet. I’ll let you know.”

  By the time we disconnect, Dash is in the bathroom brushing his teeth. I glance at my messages to find several from Bella: How is Dash? />
  How are you?

  Hello.

  Hello?

  Allie!

  I reply with: All is well. More later, probably when we get back. But we’re okay. He is okay.

  Thank God, she says. Thank God. When will you be back?

  I’ll let you know when I know.

  I set my phone aside and join Dash, claiming my toothbrush. Once our breath is fresh, Dash drags me between him and the counter to face him and he kisses me thoroughly before saying, “Yes to Thanksgiving. Where you go, I go. And as for Bella, I’m sure she’ll say yes. And since she left me three messages, I’ll call her. Do you want to ask her or me?”

  “Maybe I should so she knows it’s sincere?”

  “I think she knows that already, but I think it would mean a lot coming from you.”

  “She’s worried about what went down with your dad, Dash.”

  “I know, baby. Believe me, I know.”

  “What are you going to tell her?”

  “The truth, as much as I dare tell her.”

  “She knows we had a fight, but nothing about the fight club.”

  His cellphone rings on the counter. He eyes the caller ID. “Speak of the devil herself.”

  I push to my toes and kiss him. “Talk to her.”

  I walk back into the bedroom and my phone is buzzing on the nightstand. So many calls, too little sunlight. I glance at the nine AM hour and decide it’s still way too early for this. I pick it up and read the message, only to go cold. This is your father. I know you’re in the city. I think we should talk about Dash Black, among other things. I’ll be at that little coffee shop you like at three o’clock.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Dash is suddenly sitting next to me. “What’s wrong, baby?”

  I hand the phone to Dash and let him read the message. “He wants to talk about me, does he? Well, I say let’s workout, eat, and then go talk to your father.”

  “Dash—”

  “Baby, he is clearly not going away. And you don’t have closure.”

  “And you do?”