I roll to the opposite side of the bed and pull down Dylan’s t-shirt in an attempt to make sure I’m not giving him a show. “I need to call Holly and get my purse,” I remind him.
Maybe it is my lack of experience, perhaps the fact that my brain is still on overload but Dylan confuses the bejesus out of me. He made it abundantly clear that he wasn’t going to sleep with me; he treated me like a buddy when he woke me up, and yet he just made it sound as if we are going to spend the day doing who knows what. “Mixed signals” is an understatement when it comes to this man.
Dylan drops a shopping bag at the foot of the bed. “Here, I went and picked up a few things so you didn’t have to wear that god-awful outfit you had on last night.”
Looking through the bag, I wonder how he managed to get everything in the correct size. “You didn’t have to do that. As soon as I talk to Holly, I’ll head over to her place and then go home.” As soon as the words pass my lips, I realize how ungrateful I sound. I blame Nick. He never did anything without an ulterior motive, so it’s natural that I would suspect Dylan is up to something as well. Right? “I’m sorry, Dylan. That was very kind of you.”
He wraps his arms around me as he pulls me down so I am sitting on the bed next to him. “I told you last night, I take care of what’s mine.” My stomach turns at the possessive statement.
So far, Dylan seems to be nearly perfect, but his flaws are the type that classify as deal breakers in my mind, starting with this delusion of claiming me as “his.” Even if, by some freak chance, we are together for years to come, I will never be his in the way he is implying. The idea of being with him is starting to feel like ownership rather than the possibility of companionship.
“And I seem to remember telling you last night that I’m not yours.” The moment I turn to look at him so he can see that I am dead serious, I know it is a mistake. The rich coffee color of his eyes melts my resolve to stand my ground on this issue. If it even is an issue. Again, Dylan is a living, breathing contradiction. “I’m not anyone’s,” I say, depressed by the validity of my statement. I’m not anyone’s. There is no one at home waiting for me, not even an emotionally abusive jerk hell-bent on telling me how I would never amount to anything.
(Dylan)
Controlling Tasha was the furthest thing from my mind this morning when I jumped in the car to drive across town and buy her a new outfit. I wanted to buy her something suited for spending the day getting to know one another. Since we didn’t say goodbye after the diner, I am hoping to delay that inevitable moment as long as possible. But I can tell there is something in Tasha’s past that is making it impossible for her to accept a simple act of kindness.
It has to be the miserable piece of shit ex her friends brought her out to celebrate her divorcing. For all of her faults, and she has plenty of them, at least Holly doesn’t seem to be a fan of the man I assume made Tasha this shell of a woman waiting for me to force her into something she doesn’t want to do.
Seeing her fight back the tears welling in her eyes fills me with the urge to leave her curled up in my bed while I track down the worthless prick and beat him to a bloody pulp. How can he not see what a gift he had when she chose to give herself to him? And again, when she promised to love him for the rest of her life. He was a fucking tool to let her go.
I slowly wrap my arms around Tasha’s waist, waiting for her to pull away from me. She doesn’t, so I draw her tight against my body. I trace circles on her back, neither of us saying anything as we try to digest her last statement. I can only hope she feels comfort in my arms, not apprehension or fear. “No matter what, I don’t ever want to hear you say you’re no one’s. I meant it last night when I said I’m hoping that, at the very least, we’ll be friends. And that is what makes you mine. My friend.”
She stares out the plate glass windows on the north wall of my bedroom, acting as though she isn’t hurting on the inside. The way her eyes glaze over, I’m certain she’s not actually seeing anything right now. “Grab a shower, get dressed, and meet me out in the kitchen. After lunch, you call Holly and we’ll get your purse. But I’m not taking you home right away.”
“What if I want to go home?” She asks quietly. The corner of my mouth turns up in a half-smile. I know damn well she doesn’t want to go home any more than I want her to. Now I just have to get her to admit that. If she won’t, then taking her home is the choice left for me.
She looks fucking amazing in my t-shirt. It figures that of all the shirts available, I grab one of the few that holds meaning for me. If not for the fact that we need to retrieve her purse from Holly, I’d be perfectly content lounging around the condo all day with her dressed like that.
Then again, that is probably a bad idea because I know I would never be able to resist her with those long, toned legs. It’s nearly killing me to keep my hands to myself now. I want to follow her into the bathroom, pull my t-shirt over her head, and run my hands all over her naked body as I wash every inch of her. The thought of pushing her up against the wall of the shower, allowing the soapy water to act as a lubricant as I shove inside of her has my cock growing painfully hard in my jeans.
“Don’t worry,” I assure her. “By the time the day’s over, you’ll be glad you didn’t go home.” At least I hope that is the case. I am not the type to wine and dine a woman, and I seriously doubt that Tasha is into that type of thing anyway. In those rare moments when her guard is down, I can tell that she’s laid back and easy going. The only thing that could sour my plans is if she tells me she hates football.
Fuck, maybe this is a bad idea.
“You seem rather sure of yourself, you know that?” She finally cracks her first smile of the morning as she opens the second bag I had placed next to her. “What’s this for?” She asks, holding up a Wisconsin t-shirt in one hand and a hoodie in the other.
Suddenly, I have serious doubts. What is it about this girl that has me questioning everything? Turning me inside fucking out, that’s what she is doing to me. “Do you like football?” I ask as I walk across the room to get my own sweatshirt. When I look over my shoulder, she is practically bouncing on the bed. Apparently, I had nothing to worry about.
“Are you kidding me? I love football, but I haven’t been to a game since I was a kid.” I am quickly learning her body language and can see her receding into that dark place that contains her entire adult life to this point. When she’s thinking about something unpleasant, her eyes get dark and dull. I want to shine a light deep into her soul and banish the darkness. “How did you get tickets?”
It’s true; this is one of the hardest games of the year to get tickets for. Minnesota might not be a strong team this season, but the rivalry between the neighboring schools is always fierce. Even if both of them had lost every game of the season, the fight for Paul Bunyan’s axe, the trophy that goes to the winning team each year, fills every seat in the stadium. Luckily, Zeke’s family has season tickets and his brother and sister-in-law aren’t going because she is about to have a baby any day.
“Let’s just say I know people,” I chuckle. She manages to pull herself out of the darkness this time and she looks exuberant as she pulls everything out of the bags, laying it neatly at the foot of the bed. And then, it happens. I swear this girl is going to give me whiplash with how fast her mind goes from happy thoughts to worry.
Tasha sits on the bed, wringing her hands and worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. I can tell there is something on her mind, likely something neither of us will enjoy talking about. I drop my own clothes on the bed and sit down next to her. I turn so I’m facing her, trying to put a little distance between us.
In the past, most of the women who were with me wanted me to help them take their mind off the emotional pain by inflicting physical pain. As much as I understood that desire for them, it’s not something I would even suggest to Tasha. I don’t want to transform her pain; I want to make it disappear completely.
“Just say it,” I urge when she
remains silent. She looks up at me with those heavenly blue eyes and I realize just how fragile she is. “Whatever it is, let’s get it out in the open now so we can go have some fun.”
A cloud of tension fills the bedroom as she refuses to say what is on her mind. Yet another trait I want to break her of.
“Why were you there last night?” Her voice is so quiet I can barely hear her words. “A couple of times, you made it sound like the most despicable thing you’d ever seen, so why go?”
It’s not what I expected her to say. In a way, it’s worse. I would rather listen to her tell me how I shouldn’t buy her things or offer to take her somewhere than have to get into this. Given her reaction to simple things like my possessiveness and protective nature, I know it is going to be a long, drawn out conversation. One we don’t have time for and one I’m not prepared to get into with her until she gets to know me as a person. By then, I hope like hell she can see that the world of Dominance and submission isn’t something to be afraid of and that it isn’t something perverse.
“There’s not an easy answer to that,” I sigh, trying to think of what I can say to satisfy her curiosity and bring her back to a place where she feels safe and secure. More than anything, I want to see her smile again. The real smile that lights up her entire face.
“You seem to say that a lot.” The tone in her voice is wary but the gleam in her eyes is curious.
I stand, reaching down to pull her up so her body is close to mine. The only barrier keeping her soft skin from touching mine is a twelve-year-old t-shirt. The heat pooling between our bodies has me trying to think unpleasant thoughts so maybe she won’t feel how much I want to throw her back down and have my way with her.
Carefully, I tighten my arms around her lower back causing her to arch away from me. The sight of her looking up at me with those eyes filled with unanswered questions causes part of my brain to tell me to cut her loose, run away, and never look back. No way will she understand and accept my world. I’m not sure I want her to because although it is who I am, my own introduction was a way for me to escape the pain of my past. A way to satisfy my urges without emotions clouding my path. “I promise, I will explain it all to you very soon. But for now, let’s just say what you saw last night is a feeble attempt to give people who think they’re into that lifestyle an outlet. It’s a marketing ploy, nothing more. And I have very little respect for most of the people who go there because they don’t have any respect for some of the simplest principles of what they’re trying to do.”
Not the answer I was going for, but then again, being eloquent or cautious with my words is not how I do things. As much as I want to be articulate for Tasha’s sake, I fail.
“Does that mean you…” her voice trails off, unable to finish the question I don’t want to answer any more than she wants to ask. For the first time in my life, I feel something less than proud of who and what I am. I’m not sure it goes to the point of shame, but it’s not something I am comfortable with when it comes to her.
“Short answer, yes.” No point dancing around trying to find a way to ease her mind at this point. “But you have to know that what I said last night is a rule that I live by. I will never force you to do anything you don’t want to do. On the flip side, you have to trust me enough to tell me if I’m pushing you too far.”
When Tasha shakes her head, I hold my breath, waiting for her to storm out of the room telling me she never wants to see me again. Instead, she wraps her arms around my neck, standing on her toes so she can kiss my cheek. It would be so easy for me to turn my head to the side and get a taste of her. It’s been too long since I’ve kissed a woman on the lips. Kissing is something intimate, and intimacy is something I don’t do.
“I do trust you. Don’t ask me why because I’m not sure, but I trust you. But you really have to stop making it sound like we’re a couple. We’re not. And the way you throw around the ‘friends’ word, I have no idea if you even want something more. Heck, we shouldn’t even be having this conversation since we’ve only known each other a little over twelve hours.”
I throw my head back, unable to stop the laughter. “If you don’t know whether or not I want more with the way your hips are grinding against me right now, I’m not sure what to say. But you’re right; we don’t need to have this discussion right now. You need to shower and I need to go make lunch.”
I press my lips to her forehead and then smack her on the ass as she turns toward the master bathroom. For all the shit I put up with for a long time, it seems like things might finally be turning around.
(Tasha)
As I adjust the temperature of the water and strip out of Dylan’s t-shirt, I decide it is time to relax. For most of my life, I have felt like I’m waiting for something to happen, waiting for someone to tell me what I am “supposed” to do. Now, Dylan is paying the price for me needing to break that cycle. I meant it when I said I trusted him not to force me to do something I’m not comfortable with. And he agrees that we have a ways to go before it is even an issue. If I can force myself not to be on edge all the time, Dylan might be just what I need to start doing the things I want to do. But if I keep being a bitch to him, telling him to stop trying to be kind to me, eventually he will listen and I will be sitting home alone once again.
If I’m going to start living again, I can’t allow myself to constantly think about the past. Thinking about my wake-up call this morning is much more pleasant. The way Dylan’s jeans land on just right his hips and how I want to give them a quick tug to see if they will come off. If they do, will he be wearing anything underneath or will I be rewarded with my first look at his impressive length? Twice now, I have felt how I affect him but I have yet to actually see what I do to him.
More than that, I want to feel what I do to him. I want to reach into his jeans and wrap my hand around him, slowing stroking from root to tip. I need to feel the contrast of the soft skin covering his hard as steel erection, and eventually the wetness as he leaks the first drops of his arousal.
My hand glides over my breasts, massaging and tweaking my nipples into hard points. In my mind, it’s Dylan’s strong hands causing my body to heat and harden. The stream of water coming from the shower head slicks my body, allowing my hand to slide deeper, my fingers disappearing between my folds as I rub myself, thinking of what it would feel like if Dylan’s thick, strong fingers replaced my own. I increase the pressure, needing to feel the release my body has needed since soon after I first laid eyes on him. When I finally come, I bite my bottom lip hard, praying he’s not standing on the other side of the door as I moan his name.
I lean against the wall of the shower while I try to steady my breathing. What is it about Dylan that has me thinking about and doing things I’ve never done before? The last time I had sex was nearly a year ago, and it’s been even longer since I had an orgasm. If thinking about Dylan makes me come this powerfully, I can only imagine what it will be like if we’re ever together.
Football is life around Madison in the fall and tickets are nearly impossible to get. No way would any of the girls go to a game with me and Nick always said it was pointless to go to the game when you could watch it at home for free.
I really wish there was a way to block that entire time of my life from memory. Maybe a hypnotist could wipe the slate clean. Okay, so I don’t really want that. I need to remember my pain and unhappiness in order to keep myself from falling for another man who will treat me like dirt.
I look in the mirror after I am dressed, impressed with the outfit Dylan picked out. Somehow, he found a pair of jeans that fits my body like a glove, almost as if it were custom-made for me. How he managed that without me being there is a mystery. Having long legs and a long torso makes it difficult to find anything that fits without creeping down to show the top of my butt. The cardinal red t-shirt has the Wisconsin W in silver rhinestones, making it a bit dressier than the typical tee. But my favorite part of the outfit is the boots. They are trendy lace-up boots
that come just past my ankle. And I’m not surprised to see they have no heel. After last night, I’m pretty sure Dylan would prefer I never slide my foot into anything other than flats from now on.
The thought of Dylan having any preference on what I wear concerns me a bit. I keep reminding myself that it’s not up to him. It’s my body and my life and I’ll wear whatever I want. The fact that I have to remind myself that no man can tell me what to do worries me even more. If I am being rational, Dylan doesn’t strike me as the type of man to make unreasonable demands. He didn’t mention my boots until it was obvious I was in pain. He offered me the shirt off his back so I wouldn’t feel exposed in a room full of strangers. But that doesn’t change the fact that I am just getting to the point where I feel like I’m in control of my life for once and don’t want anyone messing with that.
(Dylan)
I shouldn’t have walked back into the bedroom after Tasha got up to take her shower. I should have averted my eyes when I saw her naked body reflected in the mirror. I could have pulled the door closed so I wouldn’t see anything else, but I didn’t. Instead, I’m leaning against the dresser, watching as she fondles herself. I would give anything for an invitation to join her so I can replace her hands with my mouth.
I can only imagine how sweet her skin will taste when I finally cover her dark pink nipples with my lips. I want to feel her back arch as she presses those beautiful tits deeper into my mouth.
As her hand slides down her flat stomach, past her belly button, I force myself to turn away. I need to earn her trust. If I sit here watching her masturbate without her knowledge, that makes me no better than the perverts I protected her from last night.
While I wait for Tasha to get ready, I take a few minutes to check in on things at the shop. Owning a tattoo parlor had never been on my radar, but that changed when my cousin passed away suddenly and willed the shop to me. Luckily, the business has become a fixture in Madison over the years and it isn’t difficult to stay in the black. That doesn’t mean it is headache-free.
Unexpected Angel Page 6
