“I doubt anything in town will be open tomorrow. This stuff’ll melt fast, but we’ll be plugged in for a day or two.” Then it’d be a sloppy mess to get to the highway, but he wasn’t going to mention that, nor how poorly her car would handle the muck.
An unusual chiming sound filtered into the kitchen.
“My phone!” Elle ran back to the guest room.
Her departure left the kitchen too quiet. He really liked having her around, in his home. Her voice drifted in. She must’ve caught the caller in time. Cleaning up, he rushed to finish before she ended her conversation so she wouldn’t feel pressured to help.
With just him, he rarely ran the dishwasher. The appliance was used when he had company and that was usually his mom, and only when she embarked on her cooking extravaganzas. He washed the dishes, cleaned up the table, and put the leftovers in the fridge. It’d be enough to serve one more meal—and help hide the beer.
He stood with the fridge door open, thinking about putting some of the beer in a cupboard because it made the lack of other food really noticeable. No, that would mean he had something to hide. A young bachelor with beer in the fridge was nothing unusual.
Yet he quickly shut the door when Elle walked back in. No reason, other than the door was blocking his view of her incredible body.
She glanced around and saw everything had been cleaned up. “Oh. Thanks for picking up and for dinner. I think I’m going to head to bed.”
Shoving his hands into his pockets, he cocked his head toward the living room. “Are you sure you don’t want to join me for an exciting night of watching the news and weather?”
Despite her almost tangible effort to keep him at a distance, she smiled. “I’ll leave it all to you.” Her eyes danced over his chest, then back up to his face; she flushed at his focused gaze. “Good night Dillon.”
“’Night Elle.”
Flustered, she turned to go back to her room.
After suppressing a frustrated sigh, he flopped on the couch and grabbed the remote because he hadn’t been joking about his plans.
***
Elle’s eyes flipped open. The room was dark. She peeked at her phone. Two in the morning. She’d gotten a few hours of sleep after assuring her dad she was okay when he’d called, omitting the fact that she wasn’t at home.
She’d been fast asleep when Dillon had gone to bed. So what woke her?
A muffled groan. Frowning, she crawled out of bed and tiptoed to the closed door.
There it was again. It sounded like Dillon was talking to someone, only it came in short spurts interspersed with moans.
She crept out of the room and followed the noise to the end of the house toward the master bedroom. His door was ajar. Shadows filled the room, making it hard to see his large form on the bed, twisting in the sheets.
He was having a nightmare.
More incoherent mumbling in a tortured voice. She just couldn’t go back to her room and let him play out the episode on his own.
“Dillon,” she called.
He flopped to his other side, the dream’s hold on him too strong. “Cash, fall back, dammit.”
He was so frantic; her instinct to comfort kicked in. She took a step forward, hesitated. It wasn’t her place. But when he wrenched like he was in pain, she rushed over to his side.
“Dillon,” she said softly. She called again, but louder, not wanting to startle him and put herself into danger.
He stilled. His eyes flew open, then he sat up. When he blinked and looked around, she stepped closer but didn’t touch him. He hadn’t been diagnosed with PTSD, but he was obviously having a nightmare. She wouldn’t march over and wake up anyone stuck in a bad dream.
“Dillon,” she said, louder. When he blinked and looked around, she laid a hand on his shoulder.
“You scared me,” he said and angled toward her, putting a hand on her waist.
Too late, she realized she hadn’t thrown his loaned shorts on and was in Dillon’s bedroom in only a T-shirt and panties.
He peered up at her. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s not me. I think you were having a bad dream.”
His other hand settled on her waist, pulling her close. She resisted, but feared she’d lose her balance and topple onto him.
Her body thought him catching her was a good idea.
In one swift motion, he pulled her down to him and rolled on top of her across his king-size bed.
Before she could get a rational argument out about how she couldn’t do this, his lips crashed down on hers.
Her body won, forcing her brain to submit to the pleasure of his heavy body anchoring her own. His tongue swept inside to tangle with hers. Her legs moved of their own volition until she cradled his big frame, his arousal pressing into her.
Tilting her hips, she wanted his length to stroke her where she grew wet for him. Her body didn’t require much encouragement around Dillon.
A moan of pleasure escaped from them both. He propped himself on one arm, still kissing her deeply, but pulled her shirt up with his free hand.
She bowed into him as he cupped her breast, massaging, rolling the nipple between his fingers. She continued to rock her hips into him, frustrated by the underwear they both wore.
She gently scored him with her nails as her hands skimmed down his back.
His tongue swirled around hers and his hand left her breast to trail down her abdomen.
God, yes.
When he slipped under her panties, she reared back to cry in relief, but he was intent on keeping them connected, as if afraid she’d run if he let her go. With their kiss in place, he found her clit and stroked a smooth circle; she almost flew apart. It’d been too long.
He stroked and flicked, and while she missed his erection teasing her, the orgasm his fingers promised more than made up for it. Then he entered her, sliding one long, capable digit inside.
She groaned into his mouth, nipping his tongue. Her hands gripped his shoulders and he set a steady pace, stroking in tandem with his finger while his thumb circled her nub. She rolled her hips, seeking the explosive end.
Pressure built, oxygen was limited as she panted against his mouth. Breaking the kiss, she flung her head back into the blankets to cry out.
“Dillon!”
“That’s it, Elle. Honey, you’re so wet, just dripping for me. I want to do this with my tongue. I want to taste every. Inch. Of you.”
The words were so unlike anything she’d heard from him, yet they framed the most erotic experience she’d had. In the shadows, the strain in his face from holding back was visible. He watched where they were connected, where he worked her into a frenzy. Her legs parted wide, his body settled between—it sent her over the edge.
She bowed back, flooding his hand with her release.
“Let it go,” he growled. “Let me give you this.”
His voice, his commands, she cried his name over and over, quaking around him. After she was over the crest, he continued working her, until she weakly pushed against him unsure she could take anymore.
His slid his finger out, making her shudder again. Cool air wafted over her heated skin as he skated one side of her panties down, maneuvering it off one leg. Her leg fell to the side, leaving her open to him.
Shoving his own underwear down, he placed himself at her entrance, the broad head of his silky erection slowly pushing in.
When she realized why it felt so divine, she gasped. “Dillon. Protection.”
He swore and pulled back. “I’m sorry, Elle. I wasn’t thinking. You’re driving me outta my ever-lovin’ mind.” He dropped his forehead down to hers, then gave her a sweet kiss. “I’ll go grab a condom.”
“Dillon…” Her rational mind was returning, and other than being pleased that he didn’t keep a huge stash by his bed for randoms he brought home, sex with Dillon would be an event she couldn’t walk away from. Him getting her off in the dark seemed a little less…binding. “We shouldn’t do this.”
Releasing a heavy sigh, he straightened and pulled his boxer briefs up. “You’re killing me, woman.”
She scooted back to search for her panties, which had finally fallen off completely. They eluded her as she pawed around the sheets. The scrap of fabric held the appeal of a suit of armor, encasing the raw emotions coursing through her body while she wondered, what now?
He yanked the covers back before she could scurry back to her room. Rolling her in next to him, still sans panties, he covered them with the blankets.
His strong embrace holding her gently in place, the bed warm and inviting, this was a bad idea. “I don’t think—”
“Just stay for tonight.” He nuzzled her hair, murmuring into her ear. “Keep the memories away, so all I remember is how you looked coming in my arms.”
Her cheeks flushed hot. Memories gave him nightmares, and he wanted to override them with her orgasming wantonly as he gazed on. If he’d have professed his vulnerability to anyone else, she would’ve said no, it wasn’t a problem.
Nightmares, flashbacks, were serious business and he had shoved them aside, seeking comfort in her. Just like she had in his embrace, in the care he took of her, because her lonely existence had been overwhelming lately.
But it’d happened. And here they were. The barren bed in the other room held no appeal. Not when they both sought solace in the other.
She turned into him and cuddled into his body, loving his muscles wrapped around her. The only thing making it slightly uncomfortable was the protruding erection tenting his underwear, poking her in the stomach.
She lightly kissed him on the shoulder her head was tucked against. “Are you going to be able to sleep with that thing?”
“Eventually.”
Biting her lip, she attempted to talk sense into herself about what she was going to do. Hadn’t she just lectured herself on the seriousness of the situation?
But tonight, she was just a woman being intimate with a man. In the darkness of the bedroom, she wanted to believe they were any normal couple and the issues between them could wait until morning.
The languid, relaxation in her own muscles guided her hand. She freed his shaft and wrapped her hand around him.
He hissed in a breath. “You don’t have to do that.”
Instead of just a kiss, she grazed his skin with her teeth. “I want to.”
He shifted to crook one leg, giving her more room to work him. Velvet steel flowed under her hand; she squeezed and let up to create a rippling sensation of pleasure moving over his cock. He pushed into her, his breaths coming quicker, his body tensing.
To drive him as out of his mind as he’d driven her, she licked and kissed his chest, pumping her hand faster and faster.
“God, Elle. That’s amazing,” he gasped. “Yeah, squeeze harder.”
He gave a long groan, throwing his head back, angling his pelvis into her. He swelled and pulsed within her grip. She hadn’t thought out the logistics, but he had, grabbing her underwear and wrapping it around the tip of his shaft. Finally, he let himself come.
Bringing this man to his figurative knees with one hand—empowering. It was almost, almost, worth missing the ecstasy of him driving himself inside of her.
“I grabbed it off the covers when I tucked us in. I didn’t want you to do something foolish like put it back on.” He was breathless, but smug.
“I still have your shirt on.”
“Don’t remind me, or you’ll find yourself with another request for the use of your hand again.”
She giggled and stayed curled up with him, eventually falling asleep in his arms.
Chapter Twelve
Dillon woke at his normal time, but he didn’t move. A lovely round bottom pressed into his side. Elle’s soft breathing was something he could listen to all day.
What a night. Hands down the best of his life. Waking up to Elle standing over him, he just couldn’t help it. Compounded by the shitty, recurring dream, he’d reacted and reached out for her.
The side of his mouth quirked. Her attraction rivaled his own. He got the impression she didn’t let just anyone do what he did to her. She liked him and she was trying to resist. He understood, but he could also work with that.
Arm slung behind his head, a half-mast erection growing in his boxer briefs, he stared at the ceiling. There was a whole lotta snow waiting for him. He really should go out and tackle it.
Right now, this moment, he didn’t want to disrupt it. Afraid that as soon as Elle roused from her slumber, the spell would be broken. She’d retreat into her mind and hold herself at a distance from him.
Every inch she placed between them would serve to remind him of the shameless way she’d broken apart. Her silhouette had been like a beacon, with her luminous flesh glowing in the dark. As much as he’d give his left nut to see the shade her skin flushed from orgasm in broad daylight, he knew she wasn’t there yet. His hold on her was too tenuous.
And he wanted to hold onto her.
Gaining her trust meant not pushing her too fast. So instead of learning every nuance of her body, he’d go out and fire up the smaller tractor that he’d, thankfully, kept the bucket on for pushing snow.
But day-um, he didn’t want to leave the bed. Paradise.
With a groan, he rolled over and lifted her unbelievably soft flaxen hair to kiss the nape of her neck.
This was going to end one of two ways. She’d either come awake with a gasp, becoming more dismayed when she remembered she still wore no underwear. Then using the blankets as a shield, she’d slide out of the other side of the bed and scurry to the shower holding his shirt tightly around her.
Or, she’d smile as her eyelids fluttered open, maybe stretch back into him, unwilling to regret for one moment what they’d done together.
“What time is it?” she asked in a sleep-heavy voice.
“Early yet, but I gotta go out and move a ton of snow.”
“How much did we get?” She relaxed in his arms and snow was the last thing he wanted to be pushing.
Because he remembered how her wet, tight entrance had felt on his cock…aaand he was back at painful erection stage.
“Dunno. You’ll be the first one I tell after I measure.” He kept his nose buried in her hair. If he did anything else, he wouldn’t be able to keep himself from exploring between her long legs. “Help yourself to whatever you need or stay in bed all morning, whatever you want.”
He rubbed her bare hip, dangerously close to the flesh he wanted to sink his fingers into. Giving her ass cheek a couple of taps, enjoying her inhale of surprise, he rolled back to his side of the bed to get out.
He snagged his clothes from the top of his dresser and glanced back at her before he went to the master bathroom. She peeked out at him from under the mess of her gorgeous hair and blankets. She didn’t look regretful, or like she wanted to escape, she looked like she wanted exactly what he did.
Flashing her a wicked grin that made her blush, he closed the door to get cleaned up.
***
Elle stood in front of the mirror wondering what the hell she’d gotten herself into. Dillon’s gray Moore High School football shirt hung off her shoulders. It was the only scrap of cloth on her body and she didn’t want to take it off.
With some embarrassment, she wondered where her underwear was. Wherever it lay after last night, it wasn’t wearable.
Exasperated at herself, she pulled his shirt off and folded it to lay on the counter. Then she searched through the cabinets to find a brush. She usually wore minimal makeup, and she wished she had stashed some in her purse, but today would be au naturel.
Years of swimming helped her grow comfortable with her body. Strutting around the pool for hours in nothing but a swimsuit that covered only her bits and pieces gave a girl a solid sense of self. Pool water was hell on even waterproof makeup, so she’d only worn it to give her a more mature appearance, even when her college swim days were over. Otherwise, her twenty-seven-year-old professional sel
f appeared barely old enough to drink.
Once she was done freshening up, she headed to the kitchen. The house was empty and scraping sounds came from outside. She peered out the window. Dillon shoveled a path to an extremely large shop. He wore only a hooded sweatshirt over tan coveralls, heavy boots, and of course, a baseball hat.
The hat was yellow and grungy. She smiled. Like women had different purses for different occasions, farm boys had different hats.
He attacked the cold, wet, heavy snow. A lot of it. It would take hours to clear the area between his shop and the garage, then the driveway. She didn’t see any drifts. With the bright sun, all the tall trees that surrounded his place were on display. No idea they were that plentiful. Last night, they’d been towering shadows behind the snowfall. The property his house actually sat on was completely surrounded, like its own little oasis amidst farmland. Had there been wind, drifting might not have been a huge issue, anyway. Mature evergreens and cottonwoods formed a ring of protection.
Dillon disappeared into the shop. She recalled the vandalism he’d told her about and wondered who’d want to threaten all of this. Or Dillon.
She sighed and turned away. He fed her, cleaned up, gave her the distance she needed. Even when she carried things farther than planned, he’d respected her wishes to not go all the way. Although, if he’d had protection within immediate proximity, she doubted she would’ve stopped him. Regretting not experiencing everything Dillon had to offer her body, she sported the feminine equivalent of blue balls.
She opened the fridge and deduced that breakfast would not be found there. Silver cans of beer lined both shelves, with some ketchup in the door. She scanned the kitchen. No dead silver bullets littered the counter or lay in the garbage. Unless he hid them, but she didn’t think so.
He might not think he had a problem, but there were unresolved issues that had come home with him from the Army. The lack of photos from his military days suggested that. Family photos covered the walls, but no pictures of graduation from basic training, nothing of his military buddies, and none from his time overseas.
Conflict of Interest (The Walker Five Book 1) Page 9
