by J. Kenner
Over time, I've learned to deal with it. My dad is who he is. Rich and arrogant. A man who likes his privacy. And I get that he thought he was protecting us by keeping the whole thing out of the papers. I don't agree--I think he holds as much blame for Dallas's extra four weeks of torment as I do--but I came to terms years ago, and I'm glad. Because even though we disagree at a fundamental level about his hiring vigilantes, I do love my parents and I don't want a wedge between us.
The thought makes me sigh. Because there's still one potential wedge, and it's a huge one: Dallas and me and the secrets we are keeping.
I chat a bit longer and then say my goodbyes. I walk in the surf for a few minutes, then cut back up toward the house to get the little golf cart I'd left in the driveway. The bungalows are scattered over the island so that every space has privacy. Mine is at the very end of the island, with an amazing view of the southern coastline and the wide vista of the Atlantic.
It's also just a few hundred yards from my very favorite spot, a small cove that Dallas, Liam, and I discovered when we were kids. It's difficult to access, as that beach is surrounded by small, rocky hills instead of the dunes that are so prevalent on this island. We'd climbed over looking for tide pools, and when our parents had realized where we were they'd banned us from returning.
Too dangerous, they'd said. We could twist an ankle and end up stuck. We could scrape a knee on the sharp rocks and get blood poisoning. We could get trapped when high tide came in.
Of course we swore we'd stay away.
Of course we returned almost daily.
It's the best beach on the island, in my opinion. And as I carefully navigate the rocks to get to the cove, I feel a pang of melancholy. I miss my best friends, and I don't know how to get either of them back.
I haven't really lost Liam, of course. But distance and his crazy work schedule mean that when we see each other it usually feels like a drive-by encounter.
But I'm terribly afraid that Dallas may be a lost cause, and soon I may have to accept the horrible truth that we can never be more than family. Not friends. And certainly not lovers.
I don't want to think of that now, though. I just want to relax and soak up the sun, and as soon as I'm over the rocks, I find a place for my towel and spread it out. I take off my T-shirt and untie my sarong, then put them both in the tote bag so they won't get horribly sandy.
As the sun arcs over the island, I devour half the book along with my wine coolers. I want to keep reading, but the heat and the alcohol are making me sleepy, and I close my eyes and let myself drift, my mind filling with those particularly vivid dreams that come between sleep and wakefulness.
These dreams, of course, are all about Dallas. His touch, his kisses. Fantasies mix with memories, and by the time I drag myself back to the present, my skin is tingling, and not just from the warmth of the sun.
I stay on my stomach for a minute just to re-orient myself after my nap, and that is when I realize he is there. I don't see him--my head is down--and I hear nothing but the crash of the waves against the shore.
Even so, I am absolutely certain, and I very slowly lift my head and look around.
He's standing perfectly still on the sand, just this side of the rocky barrier, and he is looking at me with such fierce longing that my body trembles from the force of it.
He's wearing a faded blue T-shirt and khaki shorts. Like me, he's barefoot. He looks both casual and confident, a man at home in his own skin. A man who knows what he wants and is used to taking it.
But even so, he doesn't make a move. Doesn't say my name, doesn't walk to me. He just watches me, as if there is no place he'd rather be and nothing he'd rather be doing.
You're going to have to make the first move.
Brody's words fill my head, as if brought to me on the ocean breeze. He's right, of course. I know he is. Isn't that what I did in the cabana when I turned his chaste kiss into something wild and hot? And didn't we come damn close then to what is now my ultimate goal?
My stomach flutters, but those butterflies are inconsequential compared to my wine cooler-induced boldness.
I know what I want. More than that, I know what we need.
But oh, dear god, if he pushes me away again...
He won't, though--I know he won't. I recognize the heat in his eyes. The same heat I feel. That same grinding, consuming desire.
He's just waiting for me to make a move. It would, of course, be rude not to comply.
Slowly, I stand, the bikini top barely covering my nipples as the triangles of material hang loose from the string tied around my neck. I reach up and I pull the bow, then let my top fall free.
Even from this distance, I can see the way his throat moves. Emboldened, I take a step toward him, then another. I look nowhere but at him. At his eyes that are watching me so intently.
"Don't pretend this is a chance encounter," I say. "We both want the same thing."
He doesn't answer, but when I raise my hands to my breasts and tug on my own nipples, I can see the way his cock strains against his khaki shorts, and just knowing that I am making him hard sends a surge of power through me.
I take my hands from my breasts then reach for the ties on either hip that hold the front and back triangles of my very tiny bikini bottom together. Just two simple bows, and I release each in unison, then shift my stance, spreading my legs so that the material falls to the sand, and I am left standing in front of him completely naked--and completely vulnerable.
"You know what I want," I say as I slide my hand down my belly to my pubis. I'm waxed, and so there is nothing at all hidden to him. I go lower still, and my fingers touch wet, swollen flesh. Standing here, exposed like this, has not only set my nerves on fire, it has made me more aroused than I have ever been in my life.
"You want it, too," I say boldly, then bite my lower lip as I slide a finger deep inside.
Dallas's eyes never leave me, but his hand is at his crotch, and I gasp a little as he unzips his fly and pulls out his huge, fully erect cock.
I feel a tightening in my core--a visceral reaction to the sight of Dallas stroking himself. Of Dallas watching me. My pussy throbs and my fingers slide over my too-wet clit.
He's stroking his cock hard and fast, and I can hear the sound of skin against skin, of his low groans, and it just makes me tighter. Closer. I press harder, moving my fingers in small circles, concentrating on my clit. I'm desperate now, and I don't think I could stop if I wanted to.
So help me, I don't want to.
I let my gaze flick from the heat in his eyes to his hand on his cock, stroking and tugging. I see the muscles in his lower abs tighten, and I feel my pussy clench around my fingers.
He's watching me.
The thought is so damned erotic, and I'm close--so close. I know he is, too, and I want to shatter. Hell, I need to, and when the first tremors ricochet through me, marking a coming orgasm, I whisper his name.
That is all it takes. He explodes in front of me, shooting thick streams of come into the sand, as he arches back, his body tense, and his eyes never leaving my face.
I cry out, too, my knees going weak as my own orgasm rips through me, shattering me, and I fall down to the ground, not quite believing we'd just done that, but unable to escape the simple truth that it was one of the hottest, most erotic things I've ever done in my life.
"Dallas, oh, Christ, Dallas. That was fu--"
"Fucked up," he finishes. "Yeah. That was most definitely all fucked up."
There's an edge to his voice, almost anger.
"I'm sorry, Jane. I'm so damn sorry."
I don't reply--I haven't got a clue what to say. I just sit there and watch--in shock, in surprise, in absolute total disbelief--as he tucks his now-soft cock back into his shorts, turns around, and climbs out over the rocks, leaving me alone and naked in the cove.
All fucked up.
Wasn't that what he'd told the redhead? That he liked his sex fucked up? Dirty? Base?
And it was true. It was so damn true.
But not with Jane. He'd never wanted to drag her down like that with him. So what did he do the first chance he got? He jacked off to the sight of her masturbating, just like he would have done with any of his other women. Just like he'd so often ordered them to do so he could get release. So that he could keep that tight hold on the way that sex played out in his bedroom and at the club.
He should never have given in, but he'd been so hard, and she'd looked so damned amazing. He knew what she'd been doing--her idiotic idea that they needed to fuck each other out of their systems. It wouldn't work. He'd never be rid of the want of her, the need of her. But today, she'd been trying to force his hand. To make him take the lead.
In a way, he supposed he'd done just that.
He ran his fingers through his hair, frustrated because he didn't know where to go with this. They were on some damn sexual merry-go-round, and they were going to have to figure a way off if they wanted to have any sort of relationship at all. He couldn't fuck her and he didn't want to lose her, and he was all out of options.
A dull ache was building in his head, and he went to the bar and poured himself a scotch, just to take the edge off. He'd intended to sip it, but instead he slammed it back, then poured another. His cock was stiff again just from the memory of the way he'd gotten off while watching her finger-fuck herself. He figured he'd toss this second drink back, too, and then go take an ice-cold shower and see if that helped.
He stripped off his shirt, then did the same with his shorts and briefs. He wasn't even out of the small living room when he heard the door open. He cursed himself for not thinking to lock it--when did he ever on the island?--then turned instinctively, expecting Liam.
Instead, he saw Jane. A wildness in her eyes and raw fury on her face. "Just who the hell do you think you--"
She stopped cold, obviously just now seeing him, and her strangled little gasp made his already heated skin burn even hotter.
He watched as she gathered herself. Blinking a little and then biting on her lower lip as her eyes roamed slowly over him.
He didn't think she did it on purpose, but when she reached his eyes, she actually licked her lips, like he was her own private candy stash. The thought curled through him, along with a delicious fantasy of how he'd like to order her to suck him off.
Fuck.
"Don't you knock?"
He saw the debate play across her face, along with an innocent pink blush that made him want to turn her over his knee and spank her, just to see if he could get the exact same color on her ass.
The indecision on her face lasted only for a moment. Then she burst forward as if she'd been shot and wrapped herself around him, her lower abs warm and soft against his cock, her mouth hard and hot on his.
He should have pushed her away right then, but he no longer had the strength. She'd won, maybe, but he'd damn well make the victory his own.
Wildly, he took her, kissing her deep. Hard. He slid one hand under her hair and untied the simple bow that held her bikini up. Then he slid his hand down and repeated the process with the bow at her back.
The two triangles of material stayed put--held tight by the pressure of her breasts against his chest--but he knew they would fall away if he stepped back, exposing her to him.
He didn't step back. Not yet. Not when he could still savor the moment.
Now, instead, he focused on her mouth. He slid one hand up and held her throat so that she couldn't step back, couldn't move. She could only open her mouth to him and give him what he wanted. And she did, her low, whimpering sounds of pleasure shooting straight to his cock.
With his free hand, he cupped her ass, then found the scarf's loose knot at her hip and untied it. He let the silk fall away, anticipating repeating the process with her bikini bottoms. But she was bare beneath the scarf, and that naughty boldness made him smile and kiss her deeper.
As his tongue explored her mouth, his palm cupped her bare ass and pushed her tighter against him so that the movement of their joined bodies stroked and teased his cock. The friction sent waves of pleasure rolling through him, taking him closer to the edge until he was on the verge of coming right there. Right on her stomach, her tits.
And that's when--finally--some tiny spark of reason cut through the sensual haze and he pushed her away from him.
With a sigh, he started to reach down to pick up his shorts. She got there faster, grabbed them, then tossed them across the room.
"What the--"
She indicated her own naked body with a sweep of her hand. "Fair is fair," she chirped.
Oh yeah. He'd love to turn her over his knee.
He closed his eyes and willed himself not to think about her ass. Or any part of her at all. She was wearing him down; he knew it. And he needed to get back control. "You should go." He spoke firmly in the kind of voice the women he invited into his bed obeyed. The kind of voice that gave inarguable orders to his team.
"Not happening," she said, apparently immune. "I'm tired of waiting, Dallas. I'm going to take what I want."
"You don't want this." Why the hell couldn't she get that through her skull? "You don't want me. I can't give you--"
"What? Everything? You think I don't know that? What we are to each other? Why it can't ever work, ever?" She stepped around him and headed for the bedroom.
He stood for a moment, a little irritated but mostly amused.
"Of course I get it," she continued. "And if I have to be just your friend, just your sister, then okay. Fine. I can deal with that. But we can't even get there because of the damn elephant in the room."
She sat on the bed, her legs spread just enough so that he could see how wet and swollen she was. She patted the mattress beside her. "You want me--don't you even think of denying it. And I want you. And so I'm here to take what I want, and then maybe, just maybe we can get our heads clear and move on."
"Don't you get it? There is no fucking you out of my system. I can't--"
He stopped, his mouth tight and hard, then took a deep breath and tried a different tack. "You will never be out of my system, and you have no idea what you're asking."
"I know I can't live like this. Everything wild and scattered. My emotions all over the place. I hate it, and one day I'm going to hate you, too, for making me feel this way."
"Maybe you should. Maybe I deserve it."
"You're not the one who deserves it," she whispered, as a shadow crossed her face.
"No," he said, remembering what she'd confessed in the cabana. That she blamed herself for those extra four weeks he'd been held. "Don't even think that."
She looked up at him, and now her expression was hard as steel. "Then take my mind off it. Tell me what you want, Dallas. Do you want me to lay back? Do you want to watch while I touch myself? Do you want me to suck your cock?" She glanced toward him, where the cock in question was enthusiastically answering both those questions in the affirmative. "Well," she said with a smile. "I guess so."
He stepped closer to the bed.
"This is what you want?" he asked. "For me to treat you like one of those women who fall into my bed? Who gossip that they've had me and whisper about the size of my cock?"
"Well, it's definitely worthy of its reputation."
He wasn't amused. "Jane."
"Yes." She lifted her chin. "That's what I want."
"You don't even have a clue what you're asking. If you knew what I did with--"
"Then show me. Pretend I'm your little Oxford grad Argentinean girl. Or that bitchy redhead from your party. Do you kiss them, or is that too personal? Maybe you just fuck them."
He scoffed. "That's the last thing I do."
"Then show me what you do first."
He almost laughed, but the sound caught in his throat as she stood and came to him. "Do you order them on their knees?" she asked as she went onto hers. "Do you fuck their mouths?" She brushed the tip of her tongue along his glans, then took in just enough to tease.
And then, without warning, she opened her mouth and drew him in so deep his balls brushed up against her chin.
Lust and self-loathing combined inside him, an explosive combination, and he reached down, grabbed her under the shoulders and practically tossed her back to the bed.
She stumbled, then sat. "Dammit, Dallas, I--"
He was in front of her in a second, pushing her back so that she was lying flat on her back with her knees bent and her legs hanging over the bed. He stood between her legs as he leaned over, then pressed his hand against her mouth to keep her quiet as her eyes fired with anger.
"Spread your legs," he ordered, and saw the anger recede and her eyes go wide as she processed his words and then complied.
He kept one hand on her mouth, and with the other he teased her inner thighs, stroking slowly as he moved higher and higher to her bare pussy. She writhed under his touch, frustrated that he wasn't stroking where she wanted. That he was taunting and teasing.
He intended to do a lot of that.
With a small smile, he pulled both his hands away.
"Don't stop," she begged, and the need in her voice made him even harder. "Don't you dare stop."
"Slide up," he ordered, and she hurried to comply as he got on the bed beside her, then straddled her, his cock rubbing provocatively over the mound of her sex.
"Dallas." His name was almost lost in the desperate whimper.
He leaned forward to stroke her breasts. "I should toss you out of here, and lock the door."
"Maybe." Her breath was ragged, filled with anticipation. "But you won't."
"Why not?"
"Because we've tried staying apart and it doesn't work. Because you want me. Because I'm naked and wet for you, and that makes you hard."
He closed his eyes in defense against the truth. "Do you have any idea how much I've wanted this? How often I've imagined you laid out naked for me?"
Her throat moved as she nodded. "Of course I do."
Of course she did.
He was in her fantasies, too, and that simple, straightforward realization pushed him forward, past the voice in his head that said it couldn't work. That there couldn't be a happy ending and this woman in his arms couldn't make him whole.
Probably true. But right then it just felt so damn right.
And maybe it would be right. Maybe this time, because it was her in his bed, it really would all be right again.
