by P. Dangelico
“Why? W-Why is it a g-good thing?”
Everything dies. Everyone leaves. Even if they don’t mean to––they leave. This is why you shouldn’t love anything, or anyone.
Abruptly, she looks over at me with a deep frown etched in her forehead. “You r-really believe that?”
“Believe what?” I ask, genuinely confused as to why she’s looking at me like I drown puppies for kicks.
“You s-said this is why you s-shouldn’t love anyone––because they die.”
Shit. “Did I say that out loud?”
She nods. I should smooth it over with a lie. Apologize. That would be the smart thing to do. And yet something inside of me rebels at the notion. The lie won’t come out. But the truth does.
“It’s true, isn’t it? Every relationship ends badly. With someone dying or leaving. With someone feeling shitty...”
She’s quiet for a while and doubt begins to take root. Maybe I said too much. It strikes me as ironic that if she were to walk away from me now, if she decided I wasn’t worth the trouble, it would hurt. It would hurt a lot.
“No…I m-mean, yes––things do end. P-People die. But love is always worth it…even if it lasts for only a-a short a-amount of time.”
“Yeah, you think it’s that simple?”
She smiles at me and I want to believe her. I want her to convince me. I want her. All of her.
“I d-do…I think it should be that simple.”
Dora looks back out at the open road with a soft smile on her face and a firm grip on her convictions.
The simple truth is that I’m falling in love with her.
Chapter Nineteen
Dora
The rest of the drive to the Post Ranch Inn is conducted in total silence. Somewhere along the way the sexual tension rises and rises until it’s sky high.
A date…he definitely said a date. Do friends take friends out on dates, or do I dare hope for more? Why does love have to be so complicated? My delicate, fragile, hungry heart can’t take much more of this.
By the time I pull the car into the parking lot, it’s dusk. This place is so surreal, so absolutely stunning, I can’t stop staring with my jaw hanging open.
“It’s…it’s a-amazing, Dallas. So beautiful.” It’s the kill shot, rendering me powerless to do anything other than to love him.
In the dark cab of the car, I sit and stare at the scenery until I can’t take it anymore. My head turns slowly and finds him watching me with a twinkle in his eyes.
“Not as beautiful as you,” he murmurs. No joking around. No sly smile. Just brutal honesty. My heart may not survive his honesty. “You can kiss me if you want to…”
I want to. I want to so badly that I jump him, silencing my doubts with my mouth and tongue. Enough is enough. We’ve been dancing around this for months. I’m tired of waiting. He’s giving new definition to the term edging.
“W-We don’t n-need to talk about it. We don’t n-need to name it. We j-just need to let it happen,” I tell him in case he gets cold feet that I’ll get clingy and demand he marry me immediately.
Wrapping my hands around his face, his skin smooth under my fingertips, I kiss him and he kisses me back, moaning like he’s been waiting all his life to taste my lips. To call my car small and cramped wouldn’t do it justice. I try to straddle him and can barely fit my legs around his lap.
“Okay”––kiss––“this”––kiss––“is too cramped,” he mutters. “I can’t perform miracles in this car, but gimme a bed and you’ll be walking on water when I’m done with you.”
I pull back––my lips as swollen as his, my hair a rat’s nest of a mess with the way he’s raking his fingers through it––and I smile so hard my face nearly breaks. “Promise?”
“Cross my heart.” He pushes the passenger door open and we both nearly fall out. Thankfully, he catches me before I can wipe the concrete with my face.
Two minutes later, we’re walking through the doors of the very fancy Post Ranch Inn, both of us looking fit for an involuntary commitment. My hair is teased out, my shirt wrinkled. I’m flushed like I just stuck my face in a steam room. Dallas looks worse: lips swollen and red from my assault, hair wilder than ever. The looks we get make me giggle.
The doorman treats us to some seriously suspicious scrutiny. I can’t blame him. Judging by the people in the lobby, we’re probably the youngest guests here and tragically underdressed.
“Welcome, Mr. Van Zant,” the pretty concierge greets when she reads the name off of Dallas’s black Amex. She keeps stealing glances at him while she types. “Your family is well? Hope they come back to visit us soon.”
Without replying, Dallas gives her a flat perfunctory smile. Then he turns his attention on me and his face lights up. Somebody that hasn’t studied him as closely as I have might have missed it––the change from the mask he wears for the world to see to the real person behind it. He guards himself closely with good reason. Everyone other than his friends has failed him. Once bitten twice shy. I can’t blame him for being cautious.
“Showers first, then we can look around?”
Nodding, I automatically mirror the same smile back at him and his eyes flash with promise. That right there––the look on his face of pure joy and love of life and everything that is authentic and real and good is why it’s impossible not to love this boy.
“What s-should I…”
I was about to ask what should I wear tonight, but the words die on my lips. Our suite––yes, he got a suite––is staged to look like a scene out of a Hollywood romance.
The room is dimly lit and a dining table for two is set up with flowers and candles…the whole nine yards. Wearing a matching robe to mine, Dallas is pouring champagne into two flutes. It’s a little on the corny side, but he wins a million points for trying.
Glancing up, his open and assessing eyes slide from my turbaned head, down my face, and over the robe covering my body. “I thought we’d stay in tonight and explore tomorrow…is that’s okay with you?”
Oh my gosh. It’s happening!!
“A-Anything you want to do…I’m in.”
“Anything?” he asks. The mischief is back on his face and in his voice. He drains his glass and walks over to me, handing me mine.
I drain mine too––then sputter. “That takes practice,” I wheeze.
Chuckling, he takes my hand and leads me to the bed, sits with his legs splayed apart, a sexy laziness to his bright blue gaze.
“Anything,” I murmur, looking down into his stunning face.
My skin gets sensitive under his intense examination. Like I’m wearing a bear rug instead of a very expensive designer robe. My nipples pebble, heat infuses my privates. A dull empty ache keeps reminding me that it’s been neglected for far too long. I need to be touched. I need to be touched now. And not in general. I need to be touched by the person currently looking at me like he desperately wants to touch me and wants me to touch him.
He pulls me by the hips to stand between his legs. Staring up at me, his smile drops. “Are you sure you want to do this Dora…with me, I mean?”
This is the first time I’ve ever heard him sound less than totally confident and my heart gets stuck in my throat. My hands automatically lift and cup his face, my thumbs running along the sharp angle of his clean-shaven jawline. “There’s n-no one else I want to do it with.”
“Kiss me,” he quietly orders a few seemingly endless minutes later.
Lowering my head, I press my lips to his and close my eyes. Not only is it as good as I remember––it’s even better. Pure fireworks. They call it chemistry for good reason. There’s an actual physical reaction that happens when Dallas touches me. A transformation. I become a better version of myself. Uninhibited. Unapologetic. Everything I admire in him. And safe. He makes me feel safe enough to be me.
Tilting my head, I open my mouth to his soft probing tongue. His hands slip under the long hem of the robe and slide up my legs. They slowly travel ove
r my hamstrings and cup my butt cheeks, squeezing.
“Fuck, I want you…wanted you for so long…I tried to be good. I…really did,” he mutters as he’s devouring my mouth, my neck. I’m not even sure he realizes he’s talking. Some people talk in their sleep. I wonder if this is a regular thing, if Dallas talks in his kissing.
Parting my robe, he strokes and cups my breasts as if they’re precious and worthy of worship. God help me, I gasp. I actually gasp. I’ve never been so turned on in my life and he hasn’t even gotten to the important parts yet.
He pulls me even closer, traps me between his thighs, and wraps his arms around my waist. His touch is so committed, so confident, and frankly so sexy that it’s easy to let him lead.
Stopping abruptly, he pulls his mouth away from mine and places his forehead on my chest, holding me tightly. As if he’s scared I might get away. He holds me as if he needs me.
“We need to talk first,” he mutters, then exhales harshly as if this is costing him. “We need to slow this down.”
“Slow it down! Any s-slower and I’ll be a f-fifty-year-old virgin.”
His shoulders shake with laughter. “What I meant to say is that we need to play a few scrimmage games before we make it to the championship.”
“Water polo metaphors…now?”
“Yeah, babe.” He looks up at me with a lazy smile, expression content. His hands get back to work. Petting my butt, running up and down my legs. A shiver shoots up my back and I’m panting all over again.
Threading my fingers through his unruly hair, I lower my mouth on his for a brief kiss. They’re mine now, his kisses, and I’m going to take as many as I can get while I can. He falls backward on the bed and takes me with him. His erection pinned between us, against my body. I immediately get excited, curious. I’m desperate to see him, to touch him, to explore him like a foreign land, to discover him all at once and savor him slowly.
Rolling us over, he gets off and leaves me on my back to watch. The robe slips open as he stands, revealing what’s been hiding underneath. As suspected, he’s perfect everywhere. His erection, which is long and thick, strains toward his belly. He grips himself and the head grows glossier each time he pumps. Then I notice he’s completely bare. And as I stare in wonder, an army of red ants crawl over me.
He pushes the robe off his shoulders and stands at the foot of the bed in all his naked glory for me to enjoy.
“Do you want to touch me?” He says it honestly, genuinely offering himself to me. And my heart goes out to him. He’s such a giver that I couldn’t have chosen a better partner to do this with.
“Yes,” I immediately return, and he smiles softly.
“Is this your first time?”
“Yes.”
After a meaningful pause, he walks over to his duffel bag and returns with a handful of condoms, places them on the nightstand. My stomach flips. This is really happening.
Dallas crawls onto the bed and lies on his back. “Touch me however you want,” he says, looking me in the eyes. Probably searching for signs that I’m having second thoughts. His next words confirm it. “If you want to stop, we’ll stop. Just say so. It doesn’t matter when. I won’t be mad, okay? Just say stop and we’ll stop.”
Wild horses couldn’t stop me. The sight of this man laying himself out for me makes me wonder what heavenly lottery I’ve won. I’m not a lucky girl typically, and it feels like I bagged the most important prize life has to offer.
The turban falls off my head, and he throws the damp towel on the floor. Then he tugs the ends of my long wet hair, playing with it. The encouraging smile on his face makes me love him even more. Because I do––I love him. This is love. This is what the real deal feels like.
My hand wraps around the base of his erection and I stoke him like he did to himself. Face set in stone, he exhales harshly, and says, “Grip tighter.” Then he covers my hand with his and guides me. With each stroke, he unravels a little bit more––and with that, I get bolder. My mouth is on him before I can issue a warning and a strangled cry comes out of him, all six feet plus bowing off the bed.
“A-Am I hurting you?” I ask, coming up for air.
“Jesus Fucking Christ, no. No, babe. That was perfect. I just wasn’t expecting it.”
So I get back to doing what makes him unravel, keeping my eyes closed at all times. Less than a minute later he pushes me off.
“No more. I won’t last another minute with you doing that.” Getting up on his knees, he looks down and pushes my robe open. I’m past feeling insecure about my hips, about the lack definition on my belly, about the soft roll of skin on my sides.
“You’re so fucking beautiful.” His nostrils flare and his face looks momentarily pained. Slowly, he reaches for me. His touch reverent and his attention enthralled.
This man who’s had the beautiful girls with the perfect makeup. The natural ones who look like models. The girls into style. The athletes with their toned arms and legs. He’s had them all. And yet he’s looking at me as if I’m all he’s ever wanted. I don’t feel even a little bit jealous. Those girls may have come first, but this time finishing last is the one who wins. I’m the one he chose to let in. I’m the one here now.
His mouth covers my nipple and I whimper. His hand strokes between my legs and I press into it. He gives and I take. I ask for more and he gives more. The trail of kisses moves down. Onto my tattoo. Dropping further until I feel his breath on my clit…then is tongue…then his lips. An orchestrated attack on my senses. Primed for months, I come immediately.
As I lie a sweaty, satisfied mess, enjoying the aftermath of his handiwork, he stands to put on a condom. Everything he does fascinates me. This included. Even this simple act feels monumental. To be remembered. His body is the opposite of mine in every way. Hard where I’m soft. Bronze where I’m white. I could study him for decades and still find more to learn.
Crawling back on the bed, he makes room for himself between my legs. Pressed between us, his erection is more than ready to be called into action. It makes the empty ache grow again. That’s when he gets up on his elbows, stares down with warmth and affection, and says, “You sure you want to do this? I can wait. We can wait.”
“I’m sure.”
“This isn’t gonna feel as good for you as it will for me, but I’ll do my best…” He looks momentarily lost, unsteady. “Dora…”
“Yeah?”
“I’ve never done this either…with a virgin I mean, so tell me what feels good and what doesn’t.”
“You’re doing great.” Reaching up I caress his cheeks, run my thumb along his bottom lip. He plants a kiss there.
“I want to make it good for you….I want…I want you so much…”
Stroking, his face. “I w-want y-you too. I’m glad I waited for you.”
“You mean that?” he whispers.
“With all my heart.” The truth comes out with no stutter, no thought, no hesitation.
He rocks his hips back and forth and the sweet friction stokes my need, the urge building again. My knees naturally lift, wrap around his waist, our bodies moving in synch. They were made for this after all. He gives I take. I give he takes. And as my desire climbs, he slips inside a little more each time going deeper and deeper until he hits resistance. One more thrust of his hips and he pushes all the way in. And I’m joined as one with the boy I love.
I yelp because holy cow it stings, the stretch burning. Stretched and filled, the feeling is a strange one. Until Dallas slowly and carefully starts moving again, never taking his gaze off of me, watching for every reaction of pain or pleasure.
The pain is soon replaced by a desperate insatiable need to come again. Dallas’s face tells me he’s close and before long, he shouts in pleasure. And then I follow. I’d follow him anywhere.
Chapter Twenty
Dora
I. Am. In. Love.
A ray of light sneaks into the room and hits me right in the face. You know what else hits me? The soreness
between my legs. My eyes open to find Dallas less than a foot away on the same pillow. Even asleep, he’s too handsome for his own good. It’s not mentally healthy for someone to be this handsome.
A thick strand of wavy blond hair covers his eyes. It keeps fluttering with every deep exhale he takes. I’m tempted to brush it away but I don’t want to wake him. He did all the heavy lifting last night and probably needs the rest. Poor baby.
“What am I, the Housewives of Beverly Hills?” he grunts. “Stop watching me.”
An irrepressible grin takes over my face. The Housewives have nothing on him.
“Sorry…d-didn’t mean to wake you. How long have you been awake?”
“Since you started drooling all over me.”
“You’d probably like it,” I return, laughing. I push the hair away from his face, pet him, and he snuggles against my touch. Just a boy in need of attention. Then he cracks one electric blue eye open and the grin that materializes on his face matches mine.
“Admit it, babe, I’m the best looking dude you’ve ever laid eyes on.”
I know he hides his feelings beneath his jokes, but I wouldn’t be kidding if I said he is by far the most beautiful human I’ve ever seen. Except he’s so much more than a pretty face.
He’s smart, and kind, and loyal to a fault. He gives everything if he cares about you––even if it costs him everything.
His expression softens. “How do you feel?”
“Like I’m not a v-virgin anymore.” My body says not great while the rest of me has never felt better.
“Is that a good thing?”
“A little s-sore, but it was w-well-worth it. I’ll submit my report by the end of the day.”
He gets up on an elbow and leans over me, plants a sweet dry kiss on my lips. “When can I expect a promotion for my stellar performance?”
He’s smirking, as he always does when he’s teasing me. I’m not entirely sure he’s joking, however. The flicker of doubt that crosses his face says otherwise. So I do the only thing I can. The safe thing––I joke back.
