Dallas

by Shelley Springfield

  I feel her pussy clamp down on my dick, just as my spine starts tingling. Moving my hand to her clit, I rub the puckered nub and feel myself getting closer and closer.

  “Come for me, sugar,” I demand as I give her clit a pinch. Her pussy grips me tighter than I ever thought possible as she moans out her pleasure. This is one time I wish a woman knew my name, just so I can hear her scream it out.

  The look on her face, and the feel of her wrapped around me, causes my own release. Going deep one final time, I bury my face in her neck and growl out a pleasure filled moan of my own.

  I was right. That was fucking amazing.

  CHAPTER THREE

  It’s after two in the morning when I finally pack up my shit and get ready to head home. It’s been a great night, but long as hell. I’m hoping to catch a few hours of sleep before I have to go to Mom’s to relieve Stacey.

  Walking out the back door, I mutter a curse, or a few, when I see the wet parking lot. I knew they were calling for rain, but it wasn’t supposed to start until in the morning. If I had known that it would start already, I would’ve driven my truck instead of my bike.

  Luckily, I only live five miles from the club, so it’ll be fine. It’s not raining at the moment, and even if it does, a little water never hurt anybody.

  As I walk over to my bike, I pass Rocco as he is walking back into the club. “If you don’t want to ride your bike, I can give you a ride home after Betty gets the club locked up.”

  Shaking my head at his offer, I say, “I appreciate the offer, Rocco, but there’s no way that I’m leaving my bike parked here all night. It’s bad enough when I’m here, but I’m not leaving my baby here by herself. It’s not far. I’ve got my leather coat and my helmet. I’ll be fine.”

  Rocco gives me one of his very few grins and replies, “I understand, brother, be safe.”

  I nod my head as I continue walking to my bike, throwing on my coat and helmet as I go. I have it fastened before I even step up to the bike. As soon as I throw my leg over to get on, a crack of thunder rumbles overhead. Not wasting any more time, I start my bike and pull out of the parking lot.

  Of course, with my luck, I get stopped by the first two stoplights. While waiting at the second, it starts drizzling rain.

  “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. I’ve only got two miles left. You couldn’t wait that damn long to start raining?”

  Another rumble of thunder is my answer to my complaints, and I decide it’s better to keep my mouth shut and keep going before it becomes a downpour.

  I feel my luck turning up when the next two lights are green. One more and then I’m almost home.

  The rain starts coming down harder, and I don’t even slow down when I see that the last stoplight up ahead is green.

  I see the car coming from the left, but know that his light is red, so I don’t worry about it. I just keep going. I’m ready to get home.

  I realize, when it’s too late, that he’s not even attempting to stop. There’s no time for me to stop now, no matter how much I wish that I could. I’m afraid if I even slow down, I’ll definitely get hit. My only hope is to make it through the light before he does.

  I speed up and zip past him, but I’m not fast enough. His bumper just barely grazes my back tire, but it’s enough of an impact to cause my bike to skid.

  There’s nothing I can do as my bike tumbles to the pavement. My only thought is how glad I am that I put on my jacket and helmet.

  $$$$$

  I have been in this hospital for three days and I’m ready to get the fuck out of here. No one is telling me what I want to hear, so it’s time to go.

  Thank fuck, that I’ve got good friends that have been helping with my mom while I’ve been stuck here. Not to mention, a nurse that keeps hoping for round two with Big D and has been working overtime to stay with her. If it wasn’t for their help, I’d be up shit creek. I’m sure Mom isn’t enjoying it too much, but there’s nothing I can do about that.

  The nurse walks in and sits my breakfast tray on the table. “How are you doing this morning, Mr. Winston?”

  She uncovers the tray and slides the table over to the bed. I glance at the food and barely refrain from snarling up my nose at the nasty shit they call food. “I feel fine; just ready to go home.”

  She nods her head in agreement. “I can understand that. The doctor should be making rounds soon, so maybe he’ll have some good news for you today. Do you have someone at home that can help you when you do get released?”

  I don’t want to sound rude. I know that she’s only trying to be helpful because what I’d like to say is that I’m a grown ass man that doesn’t need any damn help. I sigh before looking at her, already annoyed. “Yeah, I do,” I manage to say through gritted teeth.

  She doesn’t have time to respond as the good doctor finally walks into the room. “Mr. Winston, how are we doing today?”

  I glare at him for a minute. Look at this asshole, coming in here, asking stupid ass questions. How the fuck does he think I’m doing? “Well, I don’t know how you’re doing, but I’m as good as I can be. Ready to get the hell out of here and go home.”

  “I know you are ready to go, Mr. Winston, but we need to examine you again and make sure you have everything for when you’re at home. We need to get you scheduled for physical therapy for after you’re released. I know you had therapy yesterday, but it’s very important that you continue those sessions to help speed up your healing.” He glances to the nurse. “Before his discharge, make sure his bandages are changed.” She gives him a nod in return before walking out of the room.

  I may have been lucky from having my leather and helmet on, but that didn’t do anything to help my leg. My boots worked for my feet, but my leg had no protection at all, besides my jeans, when the bike hit the pavement. Actually, knowing how much of my jeans was buried into my leg, and that they had to scrub it out of my skin from the road rash, I’m not sure how much they did help. It was better than nothing at all though. I wasn’t awake for all of that, thank goodness. They did all of that while I was knocked out for surgery.

  I had a killer headache for the first day. I’ve got some cuts on my left hand, road rash on my left leg, and also had a broken femur. I say had, like it isn’t still that way, but it now has pins in it to fuse the bones back together.

  “How long do I have to do therapy and when can I go back to work?” I ask the doctor yet again. I want a direct answer and a specific time, dammit. There’s no way that I can be off work for very long.

  “We will know more after the pins have been in for a while. There’s no way to know the progress until after you have put in some work for a while. I would like to say that it will be an easy recovery, but it won’t. Luckily, you were in good shape before the accident so I don’t see you having any complications.”

  He types his notes into his iPad for a bit before continuing, “As for work, we will see. I know that you are a dancer, but depending on your therapy and your healing, I’d like to say that you should be good as new in four to six months. There’s no way to know for sure at this time. I normally tell patients to hope for the best but prepare for the worst. It’s possible that you may never be able to dance like you used to. I feel you will have full mobility, but some of the things you do just may not be possible. The important thing right now is to rest and only put minimal pressure on your leg, at least until it heals more. For the most part, and just for the time being, you’ll need to use crutches. I think you would only need the bandages for a few more days, and then you won’t have to worry about them anymore, but you need to keep them clean while you still have them to prevent infection.”

  What the actual fuck? As if it’s not bad enough that I have to put up with all this shit and therapy, but it’s possible that I’ll never dance again. He has got to be kidding me.

  What the fuck will I do if it comes to that? Not just for me, but for my mother. We depend on me working at the club. It’s going to be hard enough wi
thout me working for the next couple of months. Dancing is all that I know; it’s what I do. Where in the fuck would I be without it?

  CHAPTER FOUR

  I’m glad to be home, but my leg has been hurting like a bitch and aggravating the hell out of me. It seems like it is constantly throbbing, and I hate the way the pain pills make me feel, so I’ve just been putting up with the pain as best that I can.

  I have done everything the doctor told me to do, only walking on it when I feel comfortable doing so. Other times, using the crutches. The bandages are off now, so that’s a plus. Only problem with that is the shit has started scabbing up and itching like crazy.

  Showers have been more of a bitch than anything I want to think about. Taking care of my mom hasn’t been possible, but luckily for me, everyone at the club has been helping me out. Stacey still stays with her at night, but my friends have pitched in and are paying for a nurse to stay with her during the day, too. Betty does her grocery shopping and other shit like that, that the guys don’t want to do. I always knew they were great, but all they’ve done lately just proves that.

  Today is my first therapy appointment after coming home. I’m not looking forward to it, mainly because I told Dare that I’d drive myself there, and I’m not sure about getting in and out of my truck with a fucked-up leg. Also, because the guy who did my therapy at the hospital had breath that could set your nose hairs on fire. It took all I had to get through it the last time, so I’m not looking forward to that shit again today.

  As I get up from my chair and reach out for my crutches, my damn cell phone rings. I put the crutches in one hand and pick up the phone with the other. Seeing Dare’s name and ugly ass picture on the screen almost makes me want to ignore it.

  I don’t though because I know he’ll just keep calling. “Hello,” I mutter, trying to keep the frustration out of my voice as I juggle the phone and the crutches.

  “Your appointment is in a little while, right?” he asks, even though I know that I’ve told him more than a few times it’s at three o’clock today.

  “Yeah, I’m getting ready to leave now. Or at least I would be if I wasn’t on the phone.”

  Finally hobbling across the room, I make sure my keys are in my pocket and open the front door.

  “Good thing I pay attention. Get the fuck out here. I’m waiting out front for your stubborn ass.” Hanging up the phone, I look out in the driveway and sure enough, there he is.

  I told his ass that I would be fine going by myself. He may think that he pays attention, but he sure doesn’t listen very well.

  By the time I put my phone in my pocket and make my way to his truck, he’s on the passenger side opening the door. “I know that you said you didn’t want a ride, but you don’t know what they are going to be doing to you, and you may be in too much pain to drive back home.”

  I never even thought about that. I guess I should stop being a dick all the time to the people that are trying to help me, but I have never been good at accepting help.

  Nodding my head at him, I say, “Thanks, man. I never even thought about that.”

  After I finally climb my tall ass in his truck, not without some struggling, I’m sweating like crazy. My leg is on fire and I just want to go back in and lie down.

  Dare shuts the door, walks around to the driver’s side, and climbs in. He shuts his own door and starts the truck. “It’s a damn good thing that I’m smarter than you then, or you’d really be fucked.”

  Deciding to let that smartass comment go, I don’t say anything in return. Instead, I lay my head back and let his ass drive me around.

  The therapy place isn’t far from my house, so it doesn’t take us long to get there. My leg is still throbbing when Dare pulls into a parking spot and I’m kicking myself in the ass for not taking a pain pill before I left. I’m afraid when I get done here, I’m going to really wish that I had.

  Dare shuts off the truck and opens his door. As he walks around to my side, I’ve already gotten my own door open and am attempting to get out.

  Grabbing my crutches, he holds them out to me as I slide out of the seat. I almost hit my thigh on the dash, and the thought of doing that scares the hell out of me because I know it would hurt like hell. Trying to keep that from actually happening causes me to stumble, and I would’ve fallen on my ass if Dare didn’t grab my arm.

  Knowing I still need so much help puts me in an even worse mood. I know that I shouldn’t be feeling sorry for myself, but I can’t fucking help it.

  Putting the offered crutches under my arms, I move out of the way, giving Dare room to shut the door. Dare leads the way and I follow as we head inside the building. After checking in, I find an empty chair and sit my ass down.

  “I know I may not say it much, but I appreciate everything that you all are doing for me.”

  I can see the cockiness on his face, and I hate this even more. “You can pay me back one of these days. I’m sure I can think of some kind of way.”

  Good grief, that’s all that I need.

  “Dallas Winston.” I hear my name called, but it isn’t the same voice as dragon breath. No, this is a woman’s voice.

  Looking toward the door, I just sit and stare for a few minutes. I’m sure the shock is on my face as I look at the black-haired beauty from the club a couple of weeks ago. She doesn’t have on a sexy as hell dress with her tits hanging out like she did before. Instead, she has on a pair of purple scrubs, but I know it is her. Her long black hair is pulled back and in a messy knot just above her neck, but it still looks good on her.

  I pull my head out of my ass and slowly stand up, grab my crutches, and head her way. She holds the door open and lets me hobble past her.

  After the door shuts behind us, she turns to me. “Mr. Winston, my name is Trina, and I will be the therapist working with you while you are here. Today we are mainly going to discuss what you’ve been doing since you left the hospital and what you can expect from therapy. We will gradually advance as your body will allow, but for the time being, we are going to take it slow.”

  Trina, so that’s her name. She doesn’t seem like she recognizes me, not even a little bit. I knew that she tasted like alcohol that night, but I didn’t think she was drunk. She seemed to know exactly what she was doing; surely, I couldn’t have been wrong about that.

  “You can call me Dallas. I’m going to be here for quite a bit the next few months; it’s only fair that we are both on a first name basis.”

  I know that she never heard my name, only knowing me as Big D, but what the fuck? The lights ain’t that dim in the club and VIP room. I don’t think that I’ve ever been with a woman that didn’t remember fucking me. This is bullshit, and I don’t like it, not at all.

  “Fair enough, Dallas. Why don’t we go over here and sit down and we can discuss the plan of action for your therapy?” she says before turning and heading toward a small desk.

  I still have no idea what is going on, but I follow behind her. I don’t want to just come right out and ask if she remembers fucking me, but it is on the tip of my tongue.

  After sitting down in the chair beside the desk, I don’t realize I’m still staring at her until she starts looking uncomfortable. I can’t help myself; she is a beautiful woman, but I finally pull my eyes away and look down at my lap.

  She starts shuffling through the file in her hand, looking over my information. “Okay, it says here that you were in a motorcycle wreck and had to have pins put in your leg. How has your leg been since you’ve been home?”

  I give a little shrug before answering. “It’s been okay. The doctor said that it was fine to not use the crutches all the time. To try to walk without them some, if I can. To be honest, it hurts like hell when I do. I had hoped that it would feel a little better by now.”

  Trina nods, still thumbing through the papers. “You have to be patient, Dallas; it hasn’t been that long and an injury like this takes time. We’ll work on some exercises that will help with that, but it wi
ll all take time. This isn’t something that is going to get better overnight. If you need to, use the pain pills; that’s why you have them.”

  “I know, but the doctor said that it may never heal to the way it was before, and I need it to. My job depends on it. The sooner I get back to work, the better. As for the pain pills, I hate the way they make me feel, so I try my best not to take them.”

  She sets the file down on the desk and finally turns to look at me. “I am going to do the regular therapy that we do for injuries such as yours. Everyone is different though, and you may require more. We will figure that out after we get started. Talk to your doctor about the pain medication, and he can prescribe you something else, but dealing with the pain isn’t helping with your recovery. If anything, it’s making it worse; the more that you’re in pain, the less you’ll feel like doing.”

  That makes sense, and I’ll be sure to give them a call when I leave here. As for the dancing, she doesn’t understand. I’m not sure that anyone does. It’s not like I can’t get a job somewhere else, that isn’t the problem. Making what I make at the club, at a different job, is the problem.

  I try to keep the concern off my face, but I must not do it very well. “You aren’t the first one to worry. I’ve heard this many times before. I will give you the same advice that I give everyone else. It’s very likely that you will recover completely, but it never hurts to look at other options, just in case.”

  “Dancing is my other option, at this point, it is my only option. I’m not qualified to do anything else that will pay me what I make at Club Six.” I mention the name of the club just to see if it sparks some recognition from her. But, also because she needs to understand how much I need to be good as new. Even if she doesn’t remember me, surely, she remembers the club and the dancing involved there.

  The expression on her face stays blank, if anything, it just turns more sympathetic. “I will do everything I can to help you, but I can’t guarantee anything. No one can.”