I can't deny that I'm disappointed. He's afraid I can't handle what he needs. That I'm some fragile thing that will run screaming if I see the truth.
Secrets, I think. All these damn secrets.
It's stupid and frustrating, and I'm starting to think that I need to talk to Brody and get some tips on how to set up my room like a dungeon. Because other than going all-in with Dallas, I'm not sure how else I can convince him that I will go with him wherever he leads.
But then he pulls me to him and kisses me, and it's so gentle and tender and filled with so much light, that it pushes every thought out of my head, so all that I am left with is warmth and love and Dallas.
I don't remember falling asleep, but I must have because when I wake the clock shows that it's already after three. I blink sleepily, secure in the circle of Dallas's arms.
I'm spooned against him, my back to his front and his cock nestled against my ass, and I like the way it feels. Intimate. Sweet. Sexual.
That's when I realize that he's naked against me. I don't know when he took off the suit--and I really would've liked to have seen that show--but honestly, I don't even care about that right now. Because he's hard. Seriously hard, the head of his cock teasing my rear, making my mind spin out all sorts of nasty, wonderful scenarios.
And then I think...why not?
Slowly, I pull out of his embrace. He stirs, but he doesn't wake, not even when I roll him over so that he is on his back, and I bite my lower lip because he hasn't lost his erection. If anything he's harder. And though I know that doesn't mean anything--he told me he loses it when he tries to penetrate--I can't help but wonder if maybe, just maybe...
I straddle him, moving slowly because I don't want to shift the bed and wake him. And, yeah, this feels kinky to me. And it feels a little like cheating. But I don't care, because if he can fuck me in his sleep, then he can fuck me awake--we just have to figure out the key to get us there.
But first things first.
/> I'm still wet, but I want to be more so, and so I touch myself as I straddle him, imagining how it will feel with him inside me. Pretending that it's his fingers playing with me, filling me, making me wet and so very ready.
And then I slowly lower myself, carefully positioning the tip and then slowly--so excruciatingly slowly, I start to thrust down. I bite my lip as I press against him, not wanting to hold his cock just in case that extra touch makes it all go away.
I can feel the pressure of entry, the way my body gives, and then he's inside me. Just the head, but he's inside me and it feels amazing and he's still asleep, and I'm thinking this may work.
I'm excited enough--optimistic enough--that I go faster than I should, taking him all in with one single, hard motion. I know it's a risk--I know he could go soft the moment I feel his balls against my rear--but even if it's just for a nanosecond, I want to feel him inside me again.
But he doesn't go soft--he's hard as a rock and he's filling me and I'm so incredibly turned on that I can't hold back and I ride him, pounding myself down on him, filling myself, and absolutely glorying in the fact that--oh, god, yes--this is possible.
I explode, bursting apart at the seams, and as I do, he loses it, and I barely notice because I can't do anything but break apart, and I can't feel anything but this insane pleasure wafting through me.
But as soon as I've come down and sanity returns, I realize what has happened. More than that, I realize he's awake, and I steel myself for his disappointment that he couldn't finish. But then I look down, and it's not frustration I see. Instead, there's a small, satisfied smile playing at his mouth.
"We're going to get there," he says, his eyes burning into mine. "And think how much fun we'll have trying."
I start to snuggle back against him, ready to fall off into sleep and the warmth of his arms, but Dallas is having none of it.
"No," he says. "I'm not through with you."
The command in his voice eviscerates my exhaustion and sends a trill of anticipation shooting straight through me, getting me excited all over again. "Oh?" I roll over and start to straddle him, but he holds me still.
"Oh, no, baby. For this, I want you dressed."
I frown--because "dressed" is not the direction in which my thoughts were going--but when I start to ask why, he gives just the slightest shake of his head and I keep my question to myself.
I go to my closet and start to pull on a pair of jeans, but once again he stops me. "Tank top, no bra. Skirt, no underwear. As short as you own."
"We're going out?"
"Did I say you could ask questions?"
Another tremor of excitement cuts through me in response to both his words and his tone, and I wonder what the hell he has in mind. This may be New York, but it's already after three, and even the late night clubs are shutting down and will be empty by four.
"Now," he says, and I start to rummage in my drawer for a tank top. I find a pink one, but then I remember the very thin, near transparent tank that I bought to go over a workout bra. It's not meant to be worn by itself, and I hesitate for a few minutes, but finally I put it on. I want to see the look on his face, yes, but more than that, I want him to realize that I'm willing to go with him. Wherever. However.
As for the skirt, I have a short leather skirt that I usually pair with leggings, since it barely hits the bottom of my ass. This one is a little more dicey, as I won't even be able to sit in a taxi without my bare rear touching the upholstery.