"Yes," I beg shamelessly. "Please, Dallas. Please."
"I am. Don't you feel me? The way my fingers play with your clit? The way I'm standing right in front of you, the cotton of my shirt brushing your sensitive nipples as my hand cups your mound. I'm sliding my palm over you, baby, and you're so wet, and it feels so good, and you're holding on to my shoulders because your knees are so weak you can't stand up on your own."
I say nothing; I can't remember if he's asked me a question.
"Answer me, Jane."
"I feel you," I say, and I do. I can imagine his touch, the light strokes, the heated tease. The way he plays me so perfectly because he knows me so well.
"I'm on my knees now, baby, and my hands are on your hips. Tilt forward for me," he demands, then says, "That's it," when I comply.
"Can you feel my tongue?" he continues. "How I'm stroking you, teasing you? And oh, baby, you taste so good."
It's incredible, but I can feel it. Not only that, but my body is reacting to it. That telltale tightening in my thighs. The way my skin prickles, as if I've gone outside in a lightning storm. That's Dallas, a storm upon my senses. And I can't help but think that any man who can take me this close to orgasm without even touching me definitely deserves his reputation as the King of Fuck.
"I want you to come for me, Jane," he says, and though I want to--though I'm so wildly, wonderfully turned on--I'm not sure I can cross that line.
"Now," he orders, and as soon as the word is out of his mouth, I feel the soft brush of his breath between my legs, teasing my clit, mimicking his touch. I imagine that he's leaning in, ready to put his tongue on me, to close his mouth over me.
I imagine that...and I explode.
As I do, my legs really do go weak, and the world seems to spin out from under me. I keep my eyes closed because he hasn't told me to open them, but I can feel the world falling away from me.
And then I'm caught, captured in a bridal-style carry in his arms, and his lips are on mine, and he's murmuring to me. Telling me I'm exceptional, I'm beautiful, I'm the most amazing woman he has ever known.
"And you're mine," he says. "How fucking incredible is that?"
His words make me smile, and I snuggle against him. I'm completely sated, and I feel thoroughly fucked, an
d it's weird, but at the same time it's not because this is Dallas, and he has always had a magical effect on me.
He takes me to the couch and I curl up against him as he pulls a blanket over us. "What about you?" I murmur, barely able to keep my eyes open.
"Believe me, baby, I'm just as satisfied as you are." He brushes my hair off my face and kisses my forehead, and I close my eyes again as he uses the remote on the coffee table to turn on the stereo. It's a classical station and so soothing, and I close my eyes and simply drift, happy to have released the burdens of the day, even if for just a little while.
I don't know how long I stay like that, my head resting on his shoulder, my naked body pressed tight against him, with only a light blanket over me. I feel remarkably well taken care of, like something precious to him. Something fragile, a small voice in my head adds, and I can't help but frown.
"Tell me what you're thinking," Dallas says, because he never misses a trick.
I consider lying, but since I almost left him over secrets, that would be wildly hypocritical. So I tell him, and he just shakes his head.
"You're far from fragile," he says. "If you were, you couldn't have put yourself back together all those years ago."
"Have I? I mean, I spent my adult life in various self-defense classes and it didn't do me a damn bit of good when that bitch tased me."
"Anyone can be a victim to a determined attacker."
He's right--I know he's right--but I still feel argumentative. Probably because when I think about the attack I still feel scared. Vulnerable. And that's not a feeling I like.
Purposefully, I shift the conversation. "You haven't told me about what happened out in the hall with Bill."
"Not much to tell," he says. "He's worried about you, jealous of me. And," he adds with a hard edge to his voice, "he seems suspicious about where we were at the crack of dawn."
Immediately, I stiffen. "Do you think he suspects something? About you? About Deliverance?"
"I don't know." He shifts, rolling over a bit so that we're face-to-face. "But I will say that he's the last person I want to talk about while we're naked."
"Oh, really?" I start to trail a finger down his chest. "So what do you want to talk about? Or do you want to talk at all?" I ask as I follow the arrow of hair down his lower abs to his cock.