And then those bitches go and ruin it all. "Too fucking hot, right?" one of them says in the kind of whisper that's meant to be heard. "Dallas, for sure, but together? I mean, I've never fucked a brother and a sister, but I'd give them a whirl."
"I've already had him once," the other says. "I met him at a wrap party for that movie I did two years ago. His tongue is magical, and his cock is huge. I sucked him off twice, you know. Wonder if she realizes she's getting my sloppy seconds. Not to mention half the female population's."
They both start to laugh--no, to cackle--and the sound rips through me like a goddamn chainsaw. I don't plan it--I really don't--but somehow I am out of Dallas's arms and across the short distance, and my palm is stinging because--holy shit--I just slapped the taller one hard across the cheek.
"You obnoxious little bitch," I snarl, even as the other one raises her camera and starts snapping away, capturing my fury, my stinging hand, and the shocked face of the bitch who'd supposedly been in Dallas's bed, with her hand against her cheek and her eyes wide with shock.
I really don't know how Dallas got us out of there. I was roiling too deep in shock and mortification, but somehow he managed, and when I stop seething, I realize that we're back in the bungalow and I'm breathing hard, still so furious that all I can think of is how much my hand still stings and how much I desperately want to smack her again.
I look at Dallas, expecting him to be the one to step in and calm me. I assume he's in a rational headspace because he so deftly led me home. But one look at his face and I realize that he's just as messed up as I am. Just as angry. Just as horrified.
Just as afraid we are never, ever going to be able to make this work.
I feel my body sag, defeat washing through me. It's hot and horrible, and I hate that two random women on the beach can erase all the pleasure I've gotten out of this day. Can make me second-guess my resolve to make what Dallas and I have together work despite all the odds stacked against us.
"Don't," he says as soon as we arrive. His voice is hard. Demanding.
"Don't what?"
"Don't doubt us."
"I'm not doubting," I lie. "They just pissed me off. They just made me--"
He grabs my wrists and tugs me toward him, so violently I lose my balance and end up at his feet on the hard tile floor. "Do you think I don't understand?" he rages. "That I don't see it on your face? Do you think I don't feel exactly the same way? That we're never going to get past this, and for the rest of our lives we're going to be objects of ridicule? Some goddamn joke on the Internet? A couple that teenagers make tasteless memes about? Do you think I want that?"
He grips my wrists tighter and pulls me up. "You don't, and I don't, but it's what we have and there's not a goddamn thing we can do about it."
I'm crying now, angry that I'm so upset. Frustrated that he feels as lost and violated as I do. And that's so goddamned unfair, because all that means is that I'm expecting him to take care of me. And, fuck it, I need to take care of myself.
Hell, I need to take care of Dallas.
I don't realize that I've made a decision until I fall back onto my knees and my fingers go to the button of his jeans, and then to the zipper.
"Jane..." His voice trails off, and I hear the warning. And the question.
I look up at him, trying to keep my expression innocent. "What? You don't want me to suck you off? To take you deep the way she did? You don't want to fuck my mouth, and then lay me out and fuck me hard?"
I reach into his briefs and close my hand around his shaft. He's hard and smooth against my palm, and I shift my hips as I kneel on my heels, realizing that I'm already wet. That I want this. I want wild. I want fucked up.
I want Dallas to fuck me hard, because I know that he wants it, too. More than that, I know that we both need it. Maybe that's pathetic. Maybe that's wrong. But I don't care. It's us. And he knows it as well as I do.
"Fucking you isn't going to make those bitches go away," he says. "It's not going to make it better."
"The hell it won't," I say. "You're angry because you feel like you can't protect me. Like this whole world is whipping around us like a cyclone, and you can't control it. You can't make it go away any more than you can keep it from hurting me. You saw me get pissed off. You saw me stumble. And you wanted to make it better. But you can't--not out in the world anyway. But in here, in this room, you can."
I draw a deep breath. "How many times have I told you I'd go into the dark with you? I meant it, Dallas. And maybe right now we need it."
"Oh, baby," he says, and there's something like resignation in his voice. "Do you have any idea how hard it makes me thinking about you tied up and helpless beneath me? About taking you hard, relentlessly? About fucking that pretty mouth while your hands are tied to your ankles, then bending you forward and grabbing your tits while I fuck you in the ass?"
I swallow, his words making me wet with anticipation. "Then do it," I demand.
"It's one hell of a fantasy, baby, but I don't need it anymore. I don't need the dark to get centered, not even after a run-in with the likes of those two bitches. It's you I need, not the kink."
His words crash through me, filling all my hollow places. But it's not enough. Not now. "If you need me, then take me," I demand. "Because maybe I do need it. But from you--only from you. I need it rough, Dallas. I need to push the envelope. I need--"
But I don't have to finish telling him because he pulls me to him with one hand, then grabs my breast with the other. The sundress I'm wearing is a halter style, and I'm wearing no bra, just the two triangular pieces of cotton that tie at my neck. He grabs the material and yanks, ripping the tie and making the top slide down, baring me from the waist up.
I gasp with surprise, then suck in air hard as he pinches my nipple between his fingers, spreading pain out like red hot threads that snap and spark and shift from tantalizing pain to the most potent of pleasure.