Nothing But Wild (Malibu University 2)

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 over 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.”