Neon Dreams: Loving Dallas Part 6

"Mandy. She's my manager. Our relations.h.i.+p is strictly professional, and it will stay that way, regardless of what her intentions may or may not be."

"Okay." I don't want to feel relieved. I shouldn't care. But my tightly wound nerves loosen a fraction.

"Your turn," he informs me, folding his muscular arms over his broad chest.

"My turn for what?"

"To tell me if you're f.u.c.king Wade! If that's how you got on this tour, I want you to end it. He's a grade A piece of s.h.i.+t who doesn't give a d.a.m.n who he-"

Dallas doesn't get to finish his sentence.

Because I slap him. Hard. So hard my hand is still stinging.

Our faces must be matching masks of shock and I see the replay in slow motion. I've never struck another human being in my entire life. And I just slapped the only man I've ever loved with everything I was worth.

"If you ever, ever, even think to insinuate that I got where I am on my back, I swear to G.o.d, Dallas Lark, I will make that seem like a love tap."

I am so immensely infuriated that everything in my line of sight is tinged in red. But more than that, I'm hurt. Hurt that someone I once cared so much for, and still care about more than I'd like to admit, would think that of me. St.i.tched-up lacerations on my heart that were on their way to being pretty pink scars are opening wide and angry. He didn't invite me here for pancakes to catch up or spend time with me or figure out how to work together or even attempt to make amends. Nope. He's just jealous and arrogant and a raging a.s.shole.

"I didn't mean to insinuate that-"

"Get the h.e.l.l away from me." I whirl around and step right into a fresh puddle. Great. Wonderful.

"No," Dallas says, pulling me toward him and catching me off guard. "I need you to hear me out."

"What's to hear? You're an arrogant a.s.s and I hate you."

He gives me an infuriating smirk. "No you don't. If that were true, you wouldn't be this p.i.s.sed."

I struggle to find a reasonable argument to this so I say, "f.u.c.k you, Dallas."

"Yes, please. Come back to the hotel with me. The car service is already here." I yank out of his grasp, causing a painful friction between our skin.

"Ouch."

He pulls me to his chest and my anger is fading, too diluted by his scent and his intensity.

"I'm sorry, baby. I'm so d.a.m.n sorry," is all he says before kissing me brutally on the mouth. Mine pops open in shock when he pulls back to breathe. His gaze presses into mine as my mind tumbles over itself trying to process the abrupt turn of events. His thumb grazes my cheek gently. "I never meant to hurt you," he says before devouring me again.

And Lord help me, I don't even know which thing he's apologizing for-the past or the present-because I'm melting. The rain, his fiery hot mouth, his hands scorching a trail over my body. I'm drowning in Dallas and I can't stop.

Worse, I don't even want to.

"You taste like maple syrup. I'm never going to be able to look at pancakes the same way again." Dallas's tongue tangles with mine and I can't get enough. We're spiraling quickly out of control. I need to breathe before I pa.s.s out.

"Dallas," I mumble against his mouth. "We shouldn't do this. Not here."

The driver can hear us, could glance in the rearview and get an eyeful.

"It's a ten-minute drive to the hotel. I'm probably going to spontaneously combust before then."

I laugh against his lips. "You're a big boy. I think you can handle it."

I slide off his lap, leaving my legs draped over it, though, and lean my head on his shoulder.

"I can't wait to show you just how big of a boy I am, and how well I can handle it."

"Behave yourself," I whisper in the darkness.

"Can't," is all he says, sliding his warm fingers beneath my skirt and between my thighs.

"Dallas." I squirm as he dips beneath my panties.

"I haven't forgotten, baby," he murmurs against my hair. "I remember exactly how tight and hot and wet you are. I remember each and every place you like me to touch you. I am a dying man waiting to hear those sweet whimpers you make when I slide inside you."

I whimper right then, because d.a.m.n. He feels so good, smells so good, tastes so good. He's familiar but at the same time, new, different from what I remember. Rougher around the edges, broader, and behaving more boldly than he ever has with me.

The boy version from my memories was sweet, polite, and somewhat distant. The grown-up version of Dallas Walker Lark is all hard edges, and intensity-sin wrapped in sugar sprinkled with l.u.s.t. And I want to savor every single bite.

I am a throbbing, aching, needy mess and everything I should be thinking about-the past, the future, the insurmountable pain that this likely will cause-has fallen away. All I can concentrate on is the pleasure.

Because I know he can give it to me.

I've dated a little here and there when my job allowed. I've even fooled around pretty seriously with a few guys and had a one-night stand with a friend of a friend. But none of them ever managed to make me feel the way Dallas does.

Completely out of control.

I am at his mercy and while I should be terrified, all I feel is the thrill of adrenaline, as if a needle shot him into my veins.

Maybe that's why I can't stop this, because I know this is a sure thing when it comes to o.r.g.a.s.ms. I'm going to have them, lots of them, and Dallas is going to provide them in reckless abundance as he always has. He's matured a great deal, but some things never change. Thank G.o.d.

When he sinks a thick finger into me, curling it forward at just the right spot, I arch my back and cry out. At least there's a gla.s.s part.i.tion between us and the driver. Because I want to give in. I want to let go and shatter the way only he can make me.

"I hope you're rested, sweet girl," Dallas rasps with damp heat in my ear.

The town blurs by us, the city lights melting like I am in the rain.

"W-what? Why?"

"Because it's going to be a long night."

11 Dallas.

I'D BLAME THE PANCAKES, OR THE INTOXICATING COMBINATION OF blueberry and maple syrup that a.s.saulted my senses when I put my mouth on hers, but it's the sweet, sinful taste of Robyn that tosses me carelessly over the edge.

Seeing her tonight-those legs taunting me from beneath her dress, that mouth that spewed those angry declarations, gleaming eyes that told me what she was saying and what she was feeling were two very different things-has brought a man to life inside me that I forgot existed.

I'd invited her out for pancakes to try to make peace, to let her know that I wasn't going to act like an a.s.shole on this tour. She'd f.u.c.king slapped me. The sweetest girl I've ever known slapped me hard enough to make my ears ring and I'd never been more turned on in my life.

She said she hated me. Not that she was p.i.s.sed or still holding a grudge-f.u.c.king hated me. I knew she didn't mean it, but there was something about the challenge in the words, the defiance. I knew she didn't mean it and I needed to hear that s.e.xy mouth say sweeter words.

I couldn't leave it like that, couldn't leave her like that. Years ago I'd let Robyn go, walked away because she'd asked me to. Then I'd behaved like a complete a.s.s afterward. And Robyn, my tough girl, had always just said it was okay. It was fine. She understood. She could handle it.

She could handle anything, always. Nothing rattled her or set her off. Robyn liked to be in control.

But tonight I'd caused her to lose that control, watched her let loose on me and everything I'd held in from the moment I saw her came roaring to the surface, possessing me and propelling my body to hers in a fusion of frustration and l.u.s.t-filled fantasies come to life.

Tearing at her clothing as we make our way to my hotel room, I have no regrets.

"I want you so f.u.c.king bad, Robyn," I tell her, because it's the truth. "I barely made it through that f.u.c.king meal."

"You have me," she tells me before sucking my bottom lip into her luscious mouth.

I don't even want to admit to myself how long I've waited for her to say those words.

"Not yet. But I will."

Pulling apart long enough for me to slide my key card through the slot on the door, we both take the opportunity to catch our breath.

The last thing I want to do is to rush this. I want to take my time with her, show her my pa.s.sionate appreciation for every inch of her body until the sun comes up. But I'm afraid if I give her too much time to think, she'll remember all the reasons why this is a bad idea and the past will become a roadblock we can't overcome.

The second she steps into the room, I pin her against the wall and tear the blazer, jacket, whatever the h.e.l.l it is, from her shoulders. Taking advantage of its absence, I fasten my mouth hotly to her neck. The gratifying noises she makes in response send shocks of pleasure through my chest and straight down to my d.i.c.k.

"You still smell and taste like strawberries." My tongue ventures to the sensitive spot behind her ear that always rendered her boneless in my arms. Thank f.u.c.k it still does. "Let's see if you taste the same everywhere else, shall we?"

Either she's cold without the jacket or my words make her s.h.i.+ver. I don't take the time to ask. Instead I drop to my knees with every intention of wors.h.i.+pping her in this position for as long as she can stand, both literally and metaphorically speaking.

"Dallas." There's a wary edge to her voice. She's afraid. I don't blame her. I'm the furthest thing from a safe bet that there is. I'm starved for her and she has to know that by now.

"Shh. I got you, baby. Tonight, I got you."

I can't promise her anything beyond that and we both know it. She doesn't protest when I hook my fingers between the lace and cotton parts of her panties and pull them down. Without a word, she watches me while stepping out of them.

"Good girl," I murmur, placing my mouth on her bare inner thigh.

Her head lolls back, b.u.mping gently against the wall as I tease a circle around her pet.i.te folds with my tongue. Though she's certainly tr.i.m.m.i.n.g a little more these days, her sweet center is nearly the same as I remember. Delicate and delicious. Her scent calls to me, awakens the possessive streak in me. I want to strip her bare and f.u.c.k her hard against the window, shouting to everyone in hearing distance that she is motherf.u.c.king mine. But that might be frowned upon by the hotel, so I do my best to smother that urge.

Each stroke of my tongue opens her wider for me until I am dead center, las.h.i.+ng relentlessly into her, gripping her a.s.s with flesh-denting fingers while she calls out my name.

f.u.c.k. Yes.

I need more of her, need her spread out on the bed for me, so I stand and lift her in my arms. Her breathless cry drives my efforts as I practically sprint to the bed. Once I've lowered her as gently as I can manage, I divest her of the pretty lace dress that's been taunting me all night. Robyn must sense that my patience is wearing dangerously thin because she unhooks her bra and flings it across the room like a grenade.

"You are so f.u.c.king beautiful," I tell her, the words exiting my mouth without my permission. "It shouldn't even be legal to look this f.u.c.king delectable naked."

She blushes all over like I'd hoped she would and I want to lick every single flushed inch of skin. Supple b.r.e.a.s.t.s tipped with pale pink nipples beg me to devour them. Who am I to deny them?

My mouth descends on the left then the right, and all I can think is What does she put on her skin to make it taste so f.u.c.king sweet? I don't often indulge in dessert but I'd help myself to an entire meal of Robyn Breeland every single day if my life allowed.

Her fingers rake hard into my hair and she uses the leverage to pull my face to hers.

"Please, Dallas. Please, now." It's a blatant plea and her voice is shaking.

f.u.c.k me running, she's begging.

Robyn is literally begging me to f.u.c.k her and I am adrift in a sea of hedonistic pleasure-filled waters I don't know how to navigate. All I can do is give in to my need for her, the need to part, f.u.c.k, and fill her right this moment.

My arms wrap her upper body and drag her roughly up the bed. We're on top of the covers but there's no time to remedy this. Robyn's hands pull greedily at my s.h.i.+rt and I help her yank it over my head. It goes the way of her lacy white bra to an unknown corner.

Her fingers deftly begin unfastening my jeans and I can't help but let out a low chuckle at how eager my girl is tonight. We've pa.s.sed the point of no return and I am so f.u.c.king relieved she isn't the type to play games with me or start spouting s.h.i.+t about what this means or change her mind at the last minute.

Her eyes are filled with fiery desire burning brighter by the minute. They drop to my c.o.c.k when it springs free from my boxer briefs. I kick those to the floor along with my jeans, realizing a second too late that I need my wallet.

"f.u.c.k."

As if she's reading my mind-h.e.l.l, maybe she is-Robyn twists beneath me and leans over the side of the bed.

"I'll get it," she rasps out.

Her bare a.s.s is like a juicy apple I want to take a bite of. Before I can act on that particular impulse, she's back up and thrusting the condom wrapper at me.

I tear the foil with my teeth and toss it aside once I've plucked the contents out like a precious pearl from an oyster.

"Was it always that big?" Her eyes are round as she watches me roll the latex over myself.

"I'll be careful with you, baby." I part her legs with one hand and I can feel how stiff her body has become. "Promise."

"It's, um, been a while, Dallas. So just, you know. Go easy at first, please."

I nod, knowing my caveman behavior probably scared the s.h.i.+t out of her. Or maybe it really is the size of my d.i.c.k or the fact that she hasn't had s.e.x in a while. Another possessive surge of testosterone powers through me and I'm suddenly feeling compet.i.tive, which is not a sensation I've ever a.s.sociated with s.e.x. It's not a sport, nor should it be treated like one, and yet, something about her admission makes me want to claim her, imprint myself all over her so that no one else will ever measure up.

"Dallas." Her hands come up to either side of my face. "Stay here, in this moment, with me. Please."

I nod again because I can't seem to find words.

She arches up to brush her lips against mine and the kiss turns dirty in an instant, pulling me down onto her and in the next instant, into her.

Fuuuuuck.

I don't know if I thought it or said it out loud.

I forgot this. Somehow in the years of struggling to make music while making ends meet, I forgot how perfectly I fit inside her, how her body was always seemingly molded for mine. It's a tight fit, but the friction only serves to ma.s.sage my d.i.c.k while I slide all the way inside.

"G.o.ddammit, Robyn. It's like you were made for me."