Chapter 24 #2
“Everything else,” he corrected. “Here's the thing, though.” He leaned forward, our faces mere inches from each other.
“We're locked in this for the next six months to a year. We can spend it being awkward and miserable, sleeping on opposite sides of this massive bed and counting down the days until we can file the paperwork. Or...” He sucked in a breath like the next words were difficult. “We can enjoy each other's company.”
I narrowed my eyes. “What are you saying?”
“I'm saying...” Another breath, like he was about to jump off a cliff. “I honestly kind of like being married to you.”
My brain packed its bags and left the building. The man who didn't believe in marriage liked being married. To me.
My lips parted, but before I could respond, his lips collided with mine, silencing me.
This wasn't a rehearsal. This wasn't practice for anything. This was months of banter and tension, and frustration finally ignited.
His mouth was hot and demanding against mine. One hand fisted in my hair while the other splayed across my ass, hauling me impossibly closer until I was half on top of him. I made a sound, somewhere between a gasp and a whimper, and felt him smile against my lips.
“There it is,” he murmured.
“Shut up…”
He kissed me again, deeper, his tongue sliding against mine. My fingers tangled in his damp hair, and I arched into him, chasing more contact, more friction, more of whatever this was that was melting my bones and setting my nerve endings on fire.
His hand slid under the hem of my shirt, palm hot against the bare skin of my lower back. I gasped into his mouth, and he swallowed the sound, rolling us so I was pinned beneath him. The weight of him pressed me into the mattress, solid and warm and everywhere at once.
“Davina.”
His lips trailed down my jaw, finding the sensitive spot below my ear, and I tilted my head back to give him better access. My hands moved over his shoulders, his back, the flex of muscle as he shifted against me. His mouth found my pulse point, teeth grazing gently, and I moaned.
My brain, that traitor that had apparently missed its flight, came crashing back into my skull.
This is fake.
This ends in divorce.
You are going to get your heart destroyed.
I pressed my palms flat against his chest and pushed.
“Wait. Wait.”
Dallas froze immediately, lifting his head. His hair was a mess, and his lips were swollen, his breathing ragged. “What's wrong?”
I shifted, rolling him off me before I scrambled back, putting desperately needed distance between us. My heart was hammering so hard I could hear it in my ears. “We can't do this.”
“We were doing it pretty successfully about five seconds ago.”
“Dallas.” I pressed my hands over my face, trying to gather the scattered pieces of my composure. “This isn't real. You know this isn't real.”
He propped his head on his hand, watching me with an expression I couldn't quite read. “Felt pretty real to me.”
“It's going to end.” My voice came out shakier than I wanted.
“In six months, maybe a year, we're going to sign divorce papers.
We're going to go back to our separate lives. This…” I gestured between us, at the rumpled sheets, at the space where our bodies had been wrapped around each other. “This just makes it complicated.”
“It's already complicated.”
“You don't believe in marriage.” The words burst out of me, a desperate reminder to him, to myself. “You've told me that at least fifty times. You think it's an outdated institution. You think it ruins perfectly good relationships. You…”
“I know what I've said.”
“Then you know this is temporary. We want completely different things.” I rolled to my back, staring up at the ceiling. “You want... whatever this is. Temporary fun and I…” I swallowed hard. “I can't do temporary. It’s not what I want.”
Dallas was quiet for a long moment. “Can I point something out?” His voice was calm.
“I'd really rather you didn't.”
“Tough.” He shifted closer, not touching me, but close enough that I could feel the warmth radiating from his skin. “In every conversation we've had about this arrangement, every single one, you're the one who brings up divorce.”
I opened my mouth to argue, then closed it, realizing he was right. I couldn’t remember a single time that he’d asked us to get this over with.
“Because that's the plan…”
“Plans change.”
“Dallas, don't play with me. If this is about sex…”
“It's not about sex.” His laugh was soft.
“I mean, I'm not opposed to sex. I'm very much in favor of sex.
But that's not what this is about.” He paused.
“I'm not saying that after the year is up, we definitely will want to stay married.
I'm saying... let's enjoy this. Have fun together. See what happens.”
“Even if there was a universe where I liked you…” I poked his chest, “...this would never work. We want completely different futures.”
“Well.” He caught my hand and pressed a kiss to my knuckles. “It's guaranteed to work for the next six months to a year.”
A smile tugged at my mouth. This was insane. I was considering playing house with benefits with Dallas Dodger, the man who'd made me want to commit murder approximately seventy-three times since we’d gotten married.
Maybe it was the two-year dry spell talking. Maybe my delusional, touch-starved brain had decided that a few orgasms were worth the inevitable emotional carnage.
Or maybe, and this was the terrifying option, I wanted this.
Wanted him.
“You're considering it,” he observed, a slow grin spreading across his face.
“I'm considering having you committed.”
“You're definitely considering it.” He leaned in, close enough that his lips brushed mine when he spoke. “I can see the pros vs. cons analysis happening in real time. It's very cute.”
“I don't do pros and cons.”
“You do. You're doing one right now. Pros: incredible chemistry, forced proximity, six months of guaranteed entertainment, lots of orgasms. Cons: you might start to like me.”
“That's not…”
“You're worried about the cons.” His hand cupped my chin, tilting my face up toward his. “But here's the thing, Davidson.”
My eyes fluttered closed as our legs intertwined. I hummed something that was supposed to be what's that, but came out closer to a sigh. I was already lost in the heat of him, in the impossible tenderness of his touch, in the promise of multiple orgasms.
His kiss was soft.
“The cons,” he murmured against my lips, “might be worth it.”
God help me, I was starting to think he might be right.
He brushed his mouth against mine once.
Twice.
Testing.
Asking.
I leaned in, permission granted, white flag raised, last defenses crumbling, and he captured my lips like he'd been waiting his whole life for this exact moment.
His hand circled my throat, thumb pressing gently against my chin, tilting my head back to deepen the angle.
He shifted his weight, pressing me into the mattress, and I stopped thinking about the consequences.
Stopped thinking about anything at all.
His kiss wasn't gentle anymore. It was the kind of kiss that left marks invisible to everyone but us.
My thoughts, my fears, my walls dissolved under his mouth. There was no more fake, no more temporary. There was only this. The hard press of his body, the possessive grip of his hands, the desperate, aching need coiling tight in my belly.
He broke the kiss, his breathing ragged, his forehead resting against mine. “Tell me you want this,” he rasped, his voice rough with need. “Say it, Davina.”
I couldn't form words. My body answered for me, my hips grinding against the hard ridge of his cock, straining against those black briefs. A low groan tore from his throat, and the sound of it shot straight to my core.
“That's my answer,” I finally breathed, my voice trembling.
A predatory smile touched his lips.
In one fluid motion, he grabbed the hem of the t-shirt and tugged it over my head.
The cool night air hit my bare skin, and I gasped, but his heat followed instantly, his large hands sliding up my ribs to cup my breasts.
His thumbs brushed over my nipples, and a sharp, electric jolt of pleasure shot straight through me.
“So fucking perfect,” he growled, lowering his head to take one nipple into his mouth.
The sensation was blinding. Hot, wet suction.
The gentle scrape of his teeth. The wicked flick of his tongue.
I cried out, my fingers tangling in his hair, holding him to me like I was afraid he'd disappear.
He lavished attention on one breast, then the other, until I was writhing beneath him, mindless with need.
His hand slid down my stomach, over my hip, and dipped between my thighs. I was soaked, aching, and he groaned against my skin as his fingers found my slick, swollen center.
“All for me,” he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction.
He circled my clit, and my hips bucked forward, seeking more pressure, more friction.
“Dallas, please…”
“Please what, wifey?” He had the audacity to sound amused. “Use your words.”
“I need you. Now.”
That was all the permission he needed.
He hooked his fingers in the waistband of my panties and peeled them down my legs, his gaze burning as he took me in. I'd never felt more exposed. More wanted.
He shifted, kneeling between my thighs, and finally… finally… shed his own boxers.
My breath caught.
He was magnificent. All hard muscles, and his cock… My eyes widened. He was huge.
The size of him should have been intimidating, but it only fueled the fire inside me. I wanted to be overwhelmed. I wanted to be consumed.
He reached for the nightstand, fumbling briefly before he pulled out a condom. The crinkle of foil was loud in the quiet room. He rolled the condom over his wide head, his eyes never leaving mine.
He leaned over me, bracing himself on one arm, his other hand guiding himself until the tip of his cock nudged my entrance. My eyes squeezed closed as I held my breath, my entire body tensing in anticipation. It had been a really long time since I’d been intimate with anyone.
“Eyes on me, baby.”
My eyes fluttered open, meeting his gaze.
Slowly, he pushed his head inside me, his thickness spreading me wide.
He paused for a brief moment, and then his hips thrust forward.
I cried out as he filled me, a deep, stretching, perfect fullness that stole the air from my lungs.
He stilled, letting me adjust, his body trembling with the effort of holding back.
“Fuck, Davina...” he choked out, dropping his forehead to my shoulder.
I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. “Don't stop,” I begged, my voice a broken whisper.
His control shattered.
He withdrew almost completely, then drove into me again, harder this time, setting a relentless rhythm that shook the bed. Each thrust was a jolt of pure, undiluted pleasure, hitting a spot deep inside me that made me see actual stars.
My nails dug into the hard muscles of his back, surely leaving half-moon marks. I wanted to mark him. Wanted him to remember this, remember me, long after tonight was over.
I moaned, bucking my hips forward, meeting him thrust for thrust.
He shifted his angle, grinding against me with every deep plunge, the friction on my clit pushing me closer and closer to the edge. His pace was urgent, almost frantic, a raw and primal need that matched my own.
“You're so tight,” he grunted, his voice strained. “So fucking perfect around me.”
His words growled against my ear, dirty and desperate, and sent another wave of heat crashing through me. He was branding me. Not just with his body, but with his voice, his hands, his possession.
I could feel the pleasure building and tightening unbearably deep within me. My cries became higher, more desperate. “Dallas, I'm... I'm gonna…”
“Come for me,” he ordered, his thrusts becoming even more powerful. “Let me feel you.”
It was the command in his voice that pushed me over the edge.
My orgasm ripped through me, violent and shattering. A raw, broken scream tore from my throat as my body convulsed around him, clenching and pulsing in wave after wave of pleasure.
He fucked me through it, his rhythm stuttering as my contractions dragged him toward his own release. With a final, deep, grinding thrust, he buried himself inside me and groaned my name into the crook of my neck, his entire body shuddering as he came apart.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of our harsh breathing and the frantic beating of our hearts, slowly finding their way back to normal.
He collapsed on top of me, his weight a comforting, solid presence. His lips found my shoulder, pressing a soft, lingering kiss against the damp skin.
We lay there silently, tangled together.
Outside, the bay glittered on, indifferent to the fact that my entire world had just shifted on its axis.
The reality of what we'd done began to seep back in, but for now, I pushed it away.
I just breathed him in, memorizing the feel of his skin against mine.
Slowly, he rolled off me, dealing with the condom before pulling me back into his arms, my back to his chest. His hand splayed possessively over my stomach, holding me close.
We didn’t speak. The words that needed to be said seemed too big, too dangerous.
He nuzzled the back of my neck, his breathing beginning to even out. I closed my eyes, letting the exhaustion and the aftershocks of pleasure pull me toward sleep, nestled in the arms of my fake husband.
Feeling more real than anything ever had.
Just as I was drifting off, his voice rumbled against my spine. “Still think it's a terrible idea, Davidson?”
I smiled into the darkness. “Ask me again in six months.”