Chapter 27 Table for Two #2
He was quiet for a moment. Then another.
“Dallas?”
I studied him across the table. This was a different Dallas than the one who'd been feeding me bruschetta and making me laugh for the past two hours. This Dallas was closed off.
And I had no idea why.
The rest of dessert passed in strange limbo. Dallas was still attentive, still touching me when the cameras demanded it, but something had changed. The easy warmth between us had cooled, and was replaced by a distance I couldn't explain.
He was less flirty. Less playful. When I made a joke about the tiramisu being better than sex, he just smiled tightly instead of turning it into the kind of suggestive banter that usually made me want to slap him and kiss him at the same time.
By the time we settled the bill, I was more confused than I'd been at the start of the evening.
The photographers were still outside when we left, but Dallas navigated us through them with his arm around me, polite waves, no stopping for questions. He held the car door for me, slid in beside me, and then…
Silence.
The limo pulled away from the restaurant, leaving the camera flashes behind, and Dallas stared out the window.
I lasted approximately forty-five seconds.
“Okay, what's going on?”
He didn't turn from the window. “Nothing.”
“That's a lie.” I twisted in my seat to face him fully. “You've been weird since I brought up the dating advice thing. Did I say something wrong?”
“No.”
“Then why are you being weird?”
“I'm not being weird.”
“Dallas.” I reached over and grabbed his arm, forcing him to look at me. “You've said maybe twelve words in the last twenty minutes. That's some kind of record for you. What's wrong?”
His eyes met mine. “The advice,” he said finally. “I can't give it to you.”
I blinked. “Why not?”
He was quiet for a long moment, his jaw working like he was chewing on words he didn't want to say.
“Because there's nothing to fix,” he said at last.
“What?”
“Your big dick energy.” He turned to face me fully. “There's nothing wrong with it. There's nothing wrong with you.”
“But you said…”
“I know what I said,” he cut me off, “I was wrong. You don't need to tone anything down, Davina. You don't need to be less intimidating or less successful or less anything. You're...” He trailed off, shaking his head.
“I'm what?”
“Perfect.” The word came out rough, almost angry. “You're fucking perfect the way you are, and any man who can't handle that doesn't deserve you.”
The air between us felt suddenly charged, like the moment before a storm breaks.
“Then why did you agree to help me change?”
“Because I'm an idiot.” He huffed out a humorless laugh. “Because I thought if I was coaching you to date other people, I'd have an excuse to spend time with you.”
My brain struggled to keep up. “What are you saying?”
“I'm saying...” He exhaled hard, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I'm saying I sat across from you tonight, watching you laugh and eat tiramisu and be the most brilliant, maddening, beautiful person I've ever met, and then you asked me to help you find someone else, and I wanted to flip the table.”
“Dallas…”
“The thought of you going on dates with other men makes me want to commit actual crimes, Davina. Not metaphorical crimes. Actual, prosecutable offenses. So no. I can't help you date other people. I won't. The very concept makes me want to put my fist through a wall.”
The limo rolled to a stop at a red light, and we didn’t move. The silence was so thick I could hear my own heartbeat thundering in my ears.
The light turned green, the car lurched forward, and Dallas moved.
One moment, he was across the seat, the next, his hands were framing my face, his mouth crashing down on mine in a kiss.
It was nothing like the soft, public kisses from the restaurant.
This was all heat and hunger and desperate, clawing need that stole the air from my lungs.
I gasped against his mouth, my hands flying up to grip his shoulders. He didn't ease up. He deepened the kiss, his tongue sweeping past my lips, demanding a response I gave without thought. A low groan vibrated from his chest into mine.
When he finally pulled back, we were both breathing hard. His eyes were black in the dim interior, fixed on me.
“That's why,” he growled, a cocky gleam in his eyes as he brushed his finger over my swollen bottom lip. “That's the only answer you get. You don't need dating advice. You need me, and I am done pretending otherwise.”
“Dallas…”
“No.” His voice was a low growl. “You asked me to remind you that you belong to me? Consider this your fucking reminder.”
His mouth found mine again. He licked into my mouth, making my toes curl, one hand sliding from my face to cup the back of my head, holding me exactly where he wanted me. His other hand dropped to my waist, fingers splaying over the silky fabric of my dress.
I was melting, every coherent thought dissolving under the relentless heat of his mouth. My hands fisted in his hair, ruining it completely, and he made a sound of approval against my lips.
When he broke the kiss this time, he trailed his mouth down the column of my throat. His teeth grazed my pulse point, and a sharp jolt of pure desire shot straight to my core.
“All those cameras,” he murmured against my skin, his breath hot.
“All those people watching you, wanting you. Thinking they could have you.” He bit down, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make me cry out.
“They can't. You're mine. Every part of you. This mouth.” He kissed me again, deep and wet.
“This neck.” He licked the spot he'd bitten. “Every single fucking inch.”
His hand, resting on my hip, began to move. It slid up, over my ribs, leaving a trail of fire in its path. Then it slipped around to the front, his fingers finding the tie of my wrap dress. With a single, sharp tug, the dress fell open.
Cool air from the limo's vents hit my skin, followed immediately by the searing heat of his palm as he cupped me through the lace of my bra. My back arched, pushing into his touch.
“See?” he whispered, his finger brushing over my nipple until it tightened into a hard, aching point. “You're already mine. Your body knows it. It answers to me.”
He kissed me, swallowing my whimper, as his hand abandoned my breast and began a slow descent. Over my stomach, my hip, the outside of my thigh. He pushed the folds of my dress aside, bunching the fabric around my waist. His touch was everywhere and nowhere, maddening in its indirectness.
“Dallas, please,” I heard myself beg, the words torn from some primal part of me.
“Please what?” He nipped at my earlobe. “Tell me.”
“Touch me.”
“Where?” His fingers danced along the inside of my thigh, so close to where I needed him, yet impossibly far. “You have to be specific. I want to hear you say it.”
I was trembling, every nerve ending screaming. “Between my legs. Please.”
A low, satisfied rumble echoed in his chest. “Since you asked so nicely.”
His hand finally, finally slid upward. The backs of his fingers brushed against the damp lace of my panties, and I jerked against him, a broken sound escaping my throat.
“Fuck,” he breathed, his voice thick with lust. “You're soaked. For me. All for me.”
He hooked his fingers into the waistband and dragged my panties down, just enough. Then his palm settled over me, not moving, just radiating heat. The sheer size of his hand, the weight of it, the ownership in the gesture, it made my head spin.
“Look at me,” he commanded.
I forced my eyes open, meeting his heated gaze.
His middle finger slid through my slick flesh, gathering wetness, tracing my entrance without pressing in. He circled my clit with a slow tease that had me grinding helplessly against his hand.
“So responsive,” he muttered, watching my face. “So perfect. This sweet pussy was made for me. Say it.”
“Dallas…”
“Say it.”
“It's yours,” I gasped as he increased the pressure, his circles becoming tighter, more focused. “It's all yours.”
“Damn right it is.”
He chose that moment to push one thick finger inside me. I cried out, my inner muscles clenching around him instantly. He was still watching my face, his own a mask of fierce concentration and desire.
“So tight,” he groaned, beginning a slow, relentless rhythm. In and out. He curled his finger, dragging against a spot deep inside that made stars burst behind my eyelids. “Taking me so well. You were built for me, Davina.”
He added a second finger, stretching me, filling me. My hips bucked, trying to take him deeper, to match his pace, but he held me firm with his other arm, controlling the movement completely.
The pad of his finger found my clit, rubbing in firm, counter-rhythm circles to the deep thrust of his fingers. The dual sensations were too much, and I squeezed my eyes shut as my breath became ragged sobs.
He was everywhere, his scent, his taste, the hard wall of his chest against mine, the masterful skills of his hand.
“I'm going to claim every part of you,” he promised, his thrusts becoming harder, faster. “This sweet pussy is just the start. I'm going to be inside you everywhere. In your mouth. In this perfect ass. I'm going to fill you up until you forget your own name and only know mine.”
Pleasure exploded through me, a blinding, shattering wave that ripped a scream from my throat.
My body convulsed around his fingers, as the world dissolved into pure, white-hot sensation.
He held me through it, his fingers still working, drawing out every last pulse, every shudder, until I was a trembling, boneless heap against him.
Slowly, gently, he withdrew his hand. He brought his fingers to his mouth, his eyes locked on mine, and sucked them clean with a dark, satisfied groan.
“Mine,” he said again, the word final and absolute. He gathered me close, tucking my head under his chin as my body continued to tremble with aftershocks. “All mine. And this is just the beginning, sweetheart. I'm not letting you go.”