Chapter 33
Dallas holds me on his lap in the car. After he announced to Lila he was buying me one of every single item in the fashion show, he then told her we also wanted her entire available catalogue, since I packed lightly (ha).
Dallas asked her to include every design she had available.
Not just clothes but shoes, boots, coats, bags, accessories and anything else she could think of.
When she asked if I wanted intimates too, Dallas said yes.
All of it. Which is probably a good thing since I’ve moved all the way to New York without a single pair of undies.
Lila’s dressmakers measured me before Dallas and I said our goodbyes to them and Lila and Colton invited us to the family dinner at their place later in the week. Lila said the clothes would be delivered tomorrow.
I think Dallas can read in me that I’ve reached the limits of what I can handle tonight. My forcefield is short-circuiting. I’m overwhelmed by the deluge of beauty and fortune.
And I’m relieved to be alone with him. Being with him is so easy. I let him hold me and kiss me, and it’s not long until his kisses turn slippery and hungry, as though he’s starved for me. “I need my fix, Amelie Thibodeaux,” he murmurs.
The truth is, I need my fix too. His kisses do what they always do to me. They melt all my resistance. I feel borderline unhinged with my need to get close to him.
We’re sealed into our private world, with the screen closed and the windows tinted.
I let him ease my dress from my shoulders and pull it over my breasts.
I let him roll the silk up my body to my waist. He lets me unfasten his pants and hold his huge, hot length in my hands.
I straddle him and he guides his hard thickness into me, aggressively. I’m barely even wet. I’m too overcome.
Now that I’ve gained some distance from my home, I can see so much more clearly that I’ve been trapped in my own vortex of work and loss and regret for far too long.
It devastates me all over again, that it happened in the first place.
And that I allowed it to drag me under with its all-consuming tow.
Dallas’s forceful possession hurts. He’s so freaking big. Tears wet my face. I don’t know where they’re coming from. All I know is that I need him deeper. I want the pain. I writhe against him, easing myself up, then down, taking more of him. And more.
Dallas takes my full breasts in his rough hands and guides them to his mouth, sucking one flushed, sensitive nipple, then the other.
He’s fully inside me now. He groans each time I grind my hips against him and squeeze him.
I’m coming, despite the pain and because of it.
The ache is laced with pure longing and raw need.
The clenching spasms of my release are manic and wild, milking him strongly, over and over.
Dallas’s growl is agonized as his cock pulses inside me, filling me with liquid warmth, setting me off again into long, shimmery waves of pleasure as more tears fall.
You’re supposed to be dealing with this, not having more unprotected sex with him, some tiny internal voice scolds, and fresh tears pool.
Is that why I’m crying? Or is it because I can’t resist this man and can’t be expected to.
He feels like home and beauty and the kind of pleasure the very deepest parts of your soul crave beyond reason.
His tongue finds mine and I draw on it as another orgasm floods through me. My tears continue to paint warm lines down my face.
“It’s okay,” he’s whispering, wiping my tears with his fingers, kissing me. “You’re all right, baby girl. I’m here now. We’re together now. Everything’s okay.”
For now, I have no choice but to let myself believe him.