Chapter 12
TWELVE
D AKOTA
Truth or dare?
THE DEVIL:
That was an abrupt left turn. Are we in grade school again?
We’ve got to stop talking about sad stuff. We’ll go to sleep depressed. And when I go to sleep that way, I wake up that way.
I have too much to do tomorrow as a bridesmaid to be sad.
Dare.
Send me a picture of you.
I’m getting ready for bed…
So? I was in bed.
I watch the dots pop up and disappear for a moment.
THE DEVIL:
Fine.
A minute later, a photo comes through, and my heart stops. I’ve only seen Grant shirtless a handful of times in my life, and almost all of them were when I was a teenager, and he still lived on the ranch. A mental image of him tossing hay bales off a truck while shirtless has lived in my mental vault since I was sixteen. But all of them were from a distance and never in a format I could save for safekeeping.
He’s standing in what I assume is his bathroom. I’m realizing at this moment that I’ve never seen the inside of his home, either, even though he’s been in mine dozens of times. Hundreds, really, if you count when Jesse owned it.
His shirt is off, and he’s got low-slung, dark-gray sweatpants on. He’s got a slew of tattoos running down his right arm and wrapping over his shoulder and teasing the edge of his neck. I’ll have to study them later, see what secrets they hold, as I think I’ve only seen a few of them before. His abs are perfection, and his arms are perfectly defined. He’s that perfect kind of fit where you know he works out plenty but not so much that he lives in the gym. His hair is mussed, and his hand is tucked behind his head as he takes the photo, a look of discontent on his face at the idea of capturing his late-night routine.
THE DEVIL:
Truth or dare?
Truth.
Do you actually get off talking to those men, or is it an act?
An act usually. The toys do the hard work.
There were times it wasn’t?
Yes. But not because of them. Because I could check out enough to think about someone else instead.
Who do you think about?
Truth or dare?
Truth.
Who do you think about?
Unfair.
Unfair was you trying to get multiple truths out of me in a row.
Zac’s mom.
All these years later, and you’re still jacking off to Zac’s mom?
You just said who. You didn’t say when.
Truth or dare?
Truth.
Who do you think about?
A nameless and faceless man who I can trust to give me my fantasies.
It was technically true. I did my best not to let that nameless, faceless man with the perfect abs and the bossy attitude, who liked to set his Stetson to the side and roll up the sleeves on his dress shirt before he manhandled me, turn into anyone I knew. It’s pure coincidence he also has icy blue eyes, thick dark hair that’s graying at the temples, and a hint of a smirk that always taunts me.
Truth or dare?
THE DEVIL:
Truth. I feel like we could skip these and just say we’re exchanging truths, you know.
I’m just waiting for you to get brave enough to say dare again.
I start to ask him who he thought about the last time he got off, but I don’t want to know who she was if she wasn’t me, and I don’t think I have good enough chances to risk it. For all I know, he wasn’t even alone. So I ask a safer question.
What were you imagining the last time you got off?
It takes him a minute to respond, and I’m half worried he fell asleep talking to me.
THE DEVIL:
I was imagining a woman sitting on top of the bar for me, legs spread wide while I sat on the bar stool in front of her. Her fingers in my hair while she whimpered for me and rocked her hips against my face, begging for more.
“Fuck,” I whisper out loud in the quiet room and bury my face in my pillow. My stomach flutters right along with my clit. He knows what he’s doing.
THE DEVIL:
Truth or dare?
Truth.
What were you imagining the last time you got off?
I stare down at the screen, my heart skipping beats in my chest, and I sit up. I have to remind myself that the chances I ever have Grant Stockton on the other end of the phone in the middle of the night like this again are slim to none. So if I want to play this game, I have to act like I know what I’m doing.
A man waiting for me in the dark in my apartment before he kidnaps me and uses me however he wants. Tearing my panties off, bending me over while he wraps his hand around a fistful of my hair, and fucks me without asking.
The phone rings, and “THE DEVIL” flashes across the screen. I drop it onto the quilt and stare at it like it might bite me—or worse yet, manifest him out of thin air. As much as I think I might want the oldest Stockton brother, I don’t know that I’d know what to do with him if I got him. I might finally be out of my depth, which is equal parts terrifying and exciting.
I pick the phone back up and answer it.
“First rule of texting is you don’t call the person mid-texting. It’s very unsettling.”
“You don’t ever let a fucking strange man treat you like that. You hear me? You didn’t tell these guys that, did you?” His tone is furious.
Welp. Zaddy Grant is gone, and Daddy Grant is back. It was fun while it lasted.
“It’s called a fantasy, Daddy. ” I try to stifle the laugh as I tease him, but it escapes anyway as I fall backward on the bed and roll my eyes at his inability to relax.
“Did you say that to any of those men?” His voice is rough, and if he wasn’t angry with me, it’d be sexy. Now I wish he was here with me, whether I can handle him or not. He could handle me, all furious and sexy at the same time.
“No. I didn’t say that to any of those men.” I sigh.
“Good. Levi’s still getting all their addresses and work information.”
“What?!” I sit up again. This man is gonna give me a workout in bed, and not the good kind. “Leave those men alone. They expect privacy.”
“I’m not going to do anything unless it becomes necessary.”
“Those men are harmless. Just bored single guys looking for some attention when they’re alone on the weekend. One of them volunteers at the local senior citizens center and another grows roses in his spare time.”
“We’ll see if we can corroborate any of that. I’d put money on all of it being bullshit lies to get off your screen and into your pants,” he grumbles. “And don’t call me Daddy.”
“I mean, I’d call you Zaddy, but then you keep falling back into dad mode even when we’re having a heated conversation. It’s like you can’t control yourself.”
“The fuck is zaddy?”
“It’s like… a sexy older guy.”
He makes a guttural noise in his throat but ignores it to continue his rant instead.
“I’m just telling you, don’t talk to men like that. They take you up on the offer, and I will be in control when I break their fucking bones.”
“I wasn’t talking to men like that. I was talking to you like that.”
“You shouldn’t. ”
“Why not? I trust you. It’s not like you’d do it.” I nibble my lower lip when the line goes silent.
“Don’t bait me, Hellfire.” He says it softly, so softly I almost can’t hear the last word.
I raise my brows, and a smile spreads.
“What did you just call me?” I ask.
“Hellfire.” He clears his throat. “It’s your name on my phone.”
I burst into laughter, and he groans as it sounds like he falls back onto his bed.
“Yes, please have a long laugh at my expense.”
“No, no. It’s just you’re the devil on mine.”
“The devil?” He sounds confused.
“On my phone. The contact. You’re the devil.” I try to stop the laughter, but a few more giggles tumble out.
“Not a very nice thing to call the guy who’s been trying to help you.”
“Is that what you call it?”
“A few selfish choices along the way, but generally speaking, I’d say that’s what I’ve been doing. Yes.”
“I know,” I say quietly, letting the line fade back to silence. This one’s more comfortable though. Too comfortable because my mind’s wandering back to our earlier conversation. Thinking about him doing those things to me.
“I’d trust you to do it,” I blurt out before I can stop myself.
“Help you?” He sounds confused.
“No. To be the guy waiting in the dark.”
“That’s good since I’ve already been him.” There’s a dark chuckle on his end of the line.
“Would you do it?”
“Do what?” He plays obtuse. He wants me to say the words so there’s no misunderstanding my meaning .
“Take me. Use me.” I hold my breath, and my heart feels like it’s pounding in my ears while I wait for this answer.
“If we set ground rules. Safe words. I’d think about it.”
I dig deep for the bravery I need to say the next thing.
“Then think about it and tell me what you’d do to me,” I whisper.