Chapter 21
Chapter
Twenty-One
SAVE A HORSE, RIDE A COWBOY
Shelby
“What would queen diva Dolly Parton do in your shoes?” I ask my reflection as I finish washing my face. It’s rarely a bad idea to invoke Dolly’s name, but it’s damn hard to get a firm answer.
It’s the evening of the Sunday dinner where Dallas announced to his entire family—and probably some nearby neighbors—that we’re having sex.
Luckily, I escaped too much interrogation, mostly thanks to Ryder’s presence and his incessant inquiries into why Dallas wanted to get naked.
Everyone silently agreed the answer was skinny dipping, so I fully expect to find Ryder trying to go to swim practice naked in the near future.
I did, however, get plenty of knowing looks, so I expect my phone to blow up before long.
Ping!
And speak of the devil, there it goes now.
Skye: You know I try not to pry, but are you sure you know what you’re doing?
Ping!
Frankie: I knew it! *hug emoji* *wink emoji*
Ping!
Morgan: Please feel free to tell my wife to eff off
Ping!
Ridge: Does my brother’s ass need to be kicked? I’m more than happy to do it.
I drop the phone face down on the countertop with a long sigh and finish patting my face dry.
The days since Ryder’s big meltdown have flown by. The heat is causing issues for livestock countywide, so my schedule has been brutal. I’ve gotten home late most nights with only enough energy to shower and fall into bed.
Dallas has been equally busy keeping things steady for Ryder, helping out at the ranch, and fitting in his woodworking in the wee hours.
Today is the first day we’ve had off to catch our breaths, and with Ryder starting school this week and the temps expected to start dropping soon, I imagine we’ll have free time to make even more poor decisions together.
Thus, the Dolly question.
Ping!
In this case, I imagine Dolly would keep banging the hot guy and try not to think too hard about it.
But I’ve been an overthinker since the womb, and it’s getting harder and harder to justify what’s been going on.
There’s an expiration date to this little sexual bubble Dallas and I are living in, and it’s fast approaching.
If I have to lie to one more person and say we’re “still looking at our calendars” to set a wedding date, I might go stark raving mad!
Ping!
And that’s not even considering Ryder. He finally asked point-blank if we’re getting married like his mom and stepdad.
We basically said that, as best friends, living together and marriage aren’t really that different, and that we’d make a decision on it later.
He accepted that answer, but the kid is way too perceptive to keep believing it for long.
Questions are coming, and I don’t want to lie to him.
I’m damn sure Dallas doesn’t want to either. It’s just asking for trouble.
But with no Prince Charming in the wings, this breakup plan of Dallas’s isn’t looking good. Not to mention, I seem to have lost interest in finding anybody suitable. Nobody can really compare to Dallas when it comes down to it. He makes me happy. Sigh.
Ping!
God dammit, people!
I hang up the towel and flip my phone over again to see what fresh hell awaits.
Frankie: Personally, I don’t think you should change your last name. Sweet is too perfect
Skye: Just tell me to mind my own business. I only want you to be happy.
Pops: My door is always open if you need me, darlin’
“Oh god, y’all, you’re killing me,” I say as I adjust my pajama top. This set is new and shows my boobs off to perfection, if I do say so myself.
But I’m not dumb enough to ignore the number one rule about people. When someone tells you who they are, you need to listen. And Dallas has made no mistake over the years about saying and showing who he is. He’s always up for a good time, but he is not the settling-down type. Period.
And I’m not the type he’d want to settle with even if he were!
I swear, one look at how perfect he and Hallie looked side by side at church was reminder enough that Dallas’s type is the furthest thing from me.
I’ve never been—nor will I ever be—thin, perky, proper, or poised.
I lean more toward voluptuous, cheeky, sarcastic, and tired.
Ping!
The writing is on the wall. We’ll go back to being “just friends” soon, and, in addition to being deprived of the best sex of my life, I’ll be on deck as the favorite topic of gossip once again—this time for not being able to hold onto the town stud.
Perhaps I should reconsider Archie’s advice and look into convent life. Except nuns aren’t allowed to have sex or babies, so screw that. No, I need to visit a sperm bank and probably move to Italy.
Ping!
Yet here I am getting ready for bed and dotting perfume behind my ears. “You’d better stop if you know what’s good for you, girl.” Oh god, is talking to yourself another sign of perimenopause? I stare myself down in the mirror one last time. “You know what? You’re right, Dolly. Screw it!”
Then I leave my pinging phone where it is and take my ass into the bedroom, intent on screwing the hell out of Dallas.
Even if it could be for the last time. I find him lying on his back, head of messy golden-brown hair resting on a pillow and one hand thrown over his eyes.
His firm chest is bare, the white top sheet pulled up to his waist.
“Truth or dare?” I ask.
His arm falls to the side, and he blinks at me in the doorway, his mouth curving in a naughty smile as he takes in my pajamas.
The silky top dips down in a low V that perfectly showcases the ladies and falls just north of my waist. It’s paired with short tap pants in the same vivid blue with tulip vents at either side for easy access.
“Sorry, I couldn’t hear you over the dirty thoughts running through my brain.”
My lips tip in a self-satisfied grin, and I prop one hand on my hip. “Truth or dare, Dallas?”
He chuckles and pushes himself to a seated position, back resting against the headboard. “I’m pretty sure the last time we played Truth or dare, we were still in high school.”
I take a few steps closer, reaching back into my memory. “And if I recall correctly, you ended up in the river. No surprise there.” What I don’t mention is how we almost kissed.
“A man ain’t a man if he doesn’t follow through on a dare. Even when it’s cold as a witch’s tit.” He fakes a shudder.
I come closer and drop my butt to the bed. “Come to think of it, have you ever chosen truth?”
“Now, why would I do that when a dare is so much more fun and unpredictable?” God, he’s like a big kid. No wonder he and Ryder get on so well.
I decide to match naughty with naughty and get to my hands and knees on the mattress. Dallas reaches down to adjust himself over the sheet. “So, can I assume you’re choosing dare this time too?” There are more than a few things I could dare him to do right now.
But he surprises me by saying, “Maybe it’s time I go with the truth.”
I still, not quite sure what to think of that.
I was fully expecting the dare. Maybe this is a sign.
Maybe I should use this opportunity to come straight out and ask him what’s in his head and what we’re going to do about us.
Ask him if this game we’re playing is as dangerous as I’m beginning to fear it is.
Instead, I chicken out and crawl closer until our faces are only a foot apart.
“Okay, Dally, tell me the truth then.” I drop a glance to his lap, where the sheet is tented, and then deliberately wet my bottom lip.
His eyes follow the movement, just as I intended, and I drop my voice to a whisper.
“Is that a pistol in your pocket, or do you like my new pjs?”
His answer is to lunge forward and tackle me to the bed. I outright giggle as he bites my neck and flexes his hips so his hard cock presses into my thigh.
“Is that answer enough, you little smartass?” he rasps against my throat before nipping at me again. I thread my fingers through his hair and wrap my legs around his hips, inviting his cock to nestle against my center. God, I love the feel of his warm, hard body on top of me.
He lifts his head, propping his weight on his elbows as he looks down at me with lazy eyes.
I scan his face, taking in the laugh lines fanning from his eyes and the rough stubble dotted here and there with silver.
Damn, he’s handsome. My fingernails graze the stubble, the sound making my thighs clench around him as I remember the feel of his whiskers between them.
His gaze flicks back and forth between my eyes, and his lips part. I can tell he’s about to say something weighty, but I can’t hear it. Not right now. I’m not ready for reality to crash in just yet. So, I lift my head and press my lips to his.
Being a red-blooded man, he’s easy to distract and is soon lost in the kiss just as deeply as I am.
I moan into his mouth, my tongue dueling with his as I bury my fingers in his thick hair again.
His hips jerk forward when my nails rake his scalp, and I can’t help laughing, but he swallows the sound and flips us so I’m straddling him.
“Let’s get you naked. I need to see what’s under those cock-tease pajamas.”
I grind down just to see his eyes roll into the back of his head. “You don’t remember? I think I might be insulted.”
“I just need a quick reminder,” he chokes out before slapping my ass hard enough I hop to it and strip off my top. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous.” His eyes turn liquid as he takes in my impressive rack.
I cup my own breasts and pinch both nipples to drive him crazy, and it seems I’ve pressed him a bit too far because his hand dives straight through the tulip vent at my left hip and cups my center from the side.
His thumb graduated first in its class at detective school because it finds my clit without even trying.
I’m already wet, so the pad of his thumb slides and circles easily, driving me into a frenzy.
I grind into him some more as he works my clit, but he’s not satisfied. My back hits the mattress again, and Dallas rises to his knees to yank my shorts off. His gaze turns almost feral at the sight of my swollen pussy—pink, wet, and ready for him.
The feather-light touch of his lips on the inside of my knee has my head falling back and my eyes drifting closed.
At the brush of his stubble on my inner thigh, my back arches off the mattress and I grab ahold of a thick tuft of his hair.
When his nose grazes my clit, already over sensitized from his attentions, I pull his hair. Hard.
He grunts just before spearing his tongue into my pussy. My hips fly off the bed, but he clamps them back down with firm hands and proceeds to devour me like I’m the last brownie in the pan—and a corner piece at that.
He feasts while I thrash and moan and whimper, my body drawing as tight as a cable on a suspension bridge. I’m ready to snap and come unraveled. And then I do, plunging over the edge and getting lost in my climax.
I haven’t even begun to catch my breath when Dallas kisses his way up my pubic bone to my belly and then my breasts. I open my eyes to find him looking down at me, traces of my own wetness on his lips and chin. He’s clearly unbothered as he says, “Your turn, Sweetness. Truth or dare?”