Chapter 29
Chapter
Twenty-Nine
TIME TO BANG LIKE A SCREEN DOOR IN A WINDSTORM
Shelby
With both of our phones blowing up and everybody asking what in the holy hell that whole scene was about, I do the only thing I can think of to shut shit down. I tell Norinne to text Charlene that Dallas and I were doing a bit to try out for The Amazing Race.
Before we even get back to the ranch, everyone in Big Knob has reached out to express their excitement and offer tips for how to get on the show.
It should probably alarm me that nobody is questioning the validity of such a batshit crazy story involving a crippled knight and a cheating fiancé, but I guess when it comes down to it, the whole town knows Dallas and I can do just about anything when we do it together.
Dallas holds my hand in the truck as he drives exactly the speed limit and only lets go long enough for us to get out at the big house.
“I like it when you hold my hand.” I look up at him with a wide grin. “I think I need to add another verse to my poem.”
“Please don’t.” He snorts when I smack his arm. “What I meant to say is that I love the poem just as it is. Especially the part about my dong.”
“Not in front of Isadora!” Meemaw shouts from the porch where a telltale wisp of smoke drifts from her silhouetted figure in a porch rocker.
“Dammit, Meemaw! You’re gonna give me a heart attack one of these days, jumping out of the shadows like that.”
Isadora squawks as if defending her mistress. “If you’re looking for Ryder, he’s trying to talk your daddy into buying a pool. Says he wants to swim with Skye’s decrepit old swine.”
“Aw, crap,” Dallas mutters, and we book it inside. The last thing Pops needs is to feel guilty for not fulfilling his lone grandson’s greatest wish. God, I hope Archie can do something about this Tiff business before the family well and truly goes broke.
“I’m sorry, but since when are y’all interested in reality TV?
” Skye asks the minute we step inside. She’s bent over her phone at the dining table, three notebooks and a laptop spread out in front of her.
When she points the phone our way, I see Mrs. Perkins on the screen yammering on about Dallas being excellent at riding camels.
Skye and I both turn to look at him, and he throws his free hand up. “I have no idea what she’s talking about. The only camel I’ve ever seen in person was Papaw’s cigarettes.”
“It’s easier to just go with it,” I tell Skye, and, to her credit, she shrugs and lets the whole thing go.
“What are you up to?” Dallas asks, gesturing to the mess in front of her.
“Oh, just working on a couple ideas in case Tiff steals the cattle business.” She eyes our clasped hands. “The better question is what are y’all up to?” Her eyebrows waggle. “Don’t think any of us have forgotten about Sunday dinner the other week.”
I decide to let Dallas handle that one, and I’m unsurprised when his only response is, “It’s like Momma always said—mind your own biscuits and life will be gravy. Now, where’s my kid? He’s got school tomorrow.”
We collect Ryder and use the short drive to Dallas’s place to break it to him that nobody is getting a pool and to remind him of all the cool stuff he already has. It goes over about as well as any such conversation with an eight-year-old boy does.
He hugs me good night, pout and all, and Dallas takes him upstairs to tuck him in. As they climb the stairs, I hear Ryder say, “I heard Uncle Mustache is coming home soon,” and I have to bite my lips between my teeth to keep from outright cackling.
We all saw a promo for one of the rodeos Houston was riding in a couple days ago, and it featured a photo of him with the worst porn stache and matching flowing hair.
We haven’t stopped referring to him as Uncle Mustache ever since.
I can’t wait for him to show up so we can see it in person in all its glory.
But Houston isn’t the Gamble brother I’m focusing on tonight. I know we need to talk some more, but I can still do that in my pjs with a beer in my hand, can’t I?
Dallas descends the stairs fifteen minutes later with a sigh. “He tried telling me that the gas money I spend driving him to swim practice will more than pay for a pool. The kid is smart, but he’s got a lot to learn about money.”
I smile and hand him the cold beer I opened for him.
He takes it with a grateful sigh and settles into the couch right next to me.
His eyes travel down the length of my body in the silky blue pajamas, and he leans in to kiss my neck.
Goose bumps erupt on my skin, and I sigh. Is he really mine for good?
As if sensing my question, he pulls back and studies me, his mouth relaxed and his fingers absently twirling a lock of my hair. “Hey,” he murmurs.
“Hey,” I echo.
We stare at one another until we’re both wearing dopey-ass grins. Then I shift in my seat so I’m sitting cross-legged and facing him. He takes a sip of his beer and watches me. I set mine on the coffee table to focus on the man in front of me.
“So, how are you feeling? About us, I mean?” I ask.
He considers my question and sighs. “Hopeful? Terrified? Excited? Lucky,” he finally settles on.
“Me too. All four.”
“Thank fuck. You’ve been sounding so confident.”
I can only shrug. “We both know better than anyone that nothing’s promised in this life, so I think we owe it to ourselves to dive in and appreciate every moment we have.”
“Yeah. You’re right.” He sets his bottle down and takes my hands in both of his. “We’ve already wasted a hell of a lot of time.”
I consider that and shake my head. “I don’t know. Maybe we just weren’t ready for each other until now. Maybe it’s all happening the way it was meant to.”
“We could have half a dozen rugrats running around here by now if I’d gotten my head out of my ass sooner.”
I can’t help but lean in and drop a kiss on his lips, the sweet man. “I don’t need half a dozen. The one we’ve already got is pretty darn great. If we happen to be able to add another one or two, that’d be gravy.”
Dallas’s smile broadens, and then he surprises me by vaulting off the couch and running down the hall.
Am I supposed to follow him? What is he doing?
My questions are answered a second later when he emerges from the bedroom with a box of condoms in his hand.
He doesn’t slow down as he struts past me to the front door and disappears through it.
When he reenters thirty seconds later, the condoms are nowhere to be seen and he’s making a show of dusting his hands off in a “job’s all done” motion.
I can’t help my laugh. “I’m afraid it might take more than just tossing the condoms, Gamble.” I sober somewhat as the truth of my words settles in.
Sensing my shift in mood like he always does, Dallas jumps over the back of the couch and pins me on my back.
Our noses are inches apart, and I can smell the warm, spicy scent of his shampoo and the beer on his breath.
“Believe me, I’m willing to put a lot of work into this project.
” He tucks my hair behind my ear and lowers his head to give me the softest of kisses. “I love you, Shelby.”
“I love you too. So much.”
“Now,” he says, “I’ll be overjoyed to never sleep on this damn couch again for the rest of my life.”
“I second that.”
We manage to remain clothed until the bedroom door clicks shut behind us, but just barely. However, since neither of us is keen to explain to Ryder how my panties and bra ended up on the living room floor, it’s best for everyone.
I’m so busy watching Dallas shuck off his boxers, I almost faceplant as I remove my own undergarments.
“Let’s get you off your feet before we need to call 9-1-1 for a second time tonight,” he teases, eyes clouded with desire as they drag over my exposed skin. My body erupts in goose bumps, and he’s only touched my shoulder.
His thick cock juts from a neat thatch of dark hair as he guides me to the bed and pushes me to a seated position.
And, since it’s right there, I take advantage, sinking to my knees and wrapping my fingers around the base of the hard, velvety shaft.
His responding groan thrills me. My tongue rasps over him from root to tip, but that’s as far as I get before I find myself on my back on the mattress, a muscular cowboy hovering over me.
“If you do that, I won’t stay quiet. And I don’t think either of us wants Ryder checking in.”
I stifle a giggle and don’t resist. We have all the time in the world to do every dirty thing we want to each other. The weight of Dallas’s body on mine and the contact between every inch of our skin makes me giddy.
“You’re so damn pretty,” I tell him, drawing my finger down his nose and then pressing it to his full lips. He frowns under my finger and then bites it. I laugh out loud, and he covers my mouth to stifle the sound.
“Dudes aren’t pretty, Sweetness. We’re manly. Studly. Devastatingly handsome and virile.” His hand prevents me from responding, even if I wanted to. “You’re the one who’s pretty,” he finishes.
And then he’s done with sweet talk. He takes my mouth in a searing kiss, plundering me like one of my fictional knights.
But the real thing is leagues better than any book.
Our hands voyage, fingers scraping and pulling, legs tangling, breaths joining, until my legs are wrapped around his hips, and I’m begging him to take me.
Dallas rears up to his knees, forcing my legs to fall to the sides.
His pupils are huge, almost completely overtaking his gold-flecked irises, as he devours me with his gaze.
My skin is pure fire, growing impossibly hotter when he yanks me to him by my hips.
His pelvis jerks back, and then he plunges into me in one long, hard, delicious stroke.
“Fuck,” he groans, and it’s my turn to cover his mouth. It’s too hard staying quiet when our bodies are so electrified.
He mutters a muffled apology, but I don’t know who he’s apologizing to.
Nor do I care. My hips flex to feel the friction of his cock, and he gets the message, quickly grasping my thighs to keep them right where he wants them.
When he thrusts again, I have to bite my tongue to keep from shouting my pleasure.
He watches our connection as he continues his delicious assault.
From there, it’s muffled grunting, gritted teeth, and endless panting as Dallas works me—hard and relentless.
By the time my second orgasm hits, I’m a boneless mess, speaking in tongues and begging him alternately to stop and keep going.
When his release comes, he bites his fist to keep quiet, likely drawing blood—not that he appears to notice. Lungs heaving, he finally collapses on top of me and says, “We gotta get that kid his own apartment.”
My responding laugh shakes us both, and I wrap Dallas’s sweat-dampened body up in my arms and legs, deciding that I’m going to keep him just like this forever. Or at least until the morning.