28. Mic Drop #2
“No.” The word came out harder than I intended. Davina stopped, brows furrowing with confusion as she looked at me.
“Dallas…”
“No,” I repeated. “You don't get to answer that.” I turned to face the camera directly. “I'm answering this one.”
“You don't have to…”
“Yeah. I do.” I leaned forward, every ounce of performance stripped away.
“I want everyone listening to hear this clearly, because I'm only going to say it once, and I need you to understand that I mean every single word.” The studio was dead silent.
Even Abby had stopped moving in the control booth.
“My wife,” I said slowly, “You want to know what I see when I look at my wife?
I see a woman who built an empire with her voice, her brain, and her refusal to apologize for taking up space.
I see someone who makes me laugh until I can't breathe and calls me on my bullshit without flinching.
I see curves that I want to spend the rest of my life memorizing, and eyes that make me forget every script I've ever rehearsed.” My voice dropped.
“The internet wants to tell me I could do better? The internet can go straight to hell. I wake up every morning next to Davina Dodger and my first thought is how the hell did I get this lucky.”
I turned to look at her then, and the professional mask had slipped. Her eyes were bright, glassy, and she was biting her bottom lip hard enough to leave marks.
“You asked how you're supposed to handle comments like that,” I said, quieter now, just for her, even though thousands of people were listening.
“You're not supposed to handle them. You're supposed to let me handle them.
Because I will burn down every comment section on the entire internet before I let anyone make you feel like you're not exactly what I want.”
A tear slipped down her cheek. She wiped it away quickly, laughing a little.
“Dallas…”
“I'm not done.” I reached across the desk and took her hand, not caring about the cameras, not caring about the audience.
“I spent thirty-two years thinking I knew what I was looking for.
I was wrong. I was so wrong. You're not what I was looking for.
You're what I didn't know I needed, and I will spend the rest of my life making sure you know that.”
Davina pressed her free hand to her mouth, tears streaming now despite her best efforts. “You're ruining my makeup,” she managed.
“It'll photograph great. Trust me.”
She laughed and squeezed my hand so tight it almost hurt.
In the control booth, Abby was openly crying, frantically fanning her face while simultaneously monitoring chat.
“The listeners are losing it,” she said through the speakers, voice thick. “I'm losing it. Everyone's losing it. This is the most beautiful thing I've ever witnessed in my professional career.”
Davina took a shaky breath, dabbing under her eyes with her fingertips. “Well. I think Dallas just broke the internet.”
“Good.” I lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles. “It deserved it.”
She stared at me for a long moment before she turned back to the camera, composure slowly rebuilding but softer now, the cracks showing through in a way that made her more real instead of less.
“So. There you have it, babes.” Her voice was husky. “My husband, everyone. Who apparently woke up today and chose violence against my tear ducts.”
“I regret nothing.”
The podcast continued. The questions that followed were lighter, someone asking about my signature moves, another wanting to know if I could cook.
But underneath the banter, Davina's hand kept finding mine, and every time I looked at her, she was already looking back.
By the time she wrapped up the show, I felt like I'd run a marathon.
The ON AIR light clicked off, and Abby emerged from the control booth, face still blotchy from crying. “That was the best episode we've ever recorded. Maybe the best episode anyone has ever recorded.”
“The live chat?” Davina asked.
“Absolute chaos. Several hashtags are already trending on social media too.”
Davina stood, stretching, “Lunch?” she asked, turning to me. I nodded. “Burgers?”
Davina sent Abby to pick up food since we weren't up for a photo op. The studio door clicked shut behind Abby, sealing us in silence. The air felt different now, like it was charged with everything we’d just said and everything we hadn’t.
Davina stood by the mixing board, her back to me. Her shoulders rose and fell with a deep, unsteady breath.
“Dallas,” she started, her voice barely a whisper.
I was across the room before the second syllable left her lips. I didn’t think. I just moved. My hands found her hips, spinning her gently to face me.
I didn’t give her time to speak. My mouth crashed down on hers.
She gasped against my lips, a sharp intake of surprise that melted instantly into a moan as she kissed me back just as fiercely. Her hands flew to my face, pulling me closer as if she could fuse us together through sheer force of need.
Our tongues met, and the taste of her drove me wild. I backed her against the desk, the soundproofing swallowing the thud of her body meeting the wood. My hands slid from her hips to her thighs, gripping hard, and I lifted her in one smooth motion.
She broke the kiss with a gasp, her legs wrapping instinctively around my waist as I settled her on the desk. Microphones wobbled. Papers fluttered to the floor.
“Dallas,” she breathed, her chest heaving against mine.
“I meant every word,” I growled, my mouth traveling to her jaw, then down the sensitive column of her throat. A soft cry escaped her lips as I nipped at her pulse point. “Every. Single. Word.”
My fingers went to the buttons of her burgundy blouse.
They slipped in my haste, but then the first one gave way, then the next, and the next.
I pushed the silky fabric apart, revealing the black, sheer lace of her bra.
Her breasts were full and heavy, spilling over the cups.
I ducked my head, taking one pebbled peak into my mouth through the lace.
She cried out, her back bowing off the desk. “Oh, god…”
The wet lace was a tease. I needed skin. I reached behind her, fumbling with the clasp. It sprang open. I shoved the bra aside, and her breasts fell free, beautiful and heavy in my hands. I took one tight nipple into my mouth, sucking deeply, swirling my tongue around the hardened bud.
Her fingers clenched in my hair, holding me to her. “Yes… just like that…”
I lavished attention on one breast, then the other, biting and sucking gently until she was writhing beneath me, her hips rocking against my stomach. The primal sounds she made were the best thing I’d ever heard.
But I needed more. So much more.
My hand slid down her stomach, over the curve of her hip, and shoved her skirt up around her waist. My fingers traced the edge of her panties, already damp beneath my touch.
“You’re so wet,” I murmured against her breast.
“For you,” she panted. “It’s always for you.”
I hooked my fingers in the lace and shoved them roughly to the side, exposing her completely. I didn’t hesitate. I dropped to my knees on the studio floor.
“Dallas, what are you…”
My mouth was on her before she could finish.
I licked a long, slow stroke from her opening to her clit. She jolted, a shattered cry tearing from her throat. Her taste exploded on my tongue. She was intoxicating. I did it again, slower this time, savoring her before focusing on her clit, circling the swollen bud.
Her thighs tensed around my head. “Fuck… fuck…”