32. Someone Like Me #2
“I'm not done.” My voice was steady and calm. “Dallas Dodger chose me. Not because I tricked him, not because of publicity, or because he lost a bet. He chose me because I'm smart and funny and I don't take his bullshit. I challenge him every single day to be better than he was yesterday.”
“He could have anyone…”
“He could, and he chose me. Every single day, he chooses me.
So you can sit there with your fake DM screenshots and your sad little fantasies, but at the end of the night?
I'm the one going home with him. I'm the one wearing his ring, and you're the one who paid two hundred dollars for a seat to watch my husband work.”
The brunette, the podcast fan, made a sound that was half gasp, half applause.
Anger flooded Amber's features. “You fat bitch…”
“That's enough.”
The voice came from behind me. Deep, familiar, carrying the kind of authority that made people stop mid-sentence.
Dallas.
He was still in his ring gear, championship belt over one shoulder, hair damp with sweat. But his eyes were fixed on Amber. “You want to repeat what you just called my wife?”
Amber's mouth opened and closed.
“That's what I thought.” He started to turn away from her, but stopped mid-way. “Just so we’re clear, I would never consider someone who disrespects my wife like that a fan.” Dallas moved past her without another glance, his attention shifting entirely to me.
His hand found my waist, pulling me against his side with easy possession. “You okay?”
“I'm fine.”
“Liar.” But he was almost smiling. “I heard about half of that speech. The part where you said I chose you.”
“You did choose me.”
“Damn right I did.” He pressed a kiss to my temple, soft and certain. “Come on. Let's get out of here.”
“The match…”
“Is over. Matt's handling the press stuff.” His arm tightened around me. “I want to show my wife my favorite part of the arena.”
“Is it the part where you escape from situations like this?”
“It's the part where I get you alone backstage and show you exactly how proud I am of you.” He leaned closer, lips brushing my ear. “Among other things.”
Heat flooded my cheeks.
As Dallas guided me toward the backstage entrance, I caught one last glimpse of Amber—standing frozen, face pale, clearly processing the fact that she'd just been publicly rejected by her imaginary boyfriend in favor of the woman she'd spent the last hour insulting.
The brunette gave me a small wave and a thumbs-up.
I waved back.
“For the record,” Dallas said as we pushed through the backstage doors, “the DM thing was bullshit. I haven't messaged anyone except you in months. My social media team handles everything else.”
“I know.”
“You know?”
“Dallas, you can't even keep birthday presents secret for more than twelve hours. If you were messaging random women, you'd have accidentally texted me screenshots within a week.”
He laughed. “Fair point.”
“Also, I saw your phone this morning. Your recent messages are me, Matt, your mom, and someone named 'Protein Guy' who I assume is not a romantic interest.”
“Definitely not. He's sixty-three and has opinions about creatine.”
“Sounds like competition.”
“You're hilarious.” But he was grinning, pulling me into a side hallway of the backstage area. “Seriously, though. You okay? What she said…”
“Was nothing I haven't heard before.” I shrugged, but the movement felt heavy. “I've been dealing with women like her my whole life. They see someone like me with someone like you, and their worldview short-circuits.”
“Someone like you.” His voice had gone quiet. Dangerous. “You mean someone brilliant, successful, beautiful, and absolutely devastating when she's delivering a verbal takedown?”
“I meant fat. That's what she meant.”
“I know what she meant. And she's wrong.” His hands framed my face, tilting it up until I had no choice but to meet his eyes.
“You are the most beautiful woman I've ever known. Not despite your body, because of it. Because of all of you. Every curve, every edge, every sharp corner of your personality that makes me want to argue with you and worship you.”
My throat was tight. “Dallas…”
“I heard what you said to her. About believing you didn't deserve me. You know that's insane, right? If anything, it's the other way around.”
I laughed, and he caught the sound with a kiss, soft at first, then deeper. His hands sliding into my hair, his body pressing me against the wall of the corridor like he could shield me from every cruel word ever spoken.
When he finally pulled back, we were both breathing hard.
“For the record,” he murmured against my lips, “watching you defend our marriage was the hottest thing I've ever seen.”
His grin was wicked. “Now come on. I promised to show you my favorite part of the arena.”
“Is it a real place, or is this a euphemism?”
“It's my private dressing room.” He pulled me down the hallway, his hand warm and certain around mine. “Whether it becomes a euphemism is entirely up to you.”
It became a euphemism.
“Kiss me,” I said the moment we were behind the closed doors of his dressing room.
The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them, low and desperate against the roar of the crowd still echoing in the hallway outside.
Dallas didn’t hesitate. His mouth crashed down on mine, swallowing my gasp, his hands already framing my face. The door to his private dressing room clicked shut behind us, muffling the distant chaos of the arena into a dull, pulsating hum. Finally, quiet.
Finally, us.
He tasted like victory and sweat and the faint, sharp tang of adrenaline. I loved that taste. I didn’t care that his bare chest was slick with it, that my hands slid over the hard planes of his pecs and came away damp. I wanted to drink him in.
His tongue pushed past my lips, a commanding, possessive invasion that made my knees buckle.
My back hit the door with a soft thud, and he pressed his entire body against me, pinning me there.
One hand slid from my face down my side, his calloused fingers scraping over the thin fabric of my dress before coming to rest on my hip, gripping me hard.
My head spun, oxygen a distant memory. Every nerve ending was on fire, screaming only for him.
He broke the kiss, both of us panting, our foreheads pressed together.
“You were incredible out there,” I breathed, my voice ragged.
A wicked grin spread across his face. “You haven’t seen incredible yet, Mrs. Dodger.”
In one fluid motion, he spun me around. My palms flattened against the cool wood of the door as his hands found the zipper at the back of my dress.
He tugged it down with a sharp, purposeful rasp, the sound obscenely loud in the small room.
The fabric loosened, and he pushed it from my shoulders, letting it pool at my feet in a whisper of silk.
The cool air hit my heated skin, pebbling my nipples beneath my lace bra.
His hands slid around my waist, pulling me back against the solid heat of him. I could feel the hard ridge of his cock, still confined in his ridiculous spandex shorts, pressed against the swell of my ass.
“So fucking beautiful,” he murmured into my neck, his lips tracing the sensitive skin below my ear.
His fingers skimmed up my stomach, cupping my breasts, and he pinched my nipples through the thin lace, rolling them between his fingers until they were tight, aching buds.
I chased his touch, a helpless moan escaping me.
He unhooked my bra, tossing it aside. His hands found my hips again, turning me. “Bend over the table, Davina.”
It wasn’t a question. It was a command, delivered in that low, gravelly tone that sent a fresh jolt of liquid heat straight to my core.
I obeyed, bending forward at the waist, my upper body resting on the cool, laminated surface.
The position left me completely exposed to him and throbbing with anticipation.
I felt his hands on my ankles, pushing my feet apart, widening my stance until I was stretched open for him. My breath hitched. This was it. This was the moment the frustration of the night, the sting of that woman’s words, melted away into pure, raw sensation.
Then I felt his heat leave my skin. I heard the rustle of his kneepads hitting the floor. A shiver of anticipation raced down my spine.
His hands settled on my hips, holding me in place. Then I felt it… The hot, open-mouthed kiss pressed against the inside of my thigh. I jumped at the contact, a choked sound catching in my throat. He did it again, higher this time, his stubble a delicious rasp against my sensitive skin.
“Dallas…” His name was a plea.
His answer was to lean in and drag his tongue through my soaked flesh in one long, slow lick.
I cried out, my fingers scrambling for purchase on the smooth table.
Oh, God. The sensation was electric, a direct line of pleasure that shattered every thought in my head.
He did it again, slower this time, savoring me, his tongue exploring every fold, every hidden part of me with a focused intensity that left me trembling.