Chapter 9
NINE
STEPHEN
I shouldn’t push Dallen or practically insult her mother on our first date, but fuck that judgmental bitch. And I know, just by looking at Dallen’s mother’s face, that she is just that. A woman who will not approve and will probably have a stroke if she learns who my family is.
There is no point to us. Even so, the sight of her leaving—of casting me aside—isn’t something I can stomach.
Maybe I just can’t stand being abandoned again, or maybe pride stings sharper than truth.
Panic, sharp and foreign, grips my chest. I’m not the kind of man to panic over a woman walking away.
What on earth is wrong with me?
I catch up to her at the door, the cold wind cutting between us like a blade as we exit the restaurant. A gust sweeps down the street, rattling the metal chairs stacked outside, the city’s noise momentarily muffled beneath the rush of air.
“Dallen, wait.”
She doesn’t. Doesn’t even look back. Her shoulders stiffen, her pace quickens, and something ugly twists inside me. I reach out, catching her arm—not hard, just enough to stop her.
She spins on me instantly. “Let go.”
I do. Immediately. But I don’t move back. “You’re running.”
“I’m walking,” she snapped. “Away from you.”
“And that’s any different?” I ask. “Just throwing in the towel because I said one thing you didn’t like?”
“It wasn’t one thing,” she hisses. “You insulted my mother, how I am with my family. You insulted me.”
“I stated a fact.”
Her eyes flash fire. “No. You judged me because you were pissed off that my mother didn’t fawn over you the moment you met.”
I rake a hand through my hair, frustration simmering beneath my skin.
“Who wouldn’t judge anyone who looked at another person like they were dirt?
Like I wasn’t good enough to breathe your air.
” And maybe I don’t deserve to breathe her air.
I should let this go, here and now. I’ve allowed things in my family to be okay—things others would have a hard time processing.
Even if I want to drag Dallen into that, I shouldn’t. She’s a lawyer, for crying out loud.
“She didn’t say anything—”
“She didn’t have to,” I bite out. “Her face said enough.”
Dallen shakes her head, anger thinning her voice. “You don’t even know her. You don’t know me. But you’ve already decided I’m…what? A mummy-and-daddy’s girl who does whatever they tell me?”
Her words hit with the same weight as a slap. I exhale, slow and long. “If the shoe fits.” The moment the words slip from my lips, I regret them. They’re too sharp, too blunt, too fucking revealing of my own insecurities.
I’m not good enough for her. I know that, but it doesn’t mean I want her to realize that, too.
Her jaw drops. “Wow. You really think that lowly of me? That I’m some…obedient little good girl who just nods at whatever my parents want?”
“Isn’t that what you’ve been doing your whole life?
” I challenge. “They say jump, you ask how high. One chance meeting with your mother just now, and I know that’s the relationship you have with them.
They push you toward some perfect man, and you entertain the idea. They say I’m wrong for you, you run.”
She steps close, fury radiating off her. She looks so fucking beautiful when mad—so goddamn sexy. I want to reach for her, push her up against the parked car beside us, and show her what she does to me. Instead, I fist my hands at my sides and force myself to calm the hell down.
“I didn’t run because of them. I ran because of you. Because you were being an ass.”
“I was being honest.”
“You were being a spiteful bastard, and I don’t need that in my life.”
I clench my jaw. Fuck. “Sometimes the truth hurts.”
Her eyes darken, hurt threading through the anger. Guilt digs claws beneath my ribs. But I power through it because the alternative—being vulnerable—is worse.
She folds her arms across her chest. “So that’s what you think I am? That I have no mind of my own? That I’m weak?”
“No,” I say, a bit too quickly. “That’s not—”
“Yes,” she cuts in. “You do. You don’t think I can choose for myself.”
“Then prove me wrong,” I challenge before I can stop myself. “Stay. Don’t run because your mother frowned at me, and I was offended.”
“There it is.” She barks a humorless laugh. “You think she controls me, Stephen. But I’m a grown woman who can choose what I do with my life, no matter what you think after one interaction.”
“With a mother who still treats you like you’re fourteen.”
“And you think you get to judge that?”
“I think,” I say carefully, fury and fear warring within me, “that I don’t want to be with someone who lets her parents dictate her life.
” I can’t be with someone like that. I need someone on my side, even if that side is sometimes the wrong one.
Whoever I end up with has to have my back as much as I would have theirs.
Her mouth tightens. “Then maybe you shouldn’t be with me at all.”
The words land like a punch. I don’t flinch—but I feel every ounce of it. “Is that what you want?” I ask, voice low.
Her lips part. She looks away, breathing hard.
“That’s what I thought,” I murmur, hating that she is so agreeable even if she can’t admit it.
She snaps back. “That is not what you thought. You think I’m scared of upsetting them. You think I’m…obedient.” Her eyes narrow on me. “I’m not.”
“No?” I step closer, crowding her without touching. “Then why are you so defensive about it?”
“Because you’re wrong.”
“Then show me,” I repeat, wanting her to go against her better judgment—her mother’s judgment—and choose me, here and now.
Her breath catches, and my pulse jolts. Maybe I pushed too hard. But every part of me rebels at the idea of her walking away.
I drag a hand down my face. “Dallen, look… I don’t think you’re weak. Or that you’re your mother’s puppet. I just—” I exhale. “I don’t know how any of this works if your family hates me on sight.” They will hate me enough once they know my name and those who make up my family.
“My family doesn’t—”
“Your mother does.” I let out a dry laugh. “And she hasn’t even Googled me yet.”
Dallen’s spine straightens. “What would she find if she Googled you? What is your name. Your full name?”
The wind whips between us, tugging at her hair, but neither of us moves. A taxi horn blares somewhere behind us, the city pressing in as if eavesdropping on a fight it has heard a thousand times before.
“I’m Stephen Moretti and I’m pretty sure if she looked me up, there’s nothing she’d approve of.”
She stares up at me, eyes a storm. “I don’t care what my mother thinks. I make up my own mind with regard to the men I date.”
“Liar.”
Her chin jerks up. “Fine. I care, but not enough to let her ruin something I want.”
My heart kicks hard. “You want this?” I ask, softer now, the anger dissipating like smoke. “Because there’s no turning back if you do. I want in. I want you, and I won’t care if both your parents hate me on sight. I’ll not let them or anyone take you if I commit.”
She hesitates—but only for a second. “I thought I wanted you.” She pauses. “Well, I did until you pissed me off.”
Something inside my chest eases, just a fraction. “Come with me.”
“Where?”
“To my car,” I say. “Because we’re not debating this on a sidewalk while half of Manhattan passes by.”
Her lips part—ready to argue again—but I reach for her hand, not pulling, just offering.
After a beat, she takes it, doesn’t speak as we walk to the car.
The tension is still thick, but different now—coiled, electric, the kind that hums beneath the skin.
Something that always happens the moment we touch.
I open the passenger door. She slides in without meeting my eyes. I round to the driver’s side and climb in, shutting the door.
Silence greets me.
Her chest rises and falls—fast, sharp. I can feel her anger. Her emotions war in the confined space. My hands curl around the steering wheel. I fight the urge to reach for her before she finally turns in her seat, facing me.
Then she does something I don’t expect. She climbs over the center console—swinging one leg across mine, then the other until she’s straddling me.
Her dress rides up. Her breath fans my face.
Her anger hasn’t vanished—no, it vibrates between us, thrumming like a live wire—but the way she looks at me makes everything inside me go still.
“Does this look like someone who does what she’s told?” she whispers, fire in her voice, in her eyes, in every inch of her body pressed to mine.
I swallow hard. “Not even close,” I manage to mumble, completely thrown off guard.
I press the door lock, glad for the tinted windows. Her hands frame my jaw—not gentle, not soft, but firm, commanding.
She’s so fucking hot.
“And does this look like someone who runs away because her mother frowns at you?”
“No,” I rasped. “It looks like someone who’s about to ruin me.”
A faint, wicked smile touches her lips. “Good.” She leans in, close enough that her breath brushes my mouth—but doesn’t kiss me. Not yet. She holds the tension there, coiling it, daring me.
Daring us.
I’ll take that dare and double it.
I take her lips in a kiss that is wild and unhinged. Her tongue tangles with mine. When she pulls back, I nip her lip, trying to coax her back to kiss me again. I want her, my cock hard, erect, weeping to sheath itself in her hot heat.
“Fuck me,” I order her.
She reaches between us and works the button and zipper of my pants, opening them.
I push into her palm, and she strokes me harder still.
My eyes roll to the back of my head, and I lean against the headrest, fighting the urge to take over, to rip her panties in half and off her body and thrust myself into her.
I’ve never wanted to fuck someone so hard in my life as I do right at this moment. I want to punish her for flaunting the life she enjoyed while I went without, to make her feel what I felt. To mark her as mine and no one else’s—certainly not her snobbish parents.
I’m breathless, my head spinning. Who is this woman who’s charmed her way under my skin?
I can’t get enough of her.
She pulls her panties to the side and slips down onto my cock. I groan. She’s so wet, a perfect fit. Her cunt wraps around my dick like a glove, pulling it, teasing it. I’m hard as hell, and I thrust into her, clasping her hips, no longer able to stop the need that pulsates through me.
“Oh yeah, Stephen. Fuck me.”
A shiver runs over my body at her words, her plea. I won’t disappoint. I thrust up, relishing the sound of her gasp as I take her deep. My large cock stretches her sweet, tight pussy.
I’m wrong. She isn’t a good girl at all. Not here with me. Not like this. She is a Siren, and I can’t ignore her call.
Sweat beads our skin. I can smell our sex, her hot, wet cunt. My mouth waters. I’m going to eat her again. I’m going to hold her down, force her to orgasm, to climax on my face, and relish every second of it.
Her body shakes, and I kiss her hard and deep as her orgasm rips through her. Her body convulses around my cock, dragging me into my own release. I come hard, emptying myself into her, deep and sure.
I don’t care about the consequences—an oddity for me and one I’ll think upon later. But right now, nothing seems righter.
“Dallen…” I can’t form more words. My body spent, drained, left expended and empty, satisfied and content.
“Take back what you said,” she says, meeting my gaze, her face a picture of satisfaction. “Apologize, or this ends now.”
I kiss her, claim her mouth again, before leaning back and watching her a moment.
Should I deny her request? Should I argue the point and see if she’ll fuck me into submission again?
Nothing is hotter than when a woman takes control, and considering I’m a control freak and like things done my way, that too is new for me.
“I take it back. You’re not a good girl,” I say. “I’m sorry.”
A small, wicked yet satisfied smile twists her mouth. “I’m good most of the time, except when I’m around you, then I lose all my inhibitions. But don’t call me out on it again, or this will end.”
End? Hell no.
We’re just beginning.