Chapter Thirteen
Martina
His lips devour mine in an almost feral way. Like it’s been a while since he’s been kissed. Like maybe he’s gone as long as I have.
Kissing must have changed, I think as my body ignites with tingles, because I don’t remember it being like this. His lips are strong and demanding, yet soft and playful. They exude both confidence and gentleness.
His hands on my body make me entirely forget about the last few hours of my life and how I almost died. Because this right here, is the most alive I’ve felt in a very long time. My heart jumps wildly against my rib cage. Every last one of my nerve endings bristles as his hands explore my breasts and his fingers brush against my nipples. A shiver runs through my body, this time not because I’m cold.
When his lips stray from mine and travel across my neck, my head falls back against the mattress and I get lost in the feeling. Everywhere his mouth touches my skin is instantly on fire. I want his mouth on every inch of me. I groan when he lightly pinches a nipple, my hand gripping his large, toned bicep.
My hand travels up a broad shoulder. My fingertips skim across his chest, down his ribcage, and along his rippling abs. I’m soaked between my legs, having never touched such a fine sculpt of muscle.
His hand snakes down from my breast to my thigh. He caresses it tentatively, as if testing the waters. I almost shout at him that the water’s fine, perfect, in fact, and he should dive right in—headfirst.
I look at him and our gazes lock. His hand falls away and his chest caves with an exhale. No!
Panic grips me. I fear if I let this moment slip away, it may never return. I run my hand across his lower abs, tracing his muscles with a finger. When the tip of my finger grazes his erection, he sucks in a quick breath. His eyes close and he murmurs something I can’t understand. Is he cursing at himself?
“Dallas,” I whisper, as I let my fingers fully wrap around his penis.
He lets out an almost pained, guttural cry right before he flips me onto my back and hovers over me, staring down at me, eyes burning into me like flames from the fire. I’m not sure exactly what I’m seeing in them, though, and it’s confusing. I don’t think it’s want or passion behind them. It’s more like anger. He’s suddenly dark and dangerous, a war going on within him that I can’t possibly imagine or understand.
Is he thinking he’d be taking advantage of me—the helpless woman he just saved from certain demise?
“It’s okay,” I say. “I want this.”
Determined to show him how I’m anything but helpless, I reach for his erection again. He stops me, moving both of my hands up, trapping them on either side of my head. He stares down at me once more, putting all his weight on me as his breath falls heavy on my neck.
I fear there really is a war going on inside him, and that I may end up on the losing side.
I wiggle one of my hands free, put it on the back of his head and force his face toward mine. This is one girl who’s not going down without a fight. Even if this only happens once. Even if the snow stops and I’m rescued, never to see him again. Even if I’ll wake up and regret it tomorrow. In this moment, I want this more than anything. And somehow, I get the feeling that, even if he doesn’t want it, he may need it.
Resisting at first, finally, he gives in and lets me pull his head until our lips meet. It’s an explosion of want and need. And maybe desperation. Our lips feast on each other, our tongues tangling in ways that have pulses shooting through me like a meteor shower.
When he reaches between us and runs a finger through my wetness, I moan so loud Bex comes over and puts his head on my arm. I brush him away. My hand lands on Dallas’s ass and I squeeze the soft, muscular globe.
A finger plunges inside me and I cry out. He adds another and I almost detonate as shocks of pleasure rob me of the air in my lungs. So long , I think. It’s been so long since a man’s hands have done this to me. Was it always like this? Hell, was it ever like this? I know it wasn’t. This is different. He is different.
My entire body shudders when he rolls off me and toys with my clit. He groans his appreciation at my response, and without warning, his tongue replaces his finger. Ten seconds later, I’m shouting his name as he brings me to climax faster than I’ve ever been able to get there.
Oh. My. God.
Before the tingles can subside, he’s hovering over me, erection poking my entrance, staring at me with that same pained, distraught look. Maybe this is just his sex face. “It’s okay. I want to,” I assure him.
He shakes his head but doesn’t move away. His cock is dancing against my sensitive clit, and I wonder if it’s possible to have another orgasm so quickly.
“I don’t have any condoms,” he says.
“I’m on the pill.”
He doesn’t look convinced. Maybe he’s worried about my sexual past.
I grab his butt cheeks hard. “Dallas, I assure you I’m on the pill. And I’m good. I haven’t even been with anyone since…” I don’t say his name. Because I’m lying here with another man on top of me, and well, now is not the time to think of my dead ex-husband. Sooo not the time.
His gaze lingers on my face in a visual caress before he buries his head into my shoulder. I think he’s going to roll off me, but instead, he pushes inside me. In one thrust, he sinks to the very end of me, complementing me in the very way men and women were made to fit together. He stills. I swallow, tears dancing in the back of my throat at the feeling of having a man inside me again. It feels amazing. Exquisite. So incredibly right.
I lift my hips in encouragement, and he begins moving. Sliding out of me almost completely and then back in. Again and again, teasing me with the threat of pulling out, then thrusting inside so we’re joined together as solidly as two people can be.
Holy crap! If I thought kissing had changed, this is… I can’t even find the words.
It could be this place. The remoteness. The blizzard. My brush with death. All of that could be making this experience unlike any other.
It’s him.
My insides are on fire, a far cry from how they were just a short time ago. My muscles tighten and that feeling builds, starting in my stomach, and spreading down to my thighs.
Dallas’s thrusts come quickly now, as do his breaths. Knowing he’s close to coming brings me even closer. It’s going to happen imminently. It’s starting—a freight train I have no way of controlling. “Oh, God,” I sigh explosively into his shoulder.
He thrusts once, twice, a third time, grunting loudly as both of us erupt in simultaneous pleasure, my hips bucking wildly underneath him as he stills and pulsates inside me.
He collapses down on top of me, sweat from our slick bodies squishing between us.
I don’t know why, but I start laughing. I’ve been such a fool. Why haven’t I been doing this all along? I’ve wasted so much time thinking that whatever man I decided to date had to be a great role model for my son. If I couldn’t confirm they were potential husband material, I’d just be wasting my time. It had me rejecting them at every text, phone call, or coffee date. All this time I could have just been having fun. I’m only twenty-four, after all. As soon as I get back home, I promise not to shut myself off from the dating world.
My jubilant demeanor disappears. Home . Two thousand miles away from where I am now. I close my eyes, the weight of the situation dawning on me. I don’t want to go back into the dating pool. I don’t want texts, calls, coffee dates, or even kisses from other men.
I just want this man .
He rolls to the side, opening his eyes and looking at me in the oddest manner. As if I’m a stranger. Or maybe he was put off by my laughing.
For a long moment, he’s quiet, an unreadable mask of emotion clouding his expression. Then he rolls away from me, grabs one of the blankets, and stands up. “I have to get out of here,” he says, his back to me.
Without even bothering to hit the bathroom, he’s dressed and out the door in less than a minute.
I sit up and pull the blankets around me, wondering what just happened.
Bex climbs onto the mattress, sniffing around inquisitively. I ruffle the fur atop his head. “Why are boys so incredibly hard to read?”
He circles the mattress and finds a spot to lie down.
My nose starts running and I swipe a finger under it. When I notice blood, I’m not surprised. The air up here is much drier than I’m used to, even with all this snow. I pinch my nostrils between my fingers and glance around for a tissue. Not seeing any, I get up and pull open the top drawer of the nightstand. My stomach lurches into my throat and I absently release my nose. And then… then droplets of blood splatter down next to a framed photo of Dallas. Only it’s not just a photo of Dallas. It’s a photo of Dallas next to a beautiful woman. A woman with a baby in her arms.