Chapter 37
THIRTY-SEVEN
When I get back to the bungalow, it’s to find Dean already showered and dressed for dinner in a light-weight, charcoal gray suit over a crisp white button down that’s open at the collar, just enough to show the off the tattoos on his neck and chest. Standing on his side of the bed, head bent, he straps on his watch before tucking his wallet into the inside breast pocket of his suit jacket. Finished, he looks up at me.
“We have to be there at six,” he says, adjusting the cuff of his shirt around the bulk of his watch. “Are you going to have enough time to get ready?”
Dinner.
Right.
We have dinner reservations.
Thrown off by his casual, matter-of-fact tone, I nod. “Yes,” I tell him, like he wasn’t fucking me from behind in an ocean view cabana, little more than an hour ago. “I can be ready.”
Looking up at me, Dean gives me a flat smile. “Okay.” Letting his gaze wander over me, he nods. “I’ll wait outside,” he tells me before turning toward the open sliders and the deck just beyond them.
“Dean?” His name is out of my mouth before I can stop it, the sound of it enough to make me want to stuff my fist in my mouth.
Stopping in the doorway, he turns back to look at me, giving me that closed, unreadable expression of his. “Hmmm?”
“Is everything okay?” Jesus, Millie. Shut up. “Did I do something?”
His expression softens slightly. “No,” he tells me on a head shake. “Everything is fine.”
Even though it’s an obvious lie, I let it go because I know what he’ll say if I push him.
So we fucked, Mills—it’s not a big deal, remember? Not if we don’t make it a big deal.
And that’s exactly what I’m doing.
I’m making it a big deal.
Pushing a smile onto my face, I swallow hard against the tightness building in my throat.
“I’ll hurry,” I say before turning away from him to move toward the bathroom.
Closing the door, I flick a quick look through the thick pane of glass that separates the bathroom from the rest of the bungalow.
I can see Dean outside, standing on the edge of the deck, back toward me, looking out over the beach and the ocean stretched out in front of him.
Quit it, Millie. Quit making such a big deal out of everything. So Dean Mercer fucked you. He’d fuck just about anyone—it hardly makes you special.
Hand hovering over the switch, I hesitate, but only for a few seconds before I toggle it, frosting the privacy glass so I can get ready for dinner.
Stepping out onto the deck, thirty minutes later, I find Dean exactly where I left him. Clearing my throat, I fight against the urge to go back inside and change before he sees me.
Too late.
As soon as Dean hears me, he turns around, the flat, distant smile on his face faltering when he sees what I’m wearing. His gaze rakes over me, settling on my ankle for a moment before it bounces back up to meet mine.
I don’t know what possessed me to buy it, let alone decide it was a good idea to pack it for a honeymoon trip I had every intention of taking alone. Checking the label of the dress I wore to dinner, Friday night, I combed every store website that carried that particular designer until I found it.
And then I bought two more just like it.
One white and one red.
I wore the white one on my Dean hunt last week.
Tonight, I’m wearing the red.
Standing in front of my closet, flipping through the row of cocktail dresses I packed, all I could think about was the way Dean looked at me when I walked in.
Like maybe leaving me on that beach after what happened had given him time to come to his senses a little bit.
Enough to decide that it was a mistake. One he didn’t want to repeat and I didn’t like it.
I didn’t like feeling like a mistake.
Not one little bit.
“Before you ask,” I say, my tone full of false bravado while I watch him make his way toward me. “No—I’m not wearing a bra.”
“Well,” he says, stopping in front of me, his dark blue gaze flashing dangerously. “You’re not wearing that either.”
“Oh…” I give him a cool smile while mentally tightening the hinge on my knees to keep them from knocking. “I definitely am.”
Dean cocks his head to the side in obvious warning. “Millie…”
Slightly dizzy, I look up at him. “Dean…”
Dean steps into me and I counter. Moving backward I feel the cool metal frame of the slider biting into the bare skin between my shoulder blades.
Even though I’m trapped, he keeps coming.
Doesn’t stop until he’s standing over me, so close I can feel his breath against my temple. “What are you doing?”
“I’m doing what you told me to,” I tell him, my own breath suddenly going shallow and ragged in my chest. “I showered and got ready for dinner.”
“Mmm…” He makes that warning sound again, low and deep in his throat. There must be something wrong with me because every time I hear it, my pussy starts to throb. “Is that what you’re doing?”
Still looking up at him, I widen my eyes. “What else would I be doing?”
“Okay…” Leaning into me even further, I can feel the long, thick length of his cock pressed against my belly.
He’s hard. So hard I can feel my knees begin to shake with anticipation.
“I need you to think about where we were and what we were doing a few hours ago…” Lifting a hand, he traces a lazy fingertip along my shoulder, nudging the ridiculously thin strap holding my dress in place down the slope of it.
“And then I need you to decide if wearing this dress to dinner, to a public place, with me is a good idea, or not.”
I had you on your hands and knees, begging for it, like the good little slut you are—and when you came for me, you came so hard I can still feel your greedy little pussy milking my cock…
“I think wearing this dress to dinner with you is the best idea I’ve had in years,” I tell him, my tone surprisingly steady while the strap holding my dress in place finally slips over the round of my shoulder.
“Speaking of, if we don’t leave now, we’re going to miss our reservation.
” The only thing holding the whisper thin silk of my dress in place is the stiff peak of my nipple.
I’m holding my breath, half hoping it’ll fall on its own, half hoping Dean rips it off me and carries me to bed.
Looking down, Dean sees just how close I am to being exposed. Aiming one of those devastating looks at me through his lashes, he gives me a lopsided grin. “I’m going to have to disagree with you on that one,” he says. “I think your best idea was when you kidnapped me on your wedding day.”
“Like I said,” I whisper, my gaze settling on his mouth. “You bring out the worst in me.”
“So what you’re saying…” Dean wraps his hand around the back of my neck, smoothing his thumb up the line of my throat before pressing the pad of it into the underside of my chin.
“Is that it’s my fault you’re dressed like a little cock tease?
” Adjusting the angle of my mouth, Dean dips his head, his gaze pinned to mine while he traces the curve of my bottom lip with the tip of his tongue, the tease of it pulling a soft whimper up the line of my throat. “Is that it?”
“It’s just a dress, Dean,” I tell him, my eyes practically rolling into the back of my head when he adjusts the angle of my jaw so he can lick his way up the taut cords of my throat. “We women wear them when we want to look nice.”
I feel his fingers tighten around the back of my neck when I say it. “You don’t look nice, Mills,” he growls in my ear. “You look—”
“Like a slut.” Saying it out loud embarrasses me, almost as much as it turns me on.
“Fuckable.” Lifting his head, Dean looks me in the eye again. “Utterly and unbearably fuckable.”
“Unbearably?”
“Yes, unbearably—because I know now, don’t I?
” he says, still looking into my eyes while his other hand slides up the back of my leg, their fingertips skimming along the inside of my thigh.
“How good your cum tastes.” Reaching their juncture, he skims the narrow strip of silk between them, the corner of his mouth tipping upward when he feels how wet it is.
How ready I am for him. “The sort of sounds you make for me while you take my cock…” He makes that sound again, low and deep in his chest, and my already throbbing pussy starts to pulse so hard, I can feel it in my toes.
“What a good girl you can be for me while I’m fucking you. ”
Be my good girl and let me fuck you the way I need to. Can you do that for me?
Dean strokes his thumb along the like of my throat. “Do you want to know a secret?”
“You were never an Eagle Scout?”
“She’s got jokes…” Shifting the hand on my face to brush his thumb against my lower lip, he gives me one of his devastating grins. “Even half naked and ready to fall to her knees so she can choke on my cock, my cool, unflappable Millie’s got jokes.”
Swallowing hard, I feel my knees start to shake. “Dean…”
“You’ve convinced me, Mills…” Hooking his finger around my fallen dress strap, he lifts it up.
“Wearing this dress to dinner with me is an excellent idea.” Settling the strap on my shoulder, he smooths it into place with the callused pad of his thumb.
“You’re right, we should probably go—” Before I can argue or possibly beg, Dean pulls his hand from under my dress.
Taking a step back, he pulls his hand away from my face to skim his knuckles over the stiff peak of my breast. “I know how much you hate being late.” Dropping his hand away from me completely, he leans in to me again, this time to press a soft kiss against my cheek before he leaves me where I am, a complete and utter mess, to walk out the door.