It comes out as a gurgle, ripped in half by the time his tongue slides, unrelenting, over the right spot. He keeps going after, greedy, lapping. He wants to swallow everything I can’t keep inside me.
Even when I’m twitching, scrabbling at his shoulders, even when I yank at his hair, hard enough I’m certain some comes loose, he just groans and buries his nose farther, arms working to keep my hips from bucking away.
I laugh, hiccuping on the aftershocks:
“Dallas… wow.”
All the nerves in my legs have liquefied.
He stands, beard glistening, and wipes his mouth with the back of his wrist, then kisses me. Hungry, shameless, getting off on the taste of me.
His jeans are already unsnapped. He drags my hand down. He’s thick and hot beneath my fingers, so fucking ready he’s shaking as I fist his cock and line him up. His gaze firmly remains on mine as he finally presses in.
The stretch borders on pain, but it’s a knowing hurt, breaking in boots: I’m built for it, once I surrender to the sensation.
He rocks in, steady but insistent, hands braced on either side of my head, thumbs catching strands of my hair. The wall seems to vibrate with every slap and grunt.
Dallas buries his whole weight into me, breath going rougher as he pounds harder. My entire world trails out from my pinned hips, every friction point, every slip of skin, every time he hits bottom and I hear his voice strangled in my ear, telling me to take it, take all of him. He’s teaching me a lesson I’ll never forget.
I don’t even recognize the sounds falling out of my mouth as my fingers dig grooves down his back.
He slams in deep, holds there, every muscle in his arms flexed and trembling. I clench around him, greedy, and for half a heartbeat, we’re both suspended. It could last forever or end right now, and I don’t know which I want.
I just want… him.
And then we fall. The pleasure ricochets through me as he comes with a guttural noise, forehead banging to mine…
When everything softens, when the world has not exploded, and our breathing slows to a rhythmic pace, I rest against him, listening to the beat of his heart under my ear.
His fingers trace idle, gentle circles on my back, and in the quiet, there’s only him. Only us.
I should feel guilty. Or confused. Or embarrassed.
But instead, I feel alive.
Alive in a way I’ve never felt before.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Dallas
January 3rd
The first Mondayafter New Year’s is always a slap in the face.
The holiday lights are still up, the snow hasn’t melted, and half the county is still pretending it’s socially acceptable to eat leftover pie for breakfast. But school is back in session, which means alarms, real pants, and early morning noise.
Lila’s braids are lopsided because she insisted on doing them herself, Ellie is vibrating from the sugar cookies she snuck before breakfast, and Boone looks like he slept maybe three hours, which means Rose probably slept two.
Business as usual.
Buckhorn Elementary is already buzzing when we pull up. Kids in puffy coats spill out of cars, backpacks bouncing. The front doors are wide open, letting out blasts of warm air mixed with the smell of crayons, floor wax, and the faintest whiff of cafeteria pancakes.
Lila holds my hand as we walk up the shoveled path.
Her mitten is tiny and warm in my palm.
She glances up at me, wide-eyed. “Daddy, are you sure I can’t stay home one more day? Just one? I think I might still be a little… holiday sick.”
