Page 40 of No Darker Temptation

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I can’t look at you?”

“You can,” she tells me. “Just not like that if you want to get to our reservation on time.”

“Then maybe I don’t want to get to our reservation on time…”

When our lips touch, she sighs, lifting to the tips of her toes to throw both arms around my neck. Her body melts into mine as she drags her tongue across my bottom lip, demanding entrance, and my mouth parts for her. All the blood rushes to my head when she steps forward, rocking her hips against mine, until I’m desperate with the need to be inside her.

But it’s more than a need. It’s a blistering, burning, primal urge that eats through me like acid, eviscerating all else in its path. I cannot think or function beyond this one, simple desire that demands to be satiated. Her pulse hums against my fingertips as I wrap one hand around her neck to tilt her head back. And when I force her open with my tongue, sucking greedily, and drawing her lips between my teeth, a single moan escapes her and I come undone.

It isn’t enough to touch her. I want to tear through this fabric until her flesh is red and raw, want to run my callused hands along the expanse of her smooth skin until she’s rough and cut in the same places I am.

Dahlia pushes away from the mirror and I lift her onto the edge of the island behind me, spreading her legs so I can stand between them. Her thighs clench around my hips and she grinds against my growing erection, already engorged and desperate for release. A shock of pleasure runs through me when she sighs against my mouth and rolls her hips again, creating friction between me and her hot, wet sex. I can practically smell the arousal leaking from her pores and if I thought I could get away with ruining this dress, I’d have ripped it off of her already.

It doesn’t matter how many times I kiss her, touch her, or seat myself inside her. It isn’t enough. I want to be underneath her skin and in her bones. I want to be the air she breaths and the blood that runs through her veins. The way I feel about her, the way I love her, is nothing short of madness. I could map out every inch of her body from memory alone. I know the taste of her on my tongue, know the scent and feel of her skin, can recite back the dreams and nightmares of her heart word for word. All the parts of herself that she’s given to me or that I’ve taken are more a part of me than my own self.

She thrusts against me, aching for release so I let her ride for a while as I push up her skirt and the fabric gathers at the tops of her thighs. “I’m not wearing anything underneath,” she breathes.

A strangled breath leaves me. “Jesus Christ, Dahlia.”

I push into her without resistance, the hot, tight walls of her sex clenching around me. Her gaze remains fixated on the place where our bodies meet and she watches with amalgamated fascination and lust as I draw out of her and thrust back in. She gasps and digs her nails into the flesh of my biceps, holding tightly as I withdraw and ram in again. She tries to meet me by rolling forward but I tighten my grip on her hips, keeping her in place. If she so much as breathes too quickly, I’m going to finish before I’m ready and I have every intention of drawing this out for as long as possible.

“Please.” She claws at the front of my shirt, drawing me closer. “More.”

Whatever patience I’ve mustered together dissolves the minute she starts pleading. I slam into her until the island trembles beneath us and I’m so deep inside her I don’t know if I’ll ever come out. I keep both arms hooked under her legs and lift them until her ankles rest on my shoulders. Dahlia falls back on the island, back arching, hips lifting to meet mine. Her entire chest is bright red as a blush creeps its way up her neck and across her cheeks. I plunge into her until I’m dizzy and sweating, until the sight of her breasts bouncing in that dress forces me to lean down and sink my teeth into her flesh.

“After you left this morning, I regretted not asking you to stay so I touched myself until I came on the sheets.” She buries her face in the crook of my neck and cries out. “Oh my God, just like that!”

“What else did you do this morning?” I withdraw to the tip before sinking back inside. “Other than come all by yourself?”

“I…” Her voice catches when I start to circle her clit with my finger. “Stop. I can’t think.”

“You should’ve called me back inside. I’d have taken care of it.”

A whimper leaves her lips as tears roll down her temples. “Alex, please.”

“Please what?”

“You’re such a son of a bitch sometimes.”

I pull out of her and she writhes against the island surface as I keep her hips pinned in place. “Dahlia?”

“Please! Jesus Christ I said please.”

I’m not in the mood to torture either of us. I spread her legs apart, yank her to the edge, and all it takes is three thrusts inside her before she comes around me. Another thrust before I find release and meet her there.

She’s still trying to catch her breath when I tell her, “I really like that dress.”

She laughs so hard I carry her back into the bedroom where those precious sounds of delight quickly descend into deep, throaty pleas for release. And when we arrive late to our dinner reservation, I have the pleasure of saying that for once, I was the one who came on time.

THE OTHER WOMAN

Dahlia

Our home has a ballroom.

The walls are a soft shade of rose petal pink and the ceiling is mostly stained glass, glistening like a dome-shaped vault above our heads. Whatever rotting tapestries and threadbare curtains once hung over the windows have been stripped and replaced with scaffolding. The fumes from the chemicals they’re using to strip the wooden window frames of decades’ worth of paint made me feel lightheaded so while the crew works in there, I set up shop in the long gallery just outside.