Page 23 of Parentmoon

“I’m wearing this—” I stop short again. Oh God. This is so embarrassing. “We should stop.”

Dallas stills, leaning back and glancing down at my dress which covers his hand. My fingers still clutch his wrist.

“Got some kind of lock on you?” His teasing words sting. He’s joking about a chastity belt while I’m wearing belly-firming Spanx. The taunt could be funny, but I’m mortified, suddenly, sensitively aware of my age and my shape, and my lack of experience compared to a man like Dallas. This is a Bridget Jones moment if ever there was one.

I push his arm, forcing his hand out from beneath the skirt of my dress. Pressing my back harder into the glass door behind me, my voice cracks under a whisper. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

My skin flames. Pink isn’t confidence. It’s my breaking point. “I should go to bed.”

Sliding along the glass behind me, I slip around Dallas and rush to the bathroom, closing myself inside. With my hands braced on the sink, I stare at myself in the mirror. My cheeks are rosy, a flush of excitement lingering on them, mingling with the humiliation. My lips are swollen, painted by Dallas’s eager kisses. My jaw holds a rash of scruff burn. I’m shaken to the core—from a lack of orgasm and a swell of disappointment.

What was I thinking?

With shaky hands, I brush my teeth, use the facility, and wash my face. This cozy house isn’t big enough for Dallas and me, but when I exit the bathroom, he’s gone, and further disappointment settles in. His absence suggests what happened never happened. We didn’t kiss. He didn’t almost touch me. I didn’t just embarrass myself.

I trudge up to the loft and undress in the dark, fighting back senseless tears.

And almost wish a seven-inch lizard would appear to bring me comfort.

Almost.

Chapter 7

I wake with a start as the faint tickle of short reptilian legs skitter over my forehead.

Dawn softly seeps into the openness of the loft and Dallas is sitting on the edge of the bed. He holds a cup of coffee in one hand.

“I didn’t mean to startle you, darlin’.” His other hand is retreating and the sensation that woke me must have been his fingers along my forehead. I’m instantly relieved it wasn’t a gecko.

Slowly, I sit up.

Dallas wears a T-shirt with the name of the resort on the front and a pair of athletic shorts, like he’s preparing for a run. With his eyes focused on mine, he says, “I want to understand what happened last night.” A tender vulnerability rests in his words, as if he honestly wants to know what happened.

“It wasn’t you. It was me.” My voice is sleep-groggy but tense, embarrassed once again by my behavior. Was I upset about kissing him? Or was it that I ran away like a frightened girl instead of a stable woman?

Dallas sets the coffee mug on the stand beside the bed and glances toward the railing of the loft. “Explain that to me, darlin’.” He turns back in my direction and questioning eyes meet mine.

Avoiding his gaze, I lick my lips, chew the corner, and pluck the sheet covering my lap. “I was wearing this body slimming underwear and when I remembered what I had on, you were almost . . . and I panicked because they come up to here.” I level my hand and press under the swell of my breasts, absent of a bra beneath my fraternity-mom tee.

Dallas peers downward. “So you’re saying I couldn’t touch you because of your underwear?”

“Well . . . Yes.” I cover my face with both hands as if that will shield me from my mortification.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” His tone isn’t sharp but filled with a deep chuckle.

“Don’t laugh at me.” My voice cracks as I drop my hands with force, slapping my thighs.

“Oh, I’m laughing, darlin’. Laughing at the fact you think some body-slimming gimmick, that you don’t fucking need, would prevent me from getting at you.” Dallas is moving as he speaks, shifting off the edge of the bed to reposition himself so he can climb on the mattress and crawl over me.

“I—”

As he straddles my legs, I look up at him. His hands cup my face.

“I have morning breath,” I whisper.

“Again, don’t give a shit.” His mouth is on mine, sweeping his tongue inside, and while I want to be repulsed, I’m not. I swallow around the intrusion and swirl my tongue against his. We kiss like we did last night, desperate and drowning, until he pulls away. “Woke up hard and needy just thinking about you.”

He shifts, taking me with him as he sits and tugs me over his thick thighs. “Don’t care about your underwear because it’s coming off.” His hands are on my hips and he’s moving me closer to his center, then dragging me back and forth over the hardness bulging in his thin athletic shorts.