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“I assure you, Allison, I’m not resisting.” Somehow him calling me Allison in this moment is more intimate than Allie, and I don’t know why. “I want nothing more than your hands and mouth on my body,” he says. “But you’ll have to allow me to kiss you everywhere first.” He drags the T-shirt over my head and by the time it’s on the ground his hands are on my breasts, and when my hands cover his hands, his finger strokes my nipples.
My fingers catch long strands of his light brown hair and I tilt his gaze to mine. Any control I’d thought to gain in that moment is lost when Dash pinches my nipples, sending darts of pleasure straight to my sex. I moan and he captures the sound with his mouth, kissing me with the kind of passion that a girl thinks she will never know because it can’t be real.
Oh, but it is. It so is.
My hands tunnel into his hair and when his gaze lifts to mine, I find hunger there. So much hunger, and all for me. He catches my hands and presses them behind me, bracing them on his powerful thighs, his arm wrapping my waist, securing me. Watching me now, he cups my breast and leans in, licking my nipple, sensations rippling through me, my sex clenching with impossible need, need for him. Need to have him inside me, thrusting and pumping, but we are so far from there, it’s brutal.
His mouth clamps down on my nipple and he suckles and licks. My head tilts back and I bite my lip, fighting the sounds that threaten to escape my lips and failing.
I moan and pant and before I know what’s happening, Dash has lifted me, stood up, and set me down on the couch. He stares down at me, his lips pressing to my knee, watching me as his lips travel lower, down my thigh, and I know now, I was never, and will never control anything with this man, with or without my clothes on. Not that I want to control him. I just want to touch him, but I’m too lost in the way he’s touching me right now.
His fingers slide between my thighs, stroking the delicate flesh. My lashes flutter as he says, “So wet, baby,” kissing my leg again, his tongue an erotic tease, while his fingers are exploring me, driving me out of my mind.
And the way he’s watching me, confident, dominant is incredibly sexy. I wonder now why I swore I’d never let another man control me.
Sensation begins to build and I breathe out, “Dash,” in a plea for more, and yet, less. I don’t want this to end. And more is exactly what he gives me. He leans in, his breath warm on my clit, and licks me there. I gasp, arching into the delicate touch that is gone too soon.
“Say please,” he orders softly.
His satisfied smile curves his lips, but he doesn’t deny me what I both want and need, which is his mouth on my body in the most intimate of ways. He licks me again, and then he’s suckling me, licking me, pumping me with his fingers and I’m losing my mind, and just too far gone, to hold back. I mean he’s just so damn good-looking and good at everything he does to me, and I tumble over the edge of that invisible cliff, with a jerk of my body that I cannot control. And then I’m spasming deliciously, trembling all over.
The moment I collapse, Dash’s fingers are gone and he eases my legs off his shoulders, kissing my belly. “Can you be inside me now?” I ask, my voice breathless, my body weak with the burn for what I have not had.
“No more condoms, baby. I wasn’t exactly planning this weekend.”
“You don’t need it. I’m on the pill.”
His fingers curl at my hips and his body tenses. I feel his reaction like a stab in the very belly he just kissed. “Right. Either I’m not safe or I’m a slut.” I try to move and he holds me steady. “Let me up, Dash. I need to go home.”
“Don’t do that. I don’t not use a condom.”
“Okay. Can you please let me up?”
“I don’t think you’re a slut. Not even close.”
“I didn’t lie about the two years. I like knowing when to expect my period.”
He stares at me a moment, God, he just stares at me, and then he’s standing, dragging his pants down his legs, but I feel dirty and wrong. I stand up and when I would just walk away, he captures me to him, his thick erection at my hip.
“Damn it, Allie,” he says, his voice low, guttural, “don’t run away.”
“I’m not running away, Dash. I’m just leaving.”
“Don’t,” he says. “That wasn’t what you think it was. I wanted to ask questions I have no right to ask. Who he was, and what he was to you, when that doesn’t matter. Shouldn’t matter.”
