His eyes open and focus on mine, a small smile sliding across his face. Covering my hand on the guitar, he whispers, “You’re so beautiful.” The sincerity in his eyes is clear, a sparkle in the depths. His hand wanders up my back, gentle pressure coaxing me forth, his mouth beckoning me without words.
We kiss. We kiss and like the thousands of kisses we’ve shared before, there’s an unbridled passion that stirs within. He’s more than I expected, more than I dreamed possible, and I adore him—body, heart, and soul. Jack Dalton owns me, cherishing while devouring me equally.
I move the guitar to coffee table, and turn back, resuming our kiss as I move on top of him. Both of us squeezed onto the couch together. His hand slips under my chemise and he grabs my breast. “Best tits ever.”
His dirty words turn me on and I run my hand over his hardness. His voice is raspy with sleep when he says, “I want you on top of me. I want you to fuck me, Angel.”
We both stop and undress, not wanting to lose a second that we can be together. His eyes lock on mine as I lift up. He aligns himself before I slide down, my breath catching.
With my hands pressed to his chest, I close my eyes, sinking emotionally as much as physically into all that is Dalton. I begin to rock, each sensation sparking another. Faster. Faster, needing more, feeling everything. His hands are on my breasts, my hips, and pressing against my tattoo, the new script still tender under the bandage. “Choose the dare,” he says from memory. “Dare to dream.” His words become moans.
When his eyes close, his body grips me harder and he starts his own rhythm and slam, driving my orgasm out with his name bursting from my mouth. Sitting up, he covers my mouth and my moans, swallowing my passion until he releases.
His head drops to my shoulder and a shiver courses through his body. Warmth from his arms keeps me steady and upright. “I love you,” I say.
Dalton looks up, and touches my face, “I love you.”
Our bodies exhausted, our minds at ease, our hearts full of love, we fall asleep on the couch together. He stirs next to me as the sun rises. When I wiggle next to him, he says, “Let’s get in bed.” He takes my hand, helping me up and we climb under the covers. I snuggle into his side with my ear pressed to his chest. His breaths are even, a steady and comforting tempo that I fall asleep to.
In the morning, just as we wake, he whispers, “I want to take you somewhere.”
“Okay, where do you want to take me?”
Taking my left hand, he brings it to his mouth and kisses it. “Nothing can top this, but one day I’m gonna take you to Texas.”
Suddenly feeling wide awake, I lift up on my elbow and look at him, surprised. “You want to take me home?”
“No, my home is with you,” he says, with a small smile. “I need to settle things with my dad. I don’t want it weighing down our future. Will you go with me?”
I kiss his forehead, then run my finger down his handsome face, stopping on his bottom lip. “If you’re ready to go back, then I’m ready to go with you.”
“It was never about becoming rich. It was about doing something I love.” ~Holliday Hughes
When the plane touches down in Austin, I lean over and say, “Stay close to me.” I don’t want to scare her, but LAX sucked this morning and when I fly commercial, I get a lot of unwanted attention. I don’t want Holliday hurt in the chaos that surrounds me.
She’s done well with all the media craziness over the last few months. Our elopement is old news now. The press has put their focus on Holliday and what they call a ‘bump watch.’ She’s been doing a lot of fucking yoga lately and can almost do as many sit-ups as me. She doesn’t need it. Her body is hot as fuck already, but I think it makes her feel like she has some control over the situation.
Recently, cheating stories have popped up online claiming the honeymoon is over and I’m moving on with this actress or that model. It’s all bullshit. We know the truth and don’t have anything to prove.
I take her hand just as security greets us as we walk off the plane. We’re escorted down the escalator to baggage claim. While waiting, I’m asked for autographs and photos. Even though the band is gone, it’s still easy for me to step into the Johnny Outlaw persona. It’s a part of who I am, not Holliday’s favorite part, but she understands and sees through the act.
To draw the crowd, I separate from her. I continue giving the fans what they want, who they want—Johnny Outlaw—sunglasses, bad attitude, and impatience works well in these types of situations. As soon as our suitcases are retrieved, I get us the hell out of here.