He kisses my forehead. “There’s no shame in this.”
My cheeks heat and his words make me smile. “None whatsoever.”
Then he pulls me closer and we fall asleep…
“It’s easy to believe in Hell. It’s Heaven I’m not sure exists.” ~Johnny Outlaw
I snuggle closer, the depth of my dreams becoming shallow as light starts to invade the back of my lids. My senses are enticed by warmth and the scent of comfort surrounding me. My thoughts shift from cloudy to clear as I wake up in Dalton’s arms. Peeking my eyes open, I see his handsome face—his eyes still closed, his breath hitting my cheek softly. Details of him come back as his strong arms tighten around me. Vegas. Convention. Dalton. Works at the hotel. Dinner. Penthouse. Sleep. I think that about sums up my night. By the shining lights outside streaming in, I check the time. It’s only been an hour, but feels like longer. He’s cozy.
“I’m glad you stayed,” he whispers.
“Mmm.” I turn and face him. Dalton has a gentle smile on his face, but his eyes are still closed. He’s fighting the reality of dealing with what comes next for us as much as I am. And if we both open our eyes, we have to deal, so I close mine again and snuggle in, enjoying this way too much to give it up just yet.
When I feel a kiss on my forehead, I smile and open my eyes again. “Hi,” I say, not sure if anything else fits the occasion.
He leans down really close, looking deep into my eyes, the moment granting us more than lighthearted niceties. His lips press down on mine and I close my eyes again, savoring the feel and enjoying the build-up that has lead to this. But just as I squirm around to free my arms so I can wrap them around his neck, a thought occurs to the contrary. “I thought you said you wanted to get to know me.”
“I know you. I know your name, your address, your height, your clothing size, your eye color, your hair color, that you grew up in Texas, and most importantly, that you’re trusting me when I haven’t earned it. You sleep with your mouth open, which is very fucking tempting,” he says, moving his hand to my hip and sliding it back and forth. “And your heart races, even in your sleep, when I touch you right here.”
I’d like to say that I stood my ground on the sleeping with my mouth open part, but I’m too distracted by his green eyes and the lustful way he’s looking at me. This is what I came up here for in the first place, I remind myself once again. Or is this how I’m justifying having sex with him after meeting him only hours before. So keeping my mouth shut, open, or however he finds it most ‘tempting’ is exactly what I’m going to do. Lifting up, I kiss him and that is the moment when everything changes…
My wrists are pushed up and held tight above my head as his body maneuvers on top of me, his eyes locked on mine as my breathing deepens. Every movement is calculated and smooth, covering me in a way that only intensifies my desire. His lips barely touch mine, his voice low and intimate as he whispers, “I want you, all of you. I want to be inside of you and feel the peace you’ve found, even if just for a short time.”
Pushing my head further into the pillow, I pull my arms forward and stroke his cheeks. “I can’t battle your demons, Dalton.”
He rubs his nose along mine, closing his eyes while I hold him. With his forehead pressed to mine, he says, “Be my angel. Just for the night.”
The only answer needed is my mouth on his. He relaxes on top of me as one of his hands explores down my waist over my hip and then back up. My breath catches, proof that he does know me better than I thought. Our initial connection at the bar was not based on depth of character. It was based on attraction. We aren’t a couple in love. We’re a couple of people in lust where he can be my demon and I’ll be his angel for the night.
My lace underwear doesn’t block much and his briefs don’t hide much. It’s almost pointless that we’re even wearing barriers, but this is how things are supposed to be. I can’t demand more from him, that makes me slutty. If he demands more, that makes him a player. So we move along with the sensations that have been stirred from within. An unseemly moan escapes without my approval and he slides over to the side.
With his arm resting across his head, he glances my way. “You said you didn’t want to play games. I don’t either. I like you, Holliday. You’re gorgeous and your body’s rockin’, but that lingerie you’re wearing is fucking torturing me. I want to rip this fucker,” he says, tugging on my panties, “from your body and suck your nipples until they’re hard. Then I’ll take ownership of your pussy—first with my mouth, then with my cock. So let me ask you, do you want to keep your bra and panties?”