“A good lager, but whiskey does a better job most of the time.” He stops, causing me to stop, and stares ahead.
“What is it?”
He starts walking again and replies, “Nothing.”
I follow the direction his eyes have narrowed on but all I see is a couple taking pictures of each other.
When we reach the sidewalk, he sits, putting his shoes back on while I order ice cream from a cart. “What do you want?” I ask, glancing at him over my shoulder.
“Nothing.” He’s next to me and his response is clipped as he hands a five to the ice cream man. “We should go.”
Taking me by the elbow, he starts to leave. I grab the popsicle from the guy just before I’m dragged away. “Okay, okay, Dalton. I’m coming. Geez, let me get the ice cream.”
He stops abruptly and turns to me. “Go straight home. If you’re followed, go somewhere else, somewhere public like a shop or a restaurant. Just anywhere other than your place. Okay?”
“What? Is someone following us?”
“The paps are here. Just go. I’ll meet you soon. I’ll call if it’s going to be longer.” He walks away from the nearby food carts and meandering people, leaving me standing there with a melting popsicle and fear growing inside my chest.
Fortunately, nothing weird or suspicious happens, but this cloak and dagger act is worrisome. A couple of hours later, I watch him, much like I did earlier at the beach. He might realize I am because I’m not exactly hiding the fact, but he’s letting me without making it weird… or so I thought. “Are you just going to stare at me all night?” he asks with his arm stretched out, remote in hand, as he channel surfs.
Shrugging, I say, “I like staring at you.”
“Everyone stares at me. Makes me feel like a freak show sometimes.”
I look away, pretending to busy myself on my laptop. When he gets up, I take a peek again as he sits on the arm of my chair. “I kind of like when you do it.”
My grin is big as I laugh. “How do I do it?”
Kissing my temple, he slides his hand up the front of my shirt finding my breast and squeezing gently. “You,” he starts, his breathing changing, his mood dictating his actions, “see beneath all this. You see the real me.”
“I only see what you give me, Dalton.”
“Lies. All lies.” There’s a tease to his tone, but his voice remains direct. “You’re wiser and more observant than you let on. I know this because I watch you too.”
Leaning back, I give him easier access. His hand slips inside the top of my bra, his palm hot against my skin. He perks my nipple, then the other, and whispers. “Come with me.”
In the bedroom, we take our clothes off, the act itself routine at this point, but the anticipation just as strong as the first time in Vegas. Standing at the end of the bed, he takes a quick look around. When his eyes come back to me, he moves closer and kisses me. His hands are strong on my neck, with pressure he slides them lower to my hip, digging just enough to feel a claim being made.
I slide my hands around his middle to the spot where the muscles indent in his ass and squeeze, staking claims of my own.
We move to the bed, and he asks, “Any requests?”
I’m not usually vocal with my sexual preferences, but with him, it’s different. “From behind.” I turn, climbing onto the bed and position myself on all fours. Looking down at the rumpled duvet, I wait.
And wait.
I’m tempted to look behind me, to find him, and figure out why he’s keeping me waiting, but something in the room, something with the thickening tension, tells me to keep my eyes forward.
His hand covers my ass and my breath catches, memories of telling him I don’t like to play games never included the ones of the sexual variety. I gulp just as his other hand rubs small circles on my hip, distracting.
Thwack!
I jump, my breath knocked from me as his other hand meets my ass again, the spot rapidly heating. I jerk around and am about to say something, but his eyebrows are raised and a small smile plays on his lips, which makes me hesitate.
He waits, keeping his eyes directed on mine. The corner of his mouth goes up as his hand rubs my sore ass. “Just testing.”
I release a breath, much calmer than seconds before, and Dalton climbs onto the bed behind me. “Did I pass?”
Caressing me, he presses himself against me, a slow movement of his hips against my backside. His hands slide up my sides and grabs hold of my breasts while his hardness inspires me to wiggle. With his mouth pressed to the shell of my ear, he whispers, “You most definitely passed.”
I close my eyes, wanting to feel, wanting my senses filled with all of him, wanting to experience everything. Cold air covers me and he disappears. I remain in place, waiting for his return, secretly yearning for more.