Only Him
Page 33
You could tell her the truth.
Gritting my teeth, I shoved the thought aside and read her response assuring me she didn’t need me to come get her and she’d be here soon.
Me: Good. I missed you today.
Maren: I missed you too. Can’t wait to see you!
That’s because you don’t know the kind of person I really am.
Tossing my phone on the bed, I undressed and got in the shower. Being in there reminded me of showering with her, and I recalled the way she’d looked as she stood naked beneath the spray, water streaming down her body. I remembered the way she’d tasted, the way she’d touched me, the way she’d whispered the sweetest things in my ear—I missed you, I want you, I trust you.
I was hard in no time, and so fucking tempted to do something about it, but I denied myself. I didn’t deserve the pleasure.
After I got out, I dressed in jeans and a dark blue button-down, put in my contacts, and wrangled my hair into something respectable. I glared at the Depakote in my travel bag for a moment, but ended up taking one. The last thing I needed was to have an episode at the dinner table. I was still humiliated by the one Maren witnessed yesterday.
When I was ready, I looked at my reflection in the mirror. It nauseated me.
You’re a miserable, lying prick. But you’ve got one last chance to make this right. Don’t blow it like you’ve done with every other good thing in your life.
I wasn’t sure whose voice it was—my father’s? Finn’s? my own?—but I knew what it said was true.
I had to tell her.
She knocked on my door just after five. I opened it, unprepared for the way my knees nearly buckled at the sight of her.
“Hi.” She smiled and came toward me with open arms. “I missed you.”
“Hi.” I hugged her close. “You look beautiful. And you smell delicious. You’re probably not even wearing perfume.”
She laughed. “Nope. Just a little lavender oil.”
I released her and looked her over, head to toe. “God, you’re gorgeous.”
Her cheeks bloomed with pink. “Thank you. How are you feeling?”
“Better now that you’re here. I have something for you.”
Her eyes brightened. “You do?”
“Yes.” I took her by the shoulders and put her in front of the full-length mirror on the closet door. “Close your eyes.”
She did as I asked and I dug the little box with the necklace in it out of my suitcase and opened it up.
“No peeking,” I told her, taking it from the box and undoing the clasp.
“I’m not. I promise.”
Reaching over her head, I draped the necklace around her throat and fastened it at the back of her neck. “Okay. You can look.”
She opened her eyes and gasped. Her fingertips immediately went to the gold lotus pendant, which looked stunning against her skin. “Oh, my God. Dallas.”
Our eyes met in the mirror and hers misted over.
“Do you like it?” I asked.
“I love it. It’s beautiful.” She sniffed. “You’re going to make me cry.”
I wrapped my arms around her and kissed her temple. “No crying. It’s no big deal. I was on a walk today and saw it, and it made me think of you.”
“It’s perfect.” She placed her arms over mine and squeezed. “I’ll wear it all the time.”
“I’m happy you like it. It reminded me of your tattoo.”
She looked down at her arm. “I love this tattoo. It was my first one.”
“Yeah? What does it mean to you?”
“I’ve always liked the symbolism of the lotus flower—rebirth, resurrection, revival. Its roots are in the mud at the bottom of ponds or rivers, and its petals emerge above the water. Every night they close up and duck beneath the surface, and every morning they rise up and open again. I got it at a time in my life when I needed to be reminded of my capacity for resilience. The lotus flower never gives up. It gives me strength when I need it.” She twisted in my arms so that she faced me, her arms going around my neck. “Thank you. Not just for the necklace, but for coming here, for spending time with me.” Rising up on her toes, she pressed her lips to mine.
Tell her, I thought as I slanted my mouth over hers and slid my hands down over her ass. Tell her, I thought as I walked backward toward the bed, bringing her with me. Tell her, I thought as I turned her around, laid her back on the bed, and lifted up the long white dress.
But I didn’t. Instead I knelt down between her legs, pushed her white lace underwear aside, and devoured her like a starving man, her hands fisted in my hair, her hips bucking beneath me. After she came, she begged me for more, and I couldn’t stop myself from fucking her in that pretty white dress, her legs over my shoulders, her honey-colored hair spilling over the blankets, her fingers clawing the sheets.
With my hands wrapped tightly around her calves, I was rough with her, like I was trying to show her the truth about myself, so rough I hoped she’d plead with me to slow down. Tell me I was hurting her. Push me away. I wanted her to hate me like I hated myself.
But she didn’t. She moaned and gasped and turned her face to the side, throwing her hands over her head, her angelic features contorted with pain or pleasure or both, and I rammed my cock deeper inside her, making her cry out with every vicious thrust, but she never asked me to stop. And it felt good, indulging the villain inside me—wicked and sexy and selfish and greedy and powerful, so powerful I was drunk with it.
I let go of her legs and leaned forward, pinning her wrists to the bed with one hand and taking her beneath the jaw with the other. “Look at me,” I demanded, forcing her head in my direction. “I want you to watch me fuck you. I want you to see who I am. I want you to know exactly who you think you love.”
She tried to say something and I stopped her by sliding my palm up over her mouth. I didn’t want to hear her tell me she loved me. She couldn’t possibly. Not now and not ever. I wouldn’t accept it. “Shh,” I told her, driven even closer to the edge by her helplessness, by my audacity. “Just watch. And feel. How hard you make me. How wet you are. How deep I am.”
Her fingers curled into fists and she whimpered beneath my hand, but she did as I asked, and the prolonged eye contact as I pounded mercilessly into her body sent me hurtling toward ecstasy. The muscles in my lower body tightened as unimaginable heat unfurled inside me. It was lust and anger and need. It was lies and truth, past and present, betrayal and devotion. It was love and it was hate and it was rushing, rushing, surging, cresting, erupting over and over again as my body stiffened and I poured myself into her in hot, uncontrollable bursts.
When it was over, I took my hands off her and braced them on the bed above her shoulders. I could hardly believe I was still standing. “Fuck,” I said, closing my eyes. I wouldn’t have blamed her if she’d hit me. “I’m sorry, Maren.”
“Why are you sorry?”
I opened my eyes. “I was rough with you. It was selfish.”
“Did it seem like I wasn’t enjoying it?”
“I have no idea. I was only thinking about myself.”
She shook her head. “No, you weren’t. You were watching me the whole time.”
“I shouldn’t have put my hand over your mouth. You could have been trying to say no.”
“But I wasn’t.” She smiled. “I might be sore tomorrow, but I actually thought that was really hot.”
“You did?”
“Yeah.” Her smile turned a little shy, her eyes adoring. “You were all manly and dominant and strong. Power is sexy. I mean, I don’t want to be pushed around anywhere else, but you can get a little aggressive with me in the bedroom. I’m tougher than I look.”
“I know you are.”
She took my face in her hands. “And I’m crazy about you. All of you. Don’t feel like you have to hold back with me, okay? You can be your real self. That’s what I want.”
I swallowed hard. “Maren, I have to tell you something.”
“You can tell me anything. But can I have one second? I’m afraid of getting something on this dress, because I don’t have anything else to wear to dinner.” She squirmed, trying to make sure her dress wasn’t underneath her.
Gritting my teeth, I shoved the thought aside and read her response assuring me she didn’t need me to come get her and she’d be here soon.
Me: Good. I missed you today.
Maren: I missed you too. Can’t wait to see you!
That’s because you don’t know the kind of person I really am.
Tossing my phone on the bed, I undressed and got in the shower. Being in there reminded me of showering with her, and I recalled the way she’d looked as she stood naked beneath the spray, water streaming down her body. I remembered the way she’d tasted, the way she’d touched me, the way she’d whispered the sweetest things in my ear—I missed you, I want you, I trust you.
I was hard in no time, and so fucking tempted to do something about it, but I denied myself. I didn’t deserve the pleasure.
After I got out, I dressed in jeans and a dark blue button-down, put in my contacts, and wrangled my hair into something respectable. I glared at the Depakote in my travel bag for a moment, but ended up taking one. The last thing I needed was to have an episode at the dinner table. I was still humiliated by the one Maren witnessed yesterday.
When I was ready, I looked at my reflection in the mirror. It nauseated me.
You’re a miserable, lying prick. But you’ve got one last chance to make this right. Don’t blow it like you’ve done with every other good thing in your life.
I wasn’t sure whose voice it was—my father’s? Finn’s? my own?—but I knew what it said was true.
I had to tell her.
She knocked on my door just after five. I opened it, unprepared for the way my knees nearly buckled at the sight of her.
“Hi.” She smiled and came toward me with open arms. “I missed you.”
“Hi.” I hugged her close. “You look beautiful. And you smell delicious. You’re probably not even wearing perfume.”
She laughed. “Nope. Just a little lavender oil.”
I released her and looked her over, head to toe. “God, you’re gorgeous.”
Her cheeks bloomed with pink. “Thank you. How are you feeling?”
“Better now that you’re here. I have something for you.”
Her eyes brightened. “You do?”
“Yes.” I took her by the shoulders and put her in front of the full-length mirror on the closet door. “Close your eyes.”
She did as I asked and I dug the little box with the necklace in it out of my suitcase and opened it up.
“No peeking,” I told her, taking it from the box and undoing the clasp.
“I’m not. I promise.”
Reaching over her head, I draped the necklace around her throat and fastened it at the back of her neck. “Okay. You can look.”
She opened her eyes and gasped. Her fingertips immediately went to the gold lotus pendant, which looked stunning against her skin. “Oh, my God. Dallas.”
Our eyes met in the mirror and hers misted over.
“Do you like it?” I asked.
“I love it. It’s beautiful.” She sniffed. “You’re going to make me cry.”
I wrapped my arms around her and kissed her temple. “No crying. It’s no big deal. I was on a walk today and saw it, and it made me think of you.”
“It’s perfect.” She placed her arms over mine and squeezed. “I’ll wear it all the time.”
“I’m happy you like it. It reminded me of your tattoo.”
She looked down at her arm. “I love this tattoo. It was my first one.”
“Yeah? What does it mean to you?”
“I’ve always liked the symbolism of the lotus flower—rebirth, resurrection, revival. Its roots are in the mud at the bottom of ponds or rivers, and its petals emerge above the water. Every night they close up and duck beneath the surface, and every morning they rise up and open again. I got it at a time in my life when I needed to be reminded of my capacity for resilience. The lotus flower never gives up. It gives me strength when I need it.” She twisted in my arms so that she faced me, her arms going around my neck. “Thank you. Not just for the necklace, but for coming here, for spending time with me.” Rising up on her toes, she pressed her lips to mine.
Tell her, I thought as I slanted my mouth over hers and slid my hands down over her ass. Tell her, I thought as I walked backward toward the bed, bringing her with me. Tell her, I thought as I turned her around, laid her back on the bed, and lifted up the long white dress.
But I didn’t. Instead I knelt down between her legs, pushed her white lace underwear aside, and devoured her like a starving man, her hands fisted in my hair, her hips bucking beneath me. After she came, she begged me for more, and I couldn’t stop myself from fucking her in that pretty white dress, her legs over my shoulders, her honey-colored hair spilling over the blankets, her fingers clawing the sheets.
With my hands wrapped tightly around her calves, I was rough with her, like I was trying to show her the truth about myself, so rough I hoped she’d plead with me to slow down. Tell me I was hurting her. Push me away. I wanted her to hate me like I hated myself.
But she didn’t. She moaned and gasped and turned her face to the side, throwing her hands over her head, her angelic features contorted with pain or pleasure or both, and I rammed my cock deeper inside her, making her cry out with every vicious thrust, but she never asked me to stop. And it felt good, indulging the villain inside me—wicked and sexy and selfish and greedy and powerful, so powerful I was drunk with it.
I let go of her legs and leaned forward, pinning her wrists to the bed with one hand and taking her beneath the jaw with the other. “Look at me,” I demanded, forcing her head in my direction. “I want you to watch me fuck you. I want you to see who I am. I want you to know exactly who you think you love.”
She tried to say something and I stopped her by sliding my palm up over her mouth. I didn’t want to hear her tell me she loved me. She couldn’t possibly. Not now and not ever. I wouldn’t accept it. “Shh,” I told her, driven even closer to the edge by her helplessness, by my audacity. “Just watch. And feel. How hard you make me. How wet you are. How deep I am.”
Her fingers curled into fists and she whimpered beneath my hand, but she did as I asked, and the prolonged eye contact as I pounded mercilessly into her body sent me hurtling toward ecstasy. The muscles in my lower body tightened as unimaginable heat unfurled inside me. It was lust and anger and need. It was lies and truth, past and present, betrayal and devotion. It was love and it was hate and it was rushing, rushing, surging, cresting, erupting over and over again as my body stiffened and I poured myself into her in hot, uncontrollable bursts.
When it was over, I took my hands off her and braced them on the bed above her shoulders. I could hardly believe I was still standing. “Fuck,” I said, closing my eyes. I wouldn’t have blamed her if she’d hit me. “I’m sorry, Maren.”
“Why are you sorry?”
I opened my eyes. “I was rough with you. It was selfish.”
“Did it seem like I wasn’t enjoying it?”
“I have no idea. I was only thinking about myself.”
She shook her head. “No, you weren’t. You were watching me the whole time.”
“I shouldn’t have put my hand over your mouth. You could have been trying to say no.”
“But I wasn’t.” She smiled. “I might be sore tomorrow, but I actually thought that was really hot.”
“You did?”
“Yeah.” Her smile turned a little shy, her eyes adoring. “You were all manly and dominant and strong. Power is sexy. I mean, I don’t want to be pushed around anywhere else, but you can get a little aggressive with me in the bedroom. I’m tougher than I look.”
“I know you are.”
She took my face in her hands. “And I’m crazy about you. All of you. Don’t feel like you have to hold back with me, okay? You can be your real self. That’s what I want.”
I swallowed hard. “Maren, I have to tell you something.”
“You can tell me anything. But can I have one second? I’m afraid of getting something on this dress, because I don’t have anything else to wear to dinner.” She squirmed, trying to make sure her dress wasn’t underneath her.
