Read Online Loving Dallas by Caisey Quinn - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Caisey Quinn
Tags: Neon Dreams
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present—because I’m melting. The rain, his fiery hot mouth, his hands scorching a trail over my body. I’m drowning in Dallas and I can’t stop.
Worse, I don’t even want to.
“Y ou taste like maple syrup. I’m never going to be able to look at pancakes the same way again.” Dallas’s tongue tangles with mine and I can’t get enough. We’re spiraling quickly out of control. I need to breathe before I pass out.
“Dallas,” I mumble against his mouth. “We shouldn’t do this. Not here.”
The driver can hear us, could glance in the rearview and get an eyeful.
“It’s a ten-minute drive to the hotel. I’m probably going to spontaneously combust before then.”
I laugh against his lips. “You’re a big boy. I think you can handle it.”
I slide off his lap, leaving my legs draped over it, though, and lean my head on his shoulder.
“I can’t wait to show you just how big of a boy I am, and how well I can handle it.”
“Behave yourself,” I whisper in the darkness.
“Can’t,” is all he says, sliding his warm fingers beneath my skirt and between my thighs.
“Dallas.” I squirm as he dips beneath my panties.
“I haven’t forgotten, baby,” he murmurs against my hair. “I remember exactly how tight and hot and wet you are. I remember each and every place you like me to touch you. I am a dying man waiting to hear those sweet whimpers you make when I slide inside you.”
I whimper right then, because damn. He feels so good, smells so good, tastes so good. He’s familiar but at the same time, new, different from what I remember. Rougher around the edges, broader, and behaving more boldly than he ever has with me.
The boy version from my memories was sweet, polite, and somewhat distant. The grown-up version of Dallas Walker Lark is all hard edges, and intensity—sin wrapped in sugar sprinkled with lust. And I want to savor every single bite.
I am a throbbing, aching, needy mess and everything I should be thinking about—the past, the future, the insurmountable pain that this likely will cause—has fallen away. All I can concentrate on is the pleasure.
Because I know he can give it to me.
I’ve dated a little here and there when my job allowed. I’ve even fooled around pretty seriously with a few guys and had a one-night stand with a friend of a friend. But none of them ever managed to make me feel the way Dallas does.
Completely out of control.
I am at his mercy and while I should be terrified, all I feel is the thrill of adrenaline, as if a needle shot him into my veins.
Maybe that’s why I can’t stop this, because I know this is a sure thing when it comes to orgasms. I’m going to have them, lots of them, and Dallas is going to provide them in reckless abundance as he always has. He’s matured a great deal, but some things never change. Thank God.
When he sinks a thick finger into me, curling it forward at just the right spot, I arch my back and cry out. At least there’s a glass partition between us and the driver. Because I want to give in. I want to let go and shatter the way only he can make me.
“I hope you’re rested, sweet girl,” Dallas rasps with damp heat in my ear.
The town blurs by us, the city lights melting like I am in the rain.
“W-what? Why?”
“Because it’s going to be a long night.”
11 | Dallas
I ’D BLAME THE P ANCAKES, OR THE INTO XICATING COMBINATION OF blueberry and maple syrup that assaulted my senses when I put my mouth on hers, but it’s the sweet, sinful taste of Robyn that tosses me carelessly over the edge.
Seeing her tonight—those legs taunting me from beneath her dress, that mouth that spewed those angry declarations, gleaming eyes that told me what she was saying and what she was feeling were two very different things—has brought a man to life inside me that I forgot existed.
I’d invited her out for pancakes to try to make peace, to let her know that I wasn’t going to act like an asshole on this tour.
Worse, I don’t even want to.
“Y ou taste like maple syrup. I’m never going to be able to look at pancakes the same way again.” Dallas’s tongue tangles with mine and I can’t get enough. We’re spiraling quickly out of control. I need to breathe before I pass out.
“Dallas,” I mumble against his mouth. “We shouldn’t do this. Not here.”
The driver can hear us, could glance in the rearview and get an eyeful.
“It’s a ten-minute drive to the hotel. I’m probably going to spontaneously combust before then.”
I laugh against his lips. “You’re a big boy. I think you can handle it.”
I slide off his lap, leaving my legs draped over it, though, and lean my head on his shoulder.
“I can’t wait to show you just how big of a boy I am, and how well I can handle it.”
“Behave yourself,” I whisper in the darkness.
“Can’t,” is all he says, sliding his warm fingers beneath my skirt and between my thighs.
“Dallas.” I squirm as he dips beneath my panties.
“I haven’t forgotten, baby,” he murmurs against my hair. “I remember exactly how tight and hot and wet you are. I remember each and every place you like me to touch you. I am a dying man waiting to hear those sweet whimpers you make when I slide inside you.”
I whimper right then, because damn. He feels so good, smells so good, tastes so good. He’s familiar but at the same time, new, different from what I remember. Rougher around the edges, broader, and behaving more boldly than he ever has with me.
The boy version from my memories was sweet, polite, and somewhat distant. The grown-up version of Dallas Walker Lark is all hard edges, and intensity—sin wrapped in sugar sprinkled with lust. And I want to savor every single bite.
I am a throbbing, aching, needy mess and everything I should be thinking about—the past, the future, the insurmountable pain that this likely will cause—has fallen away. All I can concentrate on is the pleasure.
Because I know he can give it to me.
I’ve dated a little here and there when my job allowed. I’ve even fooled around pretty seriously with a few guys and had a one-night stand with a friend of a friend. But none of them ever managed to make me feel the way Dallas does.
Completely out of control.
I am at his mercy and while I should be terrified, all I feel is the thrill of adrenaline, as if a needle shot him into my veins.
Maybe that’s why I can’t stop this, because I know this is a sure thing when it comes to orgasms. I’m going to have them, lots of them, and Dallas is going to provide them in reckless abundance as he always has. He’s matured a great deal, but some things never change. Thank God.
When he sinks a thick finger into me, curling it forward at just the right spot, I arch my back and cry out. At least there’s a glass partition between us and the driver. Because I want to give in. I want to let go and shatter the way only he can make me.
“I hope you’re rested, sweet girl,” Dallas rasps with damp heat in my ear.
The town blurs by us, the city lights melting like I am in the rain.
“W-what? Why?”
“Because it’s going to be a long night.”
11 | Dallas
I ’D BLAME THE P ANCAKES, OR THE INTO XICATING COMBINATION OF blueberry and maple syrup that assaulted my senses when I put my mouth on hers, but it’s the sweet, sinful taste of Robyn that tosses me carelessly over the edge.
Seeing her tonight—those legs taunting me from beneath her dress, that mouth that spewed those angry declarations, gleaming eyes that told me what she was saying and what she was feeling were two very different things—has brought a man to life inside me that I forgot existed.
I’d invited her out for pancakes to try to make peace, to let her know that I wasn’t going to act like an asshole on this tour.
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