by Kim Karr
Dahlia enjoys the view and photographs it all the time. We even planted wildflowers together before she moved in. They bloomed last week, and the look in her eyes when she saw the flowers made me want to fuck her right there in the garden. We run the trails every morning and whoever wins gets to soap the other one down. She thinks she wins every time. God, I love her.
She walks over and plops herself on my lap, and I start kissing her neck. “What are you doing here anyway?” she asks Xander as he walks over, picks up his phone, and sits right next to us.
He leans over as if he’s going to kiss her neck, and I shove him hard. “Get the fuck out of here man. Don’t you have someone else to go harass?”
“Actually I do have people to see and places to go,” he says as he stands up. “I can let myself out.”
“Great man because I wasn’t getting up.”
“Bye Xander,” she says, waving as he leaves the room, and I turn her so I can really kiss her. The sound of her voice sends a jolt of electricity through my body that lights up deep within my soul.
Shaking his head at me, he slams the door as he leaves.
I kiss her soft full lips; I run my hand down her Pretenders t-shirt, then up the front of it. “Alone at last.”
“We’ve been alone all morning silly,” she says, shoving my hand away as I try to slip my fingers into her bra.
“I know, but you’ve been downstairs,” I say as I suck on her bottom lip before moving in for the kill.
“You can visit me any . . .” she stops talking as I slide my nose over to her ear and dip my tongue in it. I know what this does to her.
She moans a soft purr-like sound, and I grin before scooting her off my lap.
“Hey,” she says, trying to crawl back on my lap.
“I want to give you something,” I tell her as I stride out of the room and into our bedroom.
“I thought that’s what you were doing a minute ago,” she laughs. “Should I come in there?”
Now I’m laughing. She really is the funniest person I’ve ever met. “No. Stay there.”
As I come back out into the room, I tell her, “Close your eyes. No peeking.”
She does and I avert the boxes as I make my way back over to her. “Okay, this isn’t my gift to you for Valentine’s Day,” I tell her as I string the six or so strands of her Aunt’s pearls around her neck. “This is just something I wanted to do for you because I know how much they mean to you.” I put the strand around her neck and before I even finish looping the necklace she’s clutching all of them. When she opens her eyes she looks down at the pearls; a treasured part of her past she once referred to as her magical wishing wells. I had them strung back together for her.
She’s a little teary when she asks, “You did this for me?”
“Of course I did. I know how much they mean to you, and I wanted to make you happy.”
She jumps up and kisses me before running down the hallway to the mirror while screaming, “I love you. I love you. I love you.”
Yeah, I’m good.
My heart is beating so loudly I think it’s echoing throughout the extremely noisy restaurant. I hold my breath and bite my lower lip in anticipation. She opens the box and to my great relief, she loves it. Her mouth drops open and tears run down her beautiful face as she fingers the necklace I had made for her. “Pearls and a dahlia? How?”
Putting my finger over my mouth and making a shh . . . sound I say, “It’s a secret.” I stand up, walk behind her chair, and reach around her as I whisper in her ear, “I love you.” Then removing the one of a kind, three strand pearl necklace with a quarter size diamond dahlia connecting the individually strung stands from the box, she drapes it around her neck and I take it, clasping it closed for her.
Swiping her long hair to the side, I lean down and inhale that scent I love so much. It smells like some kind of fruit. Orange or grapefruit, I’m not exactly sure. She bows her head when I do this and I kiss the small freckle on the back of her neck. Then I run my finger up her bare back. She is so fucking sexy. Bending down, I lean into her, dragging my tongue up the nape of her neck to her ear. “You taste as good as you look. I'd much rather be eating you than eating here.” Then I wait for the goosebumps to emerge. Sure enough, there they are.
Grinning, I walk back to my chair. “Are you ready to go?”
She throws her arms around my neck as we wait for the car, and I hold her close and tight. “I love my necklace, and I love you.”
She glides her nose over my jaw like she always does when I hug or kiss her. She likes it when I am clean-shaven, and I love how it turns her on. We break apart and I move toward the car.
I open the door for her as I say, “I love you more.”
Once I get in the car, I start it and pull away.
As she’s fumbling through her purse, she pulls out a small black bag. Pointing to the valet’s temporary holding spaces she asks, “Can you pull over there a second?”
Glancing over at her in that dress that leaves little to the imagination, I reach for her hand and grin. “Sure baby. But can’t you wait until we get home?” I can’t help but laugh to myself over my own wit.
She playfully slaps my hand away and doesn’t let me grab hold of hers. “River, just pull over.”
“Okay beautiful girl, your call,” I say, winking at her while I continue with the game, thinking she wants me now.
I put the car in park and turn to fully face her. She looks like a knockout in that short strapless black number. The dress exposes so much of her soft skin, it’s just calling for me to lick it and the bottom is so short, it’s just screaming for me to run my fingers under it. What’s really killing me are those thigh high boots, they made me hard the minute I saw her. Honestly, I’m having a hard time keeping my shit together around her tonight. I really should’ve just taken her into the bathroom, but it’s Valentine’s Day, and I want to make it romantic.
I’ve never spent one of these heart filled days with someone I really cared about, so this is all new to me. My sister suggested taking Dahlia to a nice hotel for the night, so that’s what I’m doing. I actually made a reservation at the Beverly Wilshire last month. The suites were all taken, but I was able to book a room.
She touches her pearls for a minute while the black bag rests on her lap. She seems pretty happy. Then with that seductive smile she wears that could thaw the artic, she says, “Close your eyes, and hold your hands out.”
I swallow and nod, squeezing my eyes shut and holding my hands palms up over the console. As I do I can feel cool metal objects being carefully placed into them.
“Happy Valentine’s Day, River.”
Opening my eyes, I see six metal guitar picks, all uniquely engraved. I scan each one before looking up at her. My smile must be wider than any dam ever built to stop a flood.
Inhaling deeply, I transfer all of them into one hand and hold up the one that reads, ‘I Love You’. I stare at her with amazement and wonder. “I love you,” I whisper while trying to rein in my emotions. I lean over and kiss her, slipping my tongue in her mouth because I want to taste her so badly. I squeeze my palm shut so I won’t drop any of the picks and grab her with my free hand. I run my hand through her soft hair and over the smooth bare skin of neck and shoulders.
She giggles her cute laugh and pulls away, breathing just as hard as I am. “I love you more.”
Shaking my head in disagreement, I decide not to engage in our little who loves who more game because I know I’ll win. I love this girl more than anybody has ever loved anyone. Instead, I just look at her as she moves her hand to my tightly closed palm.
She begins to pull my fingers open, one at a time, exposing the scribed picks. She takes all the picks out of my hand, leaving the ‘I Love You’ one in my palm. Selecting one guitar tab at a time, she says each engraving to me as if she’s whispering sweet nothings.
“Hold Me,” she whispers, running her fingertips over the words before gently placing it in my h
and with the ‘I Love You’ pick. Then she whispers, “Touch Me,” while placing it in my hand with the other two. She continues to whisper “Kiss Me,” and “Love Me,” as she does the same thing. Finally, she giggles through her words as she says, “And this is my favorite, ‘Loverboy’.”
Once all six gifts are safely in my hand she opens the bag for me to pour them back in. Before I do, I take the ‘Touch Me’ one. I shake the other five in the bag.
Grinning and stretching my legs out, I lift my hips off the seat and stick that one in my front pocket as she looks at me quizzically.
“What? I’m saving it for later. You know, in case I want to cash it in.”
“They’re guitar picks silly. They’re not sexual favor chips!”
“I know what they are!” I say, sitting back in my seat and putting the car in the drive. Then glancing over at her I ask, “Did you give these to me as a present?”
Her lips purse in that adorable way she has when she’s trying to explain something. “Yessss”
“Well then, they can be whatever I want them to be.”
She just shakes her head at me. “Okay, Loverboy.”
We’re driving down the highway listening to music when The Mighty Storm’s Through it All comes on the radio. Dahlia is quiet as she listens to the lyrics. It’s like she’s absorbing the great sound, almost as if trying to memorize it. Once the song finishes, I turn down the volume and look over at her. “Did I ever tell you we opened for Jake Wethers a couple of years ago?”
“Before Johnny died? No fucking way! You knew both of them?” she responds immediately, practically jumping out of her seat.
“Yes fucking way,” I direct right back, but without any of her enthusiasm. I don’t apologize for using the F-word since I consciously decided to use it to make my point.
“Wow, you really met Jake Wethers? That’s amazing! I would love to meet him. I think he’s a musical genius. I am so sad to hear about his problems now, but I’m sure he’ll pull through it.”
“Yeah, the whole situation sucks. He had it together when we met him and his band and I’m sure he’ll pull it together again.” I stop to think how hard it would be if I lost someone.
Shaking my head to rid those thoughts I go on. “We even hung out after the show. All of the guys were pretty cool. We actually learned a lot from them just playing with them the one time.”
“I’m impressed. Jake Wethers. Hmm . . . Who else have you met? Any of the guys from One Direction?”
“No,” I laugh. “Their music isn’t exactly my type of music, but do you like the D-bags?” I ask her, knowing what I’m about to tell her will definitely freak her out if she does.
“Of course I do! I love Kellan Kyle! You know him too?”
I nod my head. “I met him once before we went on our first tour. He was in LA with his friend Evan, you know the drummer in his band?”
“Of course I know who Evan is! Kellan met him on his way to LA while passing through Oregon.”
“Oh I have no idea how he met Evan. Anyway, they came to Smitten's to jam with us, but that was the last I saw of them. They met a few guys here in LA and I think that’s when they formed the D-Bags. I never heard of them again until they went on tour last year.” I look over at her again as I tell her, “Bell met Kellan too. She spent most of the night he jammed with us talking to him in between sets and then met up with him later after we were done.”
“Your sister went on a date with Kellan Kyle?”
“I wouldn’t call it a date, and please don’t ask me for the details because I never did.”
“See, you are famous,” she says, smiling over at me and finally sitting back down.
“No, I’m really not. I’ve told you this,” I tell her again. I’m not jealous, of course. I think it’s cute actually that she loves music so much, and certain artists get her so excited. The excitement dies down, and we talk about other artists I’ve met and she’s met.
As I pass the exit that leads to our house, she points to the sign as I zoom by it. “Wait a minute, where are we going?”
Looking over at her, I say, “It’s a surprise. You’ll see, but we’re not sleeping at home tonight.”
“So, where are we sleeping on Valentine’s Day? Please don’t tell me we’re sleeping on an air mattress.
Laughing as I turn the music up, I answer, “In a bed.”
She pouts her lips and reaches her long slender arm to turn the volume back down. “In a bed—where?
I love when she pouts her lips like that. She looks so hot.
Using the word she always uses on me, I say, “Yesss . . .”
“Where are we going?” she huffs out.
I have to laugh because I think she might be having a fit in the seat of my car. “You’re not going to stomp your feet and cross your arms, are you? Because if you are, I’m going to have to pull over to watch this.”
She sticks her tongue out at me, and I try to grab it, but she moves away to quickly.
I turn the music back up and sing along, waiting for her next question, but she’s good at playing any game I throw her way. She doesn’t say anything as she shifts in her seat and hikes her dress up just a little higher. I give her a quick glance and look back at the road. I can play too. She stretches and her top slips down slightly. Damn she’s good. I keep singing and humming, thumping my fingers to the beat on the steering wheel, trying to ignore her provocative moves.
Then, she breaks and starts to speak.
I grin over at her.
“So, are you going to tell me where we’re going?” she asks again.
“Nope.”
“Well, that’s too bad because I have a secret I want to share. And I was thinking a trade was in order. You know one for one,” she says, twisting a little, leaning her elbow on the console, and placing her chin in the palm of her hand.
“Not interested.”
“Oh I think you might be, especially since it has something to do with what I’m
wearing . . .Oh, I mean, not wearing.”
I whip my head around and glance her way. “You’re lying.”
Sitting up straight, she runs her fingers from the top of her boots to beneath her skirt where I can’t see them anymore. “Tell me where we’re going and find out for yourself.”
Instantly reaching my hand over to her lap, I blurt out, “The Beverly Wilshire.” I drive faster so I can just get there already.
Okay, so she’s good.
“Oh my God. I’ve heard it’s amazing there! How’d you manage to get a reservation so quickly and for Valentine’s Day? I thought they book out almost a year in advance.”
I have to laugh because she thinks she knows me so well already, and actually she does.
Tapping my fingers on her leg, I answer, “I’ll never tell.”
“Fine, be that way.”
“Providing details wasn’t part of the trade. But a deal’s a deal.”
My fingers start to creep up her thigh. I can feel her soft skin and get hard instantly. Actually, I feel like I’ve had a raging hard-on since she put those boots on. I don’t give a shit about hearts and flowers anymore. I want her. I need to taste her. I want to be inside her. So I drive even faster.
I run my fingers all the way up the inside of her legs. Fuck, she wasn’t lying. She’s not wearing panties. I start to move my fingers and I can feel how wet she is. She’s just so fucking hot. Then suddenly she presses her hand on top of mine and pushes it away.
Grinning mischievously, she says, “That’s enough for now.” Shocked, I look over at her, and she seems to be the perfect picture of calmness.
On the other hand, my pulse is racing, and I feel like I’m the one who’s going to have the tantrum. “What? Why?” I mutter.
She takes my hand and holds it in hers as she crosses her legs. “Because, providing details wasn’t part of the trade.”
I’m horny as hell as I pull up to the hotel, and I hope the evidence in my jeans isn’t too notice
able as I hand the valet my keys. I’ve already checked us in, and I have the room key in my pocket, so we head straight to the elevators.
We’re finally alone in the elevator. My heart is beating about seven times too fast as I reach out and grab her. Pressing her body against the wall, I pull her mouth to mine and enjoy the taste of her. This is not a loving romantic kiss. That time has passed.
“I want you, now,” I manage between my wet and tongue-filled kisses.
“I want you too.”
Staggering out of the elevator, not wanting to unlock my lips from hers, I try to pull the key out of my back pocket, but she’s distracting me. Her fingers are in the waistband of my boxers, and she’s sliding them around to the front trying to unbutton my fly as I try to blindly reach behind and pull the keycard out.
We make our way to the room, and I somehow manage to open the door. As we enter, I shove her dress down, and it immediately falls to the ground. Fuck, she isn’t wearing a bra either. Inhaling deeply, I step back to just look at her. She’s standing in front of me in her fuck-me boots and pearls only. I really want to take a picture of her. I know I’ll never forget her image like this, right now, but I want to be able to see her whenever she’s not with me.
She stands there watching me watch her. I see her breath picking up as she runs her fingers through her hair.
I take another step back and glance around the room. “Champagne? I ask pointing to the bottle chilling on the table near the window and the bowl of strawberries next to it.
“Absolutely,” she says, standing there biting her lip.
Walking over to where the bottle is, I pop the cork and pour us a glass, adding two strawberries to hers. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure, anything,” she answers, and I love that she feels completely comfortable with her body around me.
“Can I take your picture?” I’m a little nervous asking because I really have no idea what she will say, other than calling me a pervert probably.