by Jordyn White
He inhales, his hands hard in my hair. “Damn, Rita.”
His hand slides under the fabric of my panties, cupping my ass and giving it a firm squeeze. I slide my hand down the front of his open pants and wrap my fingers around his warm, taut cock.
He groans in my ear, his hand sliding between my legs from behind. I shudder, opening to him, going on tiptoe, wanting him to have room to touch me properly.
“Get on that bed, woman.”
We ditch the rest of our clothes and I comply, hurrying to lie down, ready for him come on top of me. He’s standing at the foot of the bed and squats slightly as he grabs my thighs and yanks me downward.
He leans over me, supporting himself on his arms as he kisses my mouth, my jaw, my neck. I’m angling my hips, trying to get him lined up. I want him right now. Then I remember.
“Condom?” I breathe.
“When it’s time.” Then he spreads those hot kisses along my collar bone, over my breasts, down my abdomen, my hips, the tender place at the crook of my thigh.
I open to him, aching for it. “Dallas.” I’ve never said anyone’s name with such raw wanting. “Please.”
When his tongue touches my clit, my back arches hard and my head angles back into the mattress. I didn’t realize how long it’s been for me until this moment. I don’t leave room for men in my life. And when I do, it’s not like this, so raw and vulnerable.
My body is consumed with fire, yes, but more than that, my heart is vibrant and molten. I’m yearning not just for a man’s touch, but for this man’s touch.
Does he know what he’s doing to me? He’s getting something inside of me to open.
He’s also bringing me to a rushing, raging orgasm, almost embarrassingly fast, but it feels too damned good to leave room for embarrassment. His tongue is like liquid fire. I’m bucking and crying out and trembling on that delicious, delicious sharp edge.
It’s almost unbearable, the acute ecstasy peaking between my legs and the powerful waves of pleasure washing over my body. All under the masterful ministration of Dallas Huntington.
Then I’m gripped in the claws of climax, shaking and gasping and wanting it to never, never stop.
And it damn near never does. Whether from instinct or experience, he knows exactly what to do to draw out every last ounce of pleasure until I’m left a boneless mass on the bed.
He stands up, wipes his mouth, and gives me an erotic, in-command look that perks up my core in anticipation.
“Is it time?” I breathe. I look at that massive cock standing at full attention. Please, let it be condom time.
He answers with a naughty, crooked grin and retrieves the necessary goods from his wallet. As he sheathes himself, his hand running firmly over his hard cock, my heart doesn’t know whether to calm down from the high of the world’s most amazing orgasm or speed up in anticipation of Dallas coming inside me at last.
He doesn’t scoot me up on the bed, and I don’t bother either. He hitches his arms under my knees, stands right there at the foot of the bed, and enters me as I’m spread and exposed.
It’s a pretty tight fit and he stretches me pleasantly, but I’m so slick that he comes right in. “Oh yeah,” I breathe as he pinches his eyes shut, a mixture of pleasure and relief on his face. Because he’s been craving it, too.
This part is just as fast as the other. Not because he’s rushing either one of us, but because we’re speeding down this track together and can’t seem to stop. I’ve never needed anyone like this. No matter how much he gives me, I want more, harder, faster, more, more.
He’s giving it to me rapidly, just like I need it, his hands pressing against my inner thighs spreading me hard. Every time he hits bottom, I’m jolted with a burst of pleasure. A pleasure that’s sharply rising as my body starts climbing again.
His muscular abs and chest flex as he takes command. His eyes are on me the whole time, his face awash with raw desire as mine must be. This is new for me, too. This kind of eye contact in the midst of such shameless lust. It’s making the whole thing so much better, so much more, but it’s almost too much for me to handle.
Then he falls on his elbows and I wrap my legs around his waist and we are a hungry tangle of lips and limbs, moans and thrusts. He’s bringing me high enough that I’m starting to believe he may actually give me that elusive second orgasm.
Usually I can’t get there twice, especially so soon, but all I need is a few more minutes of Dallas’ expert attention. I may cross that peak again before he does.
He reaches down, grabs the base of his cock, and aims for my G-spot like he knew exactly where to find it. Then it’s all over. Even more than when he claimed me with his mouth, I am undone. My head thrashes back and forth, once, twice, then we’re both coming together.
His body is taut in my embrace as he jolts and shudders and I am out of my mind with pleasure.
“Yes,” his deep voice resonates within me. “Rita. Yes.”
And the sound of my name on his lips carries my heart to his.
Turns out, banging around with Dallas Huntington works up the appetite. He ordered in and paid for it online, so when I hear the knock I’m free to jump up and grab it. I’m wearing nothing but my underwear and Dallas’ shirt that goes to my mid-thigh. If the delivery guy wants to judge me for it, I don’t really care.
I grab the bag of Styrofoam containers and hand over the cash to cover the tip. Dallas wanted to pay for everything, but that was the deal.
As I bring it to the dining table near the patio doors, Dallas joins me. Advantage number one of wearing his shirt instead of my dress is it’s more comfortable. Advantage number two is I get to watch Dallas walk around bare chested.
It all works out for everybody.
The spicy scent of enchilada sauce gets my stomach to actually rumble. I’m fine with the distraction. My mind’s spinning a little with everything that’s happening with Dallas. But eating, I can handle.
“Now to see if Boise is worthy of a location change. If they don’t have good Mexican food, I can’t be living here.”
I freeze and our eyes meet in surprise. I can’t believe I just said that.
Now, I dig up dirt for a living and know how to keep my lips sealed. It’s not like me to let something slip that I don’t want out there. But all my usual rules don’t seem to apply with Dallas. I still don’t know why. I just know that they don’t.
“You’re moving here?”
And I surprise myself yet again. For two reasons. One, the thought of coming to Boise while he stays in Swan Pointe is strangely disturbing. And two, Dallas asked me a question I intend answer. Honestly.
Chapter 5
Dallas
“Are you transferring here?”
When our company announced they were starting the new paper here in Boise, of course there were several positions that came with that. Apparently they’ve been getting applications from all over the company’s network. They’ve also reached out directly to people they would like to be in certain positions.
As I know all too well.
“All right,” she says running her fingers through her long hair. She lets it fall in a soft sheet on her shoulder. “I’ll tell you, but you have to keep it yourself. We also have to eat while we talk because I’m starving.”
We dig out our meals and settle down with our plastic forks and knives. All the while, she tells me she’s applied to one of the positions here, but won’t tell me which one.
“No way. I’m keeping that part to myself. I don’t need anyone giving me shit about it in case I don’t get it.”
“Don’t I have to keep all this to myself anyway?”
She waves her hand at me impatiently. “Just never mind. I’m getting out of Swan Pointe. That’s the important part. Things have been off for a while now, and when they announced the new paper I realized that what I needed was to get out of that town.”
She dips her taquito first into the little cup of guacamole and then into the little
cup of salsa, and takes an enthusiastic bite.
I cut off a piece of my chimichanga. “Yeah. What’s up with you? I don’t care what you say, you haven’t been yourself in your column recently.”
She nods. “I know. Apparently I’m a great, big softy now.”
I raise my fork. “Oh yeah? How’d that happen?” I pop my bite in and instantly raise my brows. “Wow. This is good. How’s yours? Pass the test?”
She nods in approval, chewing herself.
“Although, if you’re wanting to test the quality of the Mexican food here, you have to do better than taquitos and cheese enchiladas. You can hardly screw that crap up.”
“Yes you can, and no they didn’t. This tastes pretty authentic. Who would’ve thought? In Boise freaking Idaho.”
“So this big change,” I prompt, taking another bite of my delicious chimi.
“Right. Well, I’ll tell you, but you have to promise not to tell anyone.”
I shake my head, smiling. “You’re not secretive or anything, are you?”
“Yes. I don’t talk to people about stuff like this, so don’t blow it by blabbing all my secrets.”
I smile. She’s confiding in me? I like that. A lot. I was right about the glimpse I got of Rita in the elevator on the way up to the party. There’s another side of her. A side I’m seeing more and more with each passing minute. And I’m enjoying the hell out of it.
More than enjoying it.
“So it’s kind of annoying,” she says. “I was at this café, minding my own business, enjoying their chocolate silk pie, when in comes Rayce Rivers ready to profess his love for Emma Swanson, and apologize for being such an asshole, and all that stuff. You read my piece on that right?”
I nod, unable to do anything else since my mouth is full.
“Yeah, so...” she hesitates.
I was getting ready to take another bite, but she has me intrigued. I lower my fork.
“So?”
“So I totally bought it. He was completely sincere. It was crazy too, because it was like neither one of them had any sense anybody else was in the restaurant. It was like watching this super touching, crazy romantic, private moment between these two and I fell for it hook, line, and sinker. How am I supposed to be pissed off at him now?”
“Where you pissed at him before?”
“Well, yeah. People like that are such entitled brats. This one, all he cared about was his image. Such a phony. Then this woman comes along and it all completely changes. The whole thing got in my head.”
She waves her hand in the air like she’s trying to swat away a particularly annoying thought.
“It made me think maybe I’ve been wrong about other people, too. I don’t know, maybe I’m just sick of pulling everyone’s chain. If people want to be assholes, why the hell do I have to care? I have better things to do.”
God, I love her spunk. Truth be told, I always have. But that combined with the softer side she’s showing me tonight is definitely making me pay attention to her in a way I haven’t before.
“Better things to do like what? What position are you going for?”
“Oh no,” she says, covering her mouth because she’s still working on a bite of her quesadilla. “I’m telling you too much already. Besides, it’s not the job that matters. It’s the fact that it’s in Boise. This is my chance to get out and make a fresh start. What I really want to do won’t pay the bills, at least not for a while. I need something.”
“Why? What do you really want to do?”
She’s bopping her taquito up and down in the salsa, assessing me as if to see if she should tell me this, too.
“I promise I won’t tell anyone,” I say with a grin.
She points the taquito at me. “You’d better not.” She takes a bite, finishes chewing, then finally spills it. “It’s what half the people in our profession want to do but never do. Great American novelist and all that.”
She’s trying to toss it out there like it’s not that big a deal, but her vulnerability is showing through. Cutting another bite of her enchilada, she looks at me through her lashes, nervous.
Does she think I’m going to make fun of her for it?
“I think that’s great. I can see you doing something like that.”
She lowers her utensils. “Really?”
“Sure. You’re a damn good writer, that’s for sure. Knowing how to write a column may not be the same as knowing how to write a novel, but why not go for it?”
“Well, actually, and I swear to God if you tell anyone this I will hunt you down and pummel you.”
“Can we just make a blanket statement that everything we say in this room, stays in this room?”
She presses her lips together, evaluating me.
“You can trust me, Rita.”
Her face softens, like being able to trust someone is a rarity for her.
“Well, all right.” She smiles, looking down at her half-eaten container of food, a pretty blush tinting her cheeks. “Here’s the thing. I’ve been ghostwriting books for about four years now.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “What kind of books? Novels?”
She nods. “Genre stuff. Mainly young adult fantasy, some paranormal, a little bit of romance.”
I grin at her. “Romance?”
“Shut up,” she says, grinning herself and digging into her rice and beans. “I can write romance. I get the general idea.”
I laugh. “If tonight has taught me anything, it’s that you more than get the general idea.”
She gives me a sexy, self-satisfied grin.
We’ve ridden that particular horse twice, once when we first got here, and once while we were waiting for the food to arrive. And if she’s game, I could go for it again. She’s the sexiest woman I’ve ever been with, that’s for damned sure.
But it isn’t just that. Rita’s woken up a part of me I didn’t even realize had been sleeping.
“Anyway,” she says. “I got the inside scoop on Mr. Michaelson, did my studying, and talked his ear off about the PGA during our interview. I hate that crap but he loved it. I made sure we hit on the refugee thing, too, because he’s so passionate about it. At least that, I didn’t have to fake. I wanted to show him I can do the hard-hitting stuff, you know? I’m not just a trashy gossip columnist.”
Now, this is revealing. Rita’s never once apologized for what she writes, or indicated she wanted to do anything other than, as she’s put it, “milk the cows that pay for the farm.”
“I submitted some pieces I wrote just for him and he said he was really impressed.”
“I’m sure he was.”
“It seemed to go well. I think I have a good shot at it.”
And that circles us back to where this whole conversation started. Her in Boise. Me in Swan Pointe. I’m not sure how I would’ve felt about this new development if I’d heard about it before tonight.
Yeah, I’ve always had more than one eye on Rita. She’s sexy and invigorating. She’s expert at verbal dueling. Technically, I guess we’ve been rivals, but I’ve never had any disdain for her either. I guess I would’ve been sad to see her go. I would’ve missed our little jabs as we passed each other in the Great Divide.
But now?
Now I feel like I’ve been given a glimpse at something far deeper than that. So much more. I’ve tasted just enough to know I want more. And she’s leaving.
I’m not liking this at all.
We’re holding each other’s eyes, not moving, our expressions sober.
“I can’t stay in that town,” she says quietly, almost apologetically.
“I understand,” I say, just as soberly. “You have every reason to leave and no reason to stay.”
She fusses with the corner of her Styrofoam container. “Well. I wouldn’t say no reason.”
“But you’d be stuck,” I say, thinking now of my own situation. “Just like I am.”
She cocks her head at me. “How are you stuck?”
“Hmmm.”
Well, that’s a whole other topic. I take my last bite and close up my container. She closes hers as well. I stand and reach for her hand. “Come on.”
I lead us onto the balcony, leaving the sliding door open behind us. The night air is a little chilly, but it’s refreshing after being inside so long. We lean on the metal railing and look out over the busy streets of downtown Boise. She’s close to me, her arm pressing softly against mine.
“You heard about my former fiancé?” I ask, keeping my eye on the lights of the soaring Zions Bank building, where we’d been earlier that night.
“You mean the accident?”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah. I’m sorry about that.”
Rita had actually expressed her sympathy to me after it happened. That had been a rare moment of her letting her guard down, too, now that I think back on it. But I was too caught up in everything else to notice. Not that it would’ve mattered back then. I was in love with Christie, and that’s all there was to it.
“She blamed herself.”
“My god.”
“I know.”
“That wasn’t her fault.”
“Try telling her that.”
“Jesus.”
We look out over the city for a moment in silence.
“I can’t imagine feeling responsible for the deaths of five other people.”
“Not to mention the two who were so banged up their lives will never be the same again.”
It was the kind of multiple car pile-up that makes headlines.
Rita turns toward me and rests her hand on my bare arm. “Let me guess, she hasn’t been the same either.”
I shake my head.
“Is that why you two broke up?”
I nod. “She did the breaking. She’s completely out of control. She’s not the person she was before. I kept thinking she’d come around, but I don’t think so. It’s just... too late.”
There’s a heavy pause.
I look at Rita. She’s examining me openly, and asks her next question as if there’s some part of her that doesn’t want to hear the answer. “Are you over her?”