by S. L. Scott
Standing there in silence, I briefly question if he still found me as attractive with my belly sticking out. Sucking in a jagged breath, I take off my shirt and slowly lower my skirt. “Is this okay? Am I okay?” I put my hands out and then drop them again, not sure what to do.
“What you’re thinking, that’s you, not me, Baby. You’re fucking gorgeous. Now show me the woman inside, the woman who knows that.” He says something that reminds me of the Holliday he sees, the wife he loves, the woman he desires. “Get your tits out, get on the bed, and turn around.”
I see the spark in his eye, the flame that burns for me deep in his soul. Then he smirks and I’m done for. My bra is off in seconds. I turn around and climb onto the bed and wait. It’s become a game that never loses my interest and only builds the anticipation.
His movements send me on alert as he comes closer, I hear his steps, the shuffle of his jeans rustling as he walks. Staring ahead, I close my eyes as I wait on my knees. His warmth spreads as his hand goes flat against my back. A gentle pressure has me bending forward on my hands. His fingertips tap to a silent rhythm down my spine, sending shivers through my body.
When he reaches my hips, they slip under the sides of my panties. The strings are ripped before they even had a chance to resist. I release a harsh breath as he rubs the skin on my hips, easing the fabric burn. His tongue touches the right side followed by a cool breath, giving me goosebumps. “How do you want me?” he asks and places a string of kisses on my backside.
I know what I want and am not shy about telling him. “I want your mouth on me first. Then I want you below me as I make you come.”
“Motherfuc—” The rest of the curse word becomes inexplicable sounds. The sound of his belt clangs and I move up the bed, rolling onto my back. I settle against the pillows, propped up against the headboard. Dalton’s jeans hang open and his head is tilted as he watches me. “Spread your legs,” he says, leaving me no option. I do as he says and his eyes lower from mine to my center. He climbs onto the bed and comes toward me, licking his bottom lip once and making my body squirm. “I’m gonna make you feel so good.”
He kisses my pussy twice, involving his tongue and going deeper. I grip the sheets on either side of me, preparing for the delicious torture. Within minutes, an urgent swirling is evoked deep in my belly and my breath expands when my mouth falls opens. The pressure overwhelms as the sensation takes control of my mind, freeing my body.
I hold him there, never wanting this to end while equally eager for my release. “So close, Dalton. More. Please.” My nails scrape his scalp, gentle but enough for me to have a solid grasp of his hair between my fingers.
My back arches and I exhale on the verge of finding my haven, but he stops. Jerking up, my face surely reflects my confusion and irritation as my orgasm is ripped away from me. “What are you doing? Don’t stop. Keep going,” I say, the words come rushing.
He grins, wry and frustratingly handsome. Coming up, his body glides lightly over mine with care until he’s over me, face to face. He dips his head down to kiss my neck, and says, “Not until you put this back on.” When he lifts back up, my wedding ring is between his teeth.
When I reach for it, with his tongue he flips it inside his mouth before I can take it from him. “Dalton,” I complain, ready to get back to the sexing. Taking his damn sweet time, he leaves me there impatient and horny as he gets off the bed. He walks to the end of it and grabs my ankles to pull me to the edge. Laughing, I slide, taking the blanket with me. “You’re crazy. What are you doing?”
“What I’ve been meaning to do forever.” He drops to one knee in front of me and with an innocence owning his smile, he holds the ring out, and says, “Holliday, my Angel, I dare you to marry me.”
“Again?”
“Yes,” he nods, “again.”
Completely surprised by his sweet proposal, I touch his cheek and reply, “Don’t you know? I always choose the dare.” Moving to my knees in front of him, we kiss. After I catch my breath, I say, “Yes, I’ll marry you, again and again.”
“I don’t want to live life without you in it, ever.”
“You won’t.”
“I promise never to believe anything or anyone but you. I’m sorry.”
Nuzzling into his neck, I whisper, “I’m sorry too, but no more looking back. We’re together now. That’s all that matters.”
He holds me tight, my whole being safe in his arms. There is nothing better than this… except that orgasm he denied me. With wide puppy eyes, I say, “How about we pick up where you left off?”
Chuckling, he says, “Get your sweet ass back on that bed.”
Two orgasms later, I lie there, sleepy and tired. His gaze lays heavy, his eyelids starting to close, giving into sleep. I kiss him on the lips and roll onto my side. Dalton’s arm comes over me and I scoot back until I’m tucked safely against him.
The next morning, I set a glass of orange juice in front of Dalton and say, “We’re going to fight her together.”
His eyes lift from the laptop and he sighs. “I don’t want you involved.”
I sit down across the table from him. “I’m involved whether you want me to be or not. When she dragged you into this, she dragged me into it. I’m going to be there for you. We’re husband and wife, parents together, and we’ll stand as a united front.”
“It’s not going to be easy.”
“The worthy battles never are.” Reaching across and touching his arm, I say, “We have to do this together. We can’t let her lies win and the only way to beat her, the media, and all the doubters is by sticking together.”
His expression is light, almost weary, the line between his eyebrows tightening. Rubbing his eyes with his palms, he sighs. His eyes are reddish when he rests forward. “Promise me you’ll tell me if it becomes too much.”
“There’s nothing you can do if it does, so let’s just play her game and nail her for starting this war.”
His head jerks back in surprise. “Wow, you’re feisty.”
I stand up. “I’m not feisty. I’m protecting what’s mine and you, my fuckhot husband, are all mine.”
“Did you just territorial piss on me?”
I flash my ring. “I sure did.” I walk away to take a shower and get ready for the day.
His laughter trails behind me. “Shake that ass for me.”
I send a little wiggle his way before the hall blocks me.
Five minutes later, I’m in the shower when he storms in, the door hitting the wall. “Holliday!”
Jumping, I reply, “What?”
“I’m going to fucking kill those paps.”
“You scared the shit out of me. What happened?”
He opens the shower door and holds his phone up so I can see. I gulp hard. The feeling of being trapped by them yesterday comes back hitting me like a tidal wave. My eyes well staring at the photos of me cornered and crying. The heartbreak I felt then lumps in my throat again.
“You didn’t tell me it was this bad?”
“I told you what happened.”
His fist hits the wall and he grits through his teeth. “They have you caged like a fucking zoo animal.”
“Just let it go,” I say, letting the water rain down over my eyes to conceal any tears that might want to flow.
“I’m not letting it go. This is fucking war. I swear they’re going to pay for this.”
Cautious, I move to the opening and touch his arm, making him lower the phone so I don’t have to see the pictures anymore. Swallowing down the fears they created and the sickness I feel over yesterday, I say, “They don’t matter. I know what I got into when I chose to be with you. And their interest has only grown since the baby started showing. But we can’t dwell on them. We have more important ways to spend our time.”
As the lines of his forehead begin to relax, he sets his phone on the counter and says, “You’re right.” Stepping inside the shower fully clothed, he kisses me, and we let the world and all of our p
roblems wash away.
Warm kisses become heated and Dalton presses my back to the wall, his hands wandering over my slick body. The drenched shirt is stuck to his body, but I push it up, wanting it off. While it’s dropped to the ground, I work on his jeans. He playfully lifts, struggling to get the drenched fabric off. I bend down and yank and he kicks them off. I’m instantly pinned against the wall after that, but I want the control, so I push him against the other wall. I start to sink to my knees before him, but he takes me by the elbows and says, “Stay.”
“I am,” I reply, smiling.
“I mean, let’s not do that right now. Let’s just be together, like this.”
Like an arrow, his sweetness strikes me straight in the heart. His arms slide around me and he holds me close. His voice lowers and although the sound of the water showering down tries to drown him out, I hear him say, “Thank you for staying, for standing by me, for believing me.”
Running my hands over his shoulders and up his neck, I say, “Always.”
“Infinity.”
“Infinity.” I repeat and kiss him again, and whisper, “We both have clean slates.”
“I like that. Clean slates.” Kneeling down, he kisses my belly. “I love you, baby.” Looking up, he asks, “What’s his name going to be?”
“You’re trusting me with that?”
“Absolutely.”
With a sparkling water for me and an iced tea for him, I sit outside next to Dalton and ask, “How do you feel about Jack Dalton the third?”
“No. That’s a tradition that needs to end with me. I’m not going to torture my kid like that.”
“Johnny Junior?”
He bellows with laughter. “He’ll most definitely be a little Outlaw, but not a Johnny.”
We settle onto the bench that overlooks miles and miles of trees and undeveloped land. It’s really breathtaking. “Welllllll, I’ve been thinking about a name that means something to us and yet, makes him his own little person too.”
Dalton reclines back and says, “All right.”
“So I was thinking of honoring Cory.”
He sits forward, his brow furrowing as he looks out into the distance. “Cory Junior is his youngest.”
“I know. I was thinking about his last name of Dean as our baby’s middle name.”
When he turns to me, there’s a small smile in place. “You’d do that?”
“I love the name and he was important to our family, so it only seems right.”
“You’re an amazing woman, Holliday. What about the first name?”
Taking a deep breath, I prepare myself before trying to prepare him. “So I was thinking that I don’t want a weird name. I know it’s not the cool thing to do when celebrities have kids, but this is our child’s name and I want it to be something I love, not just something to stand out.”
“Okaaay. Makes sense. What did you come up with?”
“James.” I start talking faster before he can put it together. “I just love the name James. It’s old-fashioned but never goes out of style. Everyone knows how to spell it and the baby can go by Jimmy or Jamie, or Jim, or Jame—”
“James Dean?”
“He’s named after someone we love because you know I wouldn’t name our kid after an icon, but I have no control over the Dean part and I’ve tried a million names with Dean and read three books.”
“Wait a minute. Slow down. You want to name our kid James Dean?”
“Well, technically, James Dalton would be his name. His full name would be James Dean Dalton. But if you prefer, I’m down with Hughes too.”
“For his last name?” Dalton looks shocked and then a little hurt.
“For his middle name like James Dean Hughes Dalton or James Hughes Dean Dalton or,” I speak even quicker because of my nerves.
As the same thought hits us at the same time, in unison, we say, “James Hughes Dean Dalton.”
“Yes!” I exclaim. “James Hughes Dean Dalton.” But then I waver wanting him to love the names. “Or James Dean Hughes Dalton. Whatever. I’m open. What do you think?”
“I think you’re super cute.”
Laughing, I reply, “Other than that.”
His arm comes around me and he pulls me close. “I think it’s a great name no matter what the order… Other than the Dalton. I fucking love that on the end of your name and our kids’ names.”
Patting his chest, I say, “I thought you might. So the rest is up to me?”
“You got it.”
“I’ve got this,” I reply, rubbing my belly. “Right baby?”
I get a few kicks as the baby responds to the attention. Here in the countryside of Austin, I find my solace with my growing family. Deciding right then that nothing and no one will come between us ever again.
“I’ve always heard good things come to those who wait, but I was gifted with good looks, not patience.” ~ Johnny Outlaw
Austinites had gotten wind of Johnny Outlaw’s surprise performances and somehow the dedicated fans had managed to figure out his next location before he stepped up on stage. So as Dalton stood up on stage at the Lonestar Bar in front of a packed crowd, I couldn’t help but be proud. The entire audience swayed to the slow songs, danced to the faster songs, and sang along by the second chorus. He shined. His stardom is evident as he sings his songs from the heart. There’s just something so mesmerizing about that man.
Tommy nudged me several times. Even without words I could tell how proud he was as well. During a break, we stood in the Manager’s office listening to Dalton’s excitement. He was in the zone and knew he had connected with the audience. But what he was most excited about was that he did it on his own—just him and a guitar.
“This could be big.” Tommy asks, “Are we gonna make this album?”
Dalton looks at me as if I can give him the answer he needs. I say, “What does your heart tell you?”
He finishes a drink and sets the glass down before sitting in a ripped up swivel chair. “I’ve been thinking about everything. My head’s clear and I know what I want to do now.”
Tommy and I wait. Pins and needles have become knives and swords in anticipation of his answer. A big part of our future seems to lie in his answer.
He says, “My heart’s with the band. I hate those guys, but I fucking love them more.”
I smile. He’s so strong and yet so vulnerable. His heart is as big as his fame.
An enthusiasm is heard when Tommy says, “Dex has three new songs he’s written. You have fourteen. We have the other twelve that you guys were about to go into the studio with. We’ve got more than we need for an album. We can release a double CD or we have the next two albums in the bag and you can take a break from the studio. How are you feeling about Kaz and Derrick?”
“I think they’re better than they think they are and they think really fucking highly of themselves. It takes time, but they’re gelling.”
“What about a tour?”
“I can’t commit to anything before the baby’s born,” Dalton says, “but we wouldn’t tour before then anyway. What do you think Holliday?”
Leaning against a bulletin board, I say, “I’m hiring three new employees at Limelight with room for five more if the new lines take off. I don’t want to work fifty, sixty hours a week when the baby comes. I don’t want you gone all the time either, but we’re both doing what we love so how can I ever ask you to not pursue your dreams?” Walking over to him, I settle on his lap. “I’ll support you. With a family, we’ll just have to work things out, but you do what you need to do. You’ll be happier for it and that makes me happy.”
He kisses me and then stands up, setting me down on my feet again. “Love you.”
“Love you too.”
Tommy stands and looks at his watch. I almost see the cogs turning as his focus expands to the possibilities Dalton’s just offered up. “I’ll call Dex tonight, but you need to get back out there and wrap this up.”
We walk out and the crowd sc
reams as Dalton takes the stage again. Tommy and I work our way toward the back of the bar. He stands next to me, a barrier to protect me I think. I lean my head on Tommy and say, “You’re a big softie, you know that?”
When I lift back up, he wraps his arm around my shoulders and gives me a side hug. “Only for you.” His arm falls away and he points up at the stage and says, “Know any single hot women who don’t mind dating guys on the road all the time?”
Laughing, I think about all my friends. “I know a few single hot women, but I’m not sure this life is for everyone. But I’ll definitely think about it and keep you posted.”
Dalton hits a hard note, his voice holding steady. We both smile and Tommy says, “I’ve watched that man grow from an angry, punk-ass kid to a superstar. But he hasn’t peaked. If he went solo he could own the music industry, but that he’s chosen to support the band says what kind of man he is.”
Dalton has his eyes closed. He’s leaning into the microphone singing while his hands strum a melody that comes second nature to him. The first five feet of the audience is all women vying for his attention, hoping to get a look, a touch, an offer from him. When he opens his eyes again, he searches for me. I can tell by the way he’s focused. It’s a look in his eyes that’s centered, all confidence and pride.
Tommy looks down at his phone, checking emails. He laughs, drawing my attention. “Holy shit! They got four Grammy nominations.”
“What?”
He angles the phone so I can see. I read on the screen the official email that shows four nominations and in which categories. “This is huge.” They’ve won three, but I know this album was rough since it was the first they made after Cory’s death. Giddy, I say, “He’s gonna flip. This is just what he needs right now.”