“Do you like this?” I said. Two could play at this.
His muscles rippled in response as my fingers hit the waistband of his jeans.
“And this?” I toyed with the top button.
He dug his hips into me and groaned, letting me feel all of him.
“I’ll take that as a very solid yes,” I said. A very BIG and solid yes.
He buried his face in my neck to kiss and lick his way down to my chest, and I let him for a moment because oh. My. God. But then I stopped him.
“My turn.” My hands slipped into his jeans, and all I touched was skin. No boxers. AGAIN. Just Dare. Hot, smooth, hard Dare. “I’m a big fan of your style,” I said, wrapping my fingers around him. “And…this.”
Definitely a fan.
“Jesus, Reagan,” he said as I began moving my hand.
With every one of my strokes, I felt him heat even more, all of his muscles tightening as he groaned my name through gritted teeth.
“Like?”
I didn’t have to ask. His tight grip on my hair and his rough kisses were answer enough. “We’re way past like.” He grunted, rocking into my hand. “Right now, we’re in the I-have-to-have-you territory.”
“I’d never left that territory,” I said, increasing the speed of my hand.
“Not like this,” he said, suddenly raising up on his knees. “I want all of you. Closer. Deeper.”
“Me too.” I tugged his jeans over his hips. The ache between my legs reignited, excitement tingling through me at the sight of him above me, completely bare and so very ready.
“Nightstand?” I looked over to his bed. It was only a few feet away, easily acceptable in the open concept loft, but right now it felt too far away. I needed him now.
He shook his head. “Wallet.” He picked up his jeans and reached into his back pocket to hunt for the condom. Seeing my eyes narrow, he said, “I had a date. It didn’t work out.”
Why did hearing that flood me with relief? I grinned at him. “She wasn’t rich enough for you?”
Dare laughed. “Not nearly rich enough.” He retrieved the foil packet from his wallet and bent over to plant a kiss at the tip of my nose. “And definitely not stubborn enough.” He kissed my lips. “When I told her I wasn’t into her, she actually listened and went home.”
“Really?” I was caring about this way too much for my own good. “Who does that?”
“Normal people,” he murmured, trapping my bottom lip between his teeth.
“Good thing I’m not normal,” I said.
“Good thing neither am I.” The air around us filled with tension as he pinned me with his dark gaze. “Maybe that’s why this feels so good.”
“Maybe.”
I took the condom from his fingers and rolled it onto him slowly, making him groan in sweet agony. Then he slipped between my legs and entered me, wasting no more time.
With each thrust, he drove deeper and deeper, filling me so completely I could no longer distinguish between his body and mine. His mouth latched onto my nipple, and he twirled his tongue around it, sucking on the peak and making me arch all the way off the couch.
Then he was back on his knees, hooking his hands under my thighs and bringing me almost completely off the cushions as he increased his pace. He was hitting such a deep, sacred place I was convinced he was literally screwing every single thought from my brain. And—oh, god—it was the most liberating feeling in the entire world. Liberating and wonderful and exciting.
“Don’t. Stop. Please.” I begged.
“Can’t. Stop.” Our words were reduced to primal grunts. Just when I thought there was no way to get closer, nowhere to go deeper, he slid his hands under my back and pulled us up into a seated position, so I was straddling him.
Oh. My. God.
His mouth descended on mine and his hands clamped around my waist as he guided me up and down, pulsing his hips to meet me halfway. Somewhere between heaven and nirvana, I gasped his name over and over again until I could no longer breathe.
My fingers clawed his chest, sliding up his biceps to dig into the phoenix on his back. My release came without warning. My whole body felt like it wasn’t just flung over the edge, but rather catapulted into oblivion. My heart stopped beating; my eyes and ears stopped functioning.
I’d never felt more alive in my life.
Dare continued to pound into me until his own orgasm rocked through him. His grip grew even tighter as he wrapped his arms around me and crushed me to him.
And the “Ree...” that escaped his lips as he exploded inside me was the most beautiful sound in the world.
twelve
“I’ve never had a girl stay over to play doctor before,” Dare said, placing a soft kiss on my temple. “Though, I’m not sure fucking your patient into a coma is recommended treatment for a concussion.”
I shook my head and laughed. “No. I’m pretty sure what we just did warrants a malpractice lawsuit.”
Freshly showered, we were lying in his bed, his hands tucked under his head, my chin resting on his chest.
“You really do have the most beautiful smile.” He traced the corners of my mouth with his finger.
“Honestly, I’m surprised I even know how to do it without help.”
Dare searched my face. “Help?”
“Booze.” I looked up at the ceiling. “Pills. Powder.”
I felt his arm muscles stiffen. “Damn, Ree.”
“What? Don’t tell me that you’ve never relied on some form of escape?” I asked. When he didn’t respond, I poked his bare chest. “Well?”
He sighed. “Too many times. And I paid a steep price.”
“Rehab?”
“Juvie,” he said, his jaw tight. “A year and a half of my life. Gone. Just like that.”
“Oh,” I breathed. “Wow.”
“That’s what happens when you’re forced to go into the family business. I practically grew up in the basement of my father’s club. I didn’t know another life.”
“Club?”
“Strip club,” he said. “But it was just a front for all the drugs.” Dare covered his face with his hand and exhaled sharply. The black snake tattoo winding its way around his left bicep seemed to move as he flexed. “Jesus. Why am I telling you any of this?”
“Doctor-patient confidentiality,” I said. “Next to you I come off as some clichéd poor, little rich recreational-drug-user girl. Pathetic. Embarrassing.”
He pulled me closer, tucking my head under his chin. “We all have our shit, right?” he murmured into my hair.
“Yeah.” Dare’s shit wasn’t much different from mine. We both had fathers who screwed us over. Just in different ways. “What did you end up getting busted for?” I spoke into his chest. “Possession?”
I couldn’t even imagine spending a day in detention, let alone a correctional facility. But in my world, that never happened.
I could feel him nod. “Possession,” he said, “with intent to sell. My first offense. I was sixteen. Just got my license. The first solo ride of my life was delivering a shipment of blow for my dad. He used me as a diversion for an even bigger deal he had going on at the same time. I was the distraction. A minor who stood a good chance of getting off if caught. Except the district attorney was looking to make an example of ‘troubled youths of the city.’ Hence, the eighteen month prison sentence. I got out days before my eighteenth birthday.”
“God, Dare.” All I wanted was to wrap my arms around his neck and squeeze away the pain.
“I could have gotten off—they offered me a deal if I gave up my father. But I didn’t. I plead guilty,” Dare said. “Stupidest fucking thing I’ve ever done. But it motivated me to never make the same mistakes again. And to keep my family the fuck away from my father.”
“That bad?”
“Harrison is the sixth town in four years. He kept finding us, beating the shit out of me and feeding my mom’s heroin addiction. The last time he caught up with us, I woke up a few days
later in the hospital.”
I gasped and pressed a kiss into his ribs. I had no words.
“That’s how they caught him, though, so at least some good came of it. He went to jail and we’ve been relatively safe since. My family has been in Harrison for a whole year now. But whoever found them must be working for him. I’m going to have to move them again. Far away this time.” His hands tangled in my hair and he inhaled. “You know, if I was trying to impress you, I wouldn’t be telling you any of this.”
I tilted my head up so I could look in his eyes. “So you’re not trying to impress me?”
“Hell no,” he said. “I’m trying to scare the shit out of you. You don’t need me fucking up your life.”
“The harder you work at it, the more intrigued I am.”
Yeah, there was something seriously wrong with me.
“Dare?” I shook him awake when my phone alarm buzzed at three a.m.
“Mmm?” His eyes snapped open almost instantly. In the dim, moonlit room, they shone like two dark gemstones.
“Just checking that you’re still alive,” I whispered. I’d been waking him up every hour. Just in case he did have a concussion. And also because every time he woke, we’d spend another ten minutes talking until we both drifted to sleep.
“Still alive, doc.” He threw his leg over me, pulling me closer. “Alive and very well.”
And apparently horny. Jesus. The guy was insatiable. Which was freaking hot as hell.
I moaned when his hand slipped under the sheets, gliding all the way down my hip to my…oh, god. Those fingers should be insured.
“Dare,” I said, trapping his hand between my thighs. “I’m just waking you to make sure you don’t slip into a coma.”
“Well, I haven’t.” He flashed me a wicked grin. “But I’d really like to slip into something else. Over and over and over again.”
“You’re bad.” I bit my lip to keep from smiling. “So very bad.”
His thumb started swirling and I started pulsing. “When’s my next check-up, Ree?” he asked, pushing my thighs apart.
“Ree?”
His hand stilled. “It suits you. When you smile, I see a Ree, not a Reagan. Do you hate it? I’ll stop.”
“No, I like it. A lot.” So, so much. No one had ever called me anything but Reagan. “I’ve always wanted a nickname.” I buried my head in the pillow. I couldn’t believe how much the Ree was affecting me. How much Dare was affecting me.
“Hey, hey…what’s wrong?” he said, pulling me to him.
Everything. “Nothing.” I was enjoying this sleepover more than I’d meant to. “What time do you need to go to work, tomorrow? I’ll make sure I’m out of your hair by then.”
“Early. I have to get a ride with a buddy, so I’ll be out of the door by five,” he said. “I’m not going to wake you. Sleep in. Okay?”
I hesitated, not sure that was a good idea.
“Sleep in, Ree. Patient’s orders.”
“Okay.”
For the first time ever, I was going to not run.
And it was all because of Dare.
thirteen
When I woke the next morning, Dare was already gone. Instinctively, I reached over to his side of the bed and ran my hand over the rumpled sheets. Even though the spot was now cold, my chest filled with warmth. My first official sleepover hadn’t been so bad. Maybe I could get used to this.
No, no, no. This had to stay as a one-time—well, now two-time thing. Three, four…five, if we were being specific about the events of last night.
The cool morning air hit my naked skin as I slipped out from under the covers and padded over to the bathroom to clean up. A single glance in the mirror confirmed that I looked nothing at all like the girl that had sat at my parents’ table last night. My hair was wild and messy—free was the word that came to mind. My skin was brighter and more luminous.
I’d always gagged when girls bragged about post-coital bliss. It was such a stupid myth. Of course, when you’re sneaking down a fire escape at two o’clock in the morning, blitzed out of your damn mind, there is no bliss. And a lot of things had seemed like myth. Like multiple orgasms. Yet I seemed to have no trouble in that department when it came to Dare. All he had to do was look at me and I was instantly wet. With a single touch, he could make my heart rate soar and send my mind into blissful oblivion. Other parts of him could make me forget my own name as I screamed out his.
Christ.
I was grinning like a fool.
Rolling my eyes at my stupid sparkling reflection, I decided I had better things to do than admire my glow…like find my clothes. Second time at Dare’s and a second scavenger hunt, but this one resulted in nothing wearable. Damn that man and his hands. Also, damn my inability to keep my clothes on around him.
Just as I was about to raid his drawers, I noticed a small pile of clothes on the breakfast bar, right next to a note with my name on it. I picked up a pair of women’s cut-off jean shorts and a dark gray men’s t-shirt with small drops of colorful paint speckled across its front, then read the message.
Ree,
Sorry about your skirt. Hope these help.
Don’t worry, the shorts are brand new.
And Dalia’s. (In case you’re wondering.)
PS: You’re on your own re: underwear.
PPS: Might I suggest adopting my style?
(I dare you to.)
—D
I slipped into the shorts, then pulled the shirt over my head. It smelled like laundry detergent and Dare. His scent filled the apartment. Art. Art and sex. A goddamn perfect combination. A small window above the sink was slightly ajar, but I closed it, wanting to hang on to him—to hold on to us—for a little while longer.
Dare was unlike anyone I’d ever met. Different from the guys my parents pushed on me, but also nothing like the bad boys I’d sought out in seedy bars. He was just Dare. Plain and simple and so very complicated. The very fact that he had a name—one that I associated with more than just an orgasm—scared the shit out of me. I never allowed myself to get into this type of situation. Being vulnerable with anyone was not an option. I’d been down that path before and regretted it. It took me four years and a shitload of sex, drugs, and alcohol to try and forget.
Except I never could. The pain was always there, engraved in my heart, clawing at my soul, save for the two nights I spent with Dare.
Fuck. What the hell was I doing?
Out of habit, I reached inside my purse and pulled out the bottle of pills. I shook out a few onto my palm, but as I brought my cupped hand up to my lips, I caught my reflection in the window of the microwave. My hand froze.
I hated what I saw.
Slowly lowering my arm, I looked at my face. Alert. Filled with hope. For once I kind of liked the girl staring back at me. Or, at least, I didn’t mind her as much.
Maybe I didn’t need the pills. I tipped my hand and let them fall into the sink, rinsing them down the drain. I felt lighter, somehow. Like I’d won a battle.
Don’t kid yourself, Reagan. My mother’s voice echoed in my head. This isn’t some heroic breakthrough. You still have the rest of the bottle. You need them. You know you do.
I unscrewed the lid and tipped the bottle to spill its contents, but at the last minute I changed my mind and tucked it into the side pocket of my purse. Just in case.
Told you so.
Fuck. I shook my head, trying to hurl her out of my mind and focus on something else.
I looked down and saw my keys next to my purse.
The car. Dalia had said that Dare needed a car for work. Even though I knew he didn’t want my help, I couldn’t stand by and let him struggle when there was something I could do. Easily. And when it was my fault he was in this situation to begin with.
But before I did that, however, I had to do one little thing. I searched three nearby grocery stores before I found it. Perfect. And yummy.
Back inside Dare’s apartment, I left the car keys and ja
rs of chocolaty goodness on the bar where my change of clothes had been. Then I wrote my own note using the back of his.
Dare,
The Nutella is for Dalia.
(As a thanks for the shorts.)
The car is for you. Use it until yours is fixed.
(It’s not charity. It’s the right thing.)
PS: I’m going commando.
—R
I also included my phone number, knowing full well that he was going to be pissed about the car. I kind of hoped he would call to ream me out. I made the bed and did one final walkthrough of the apartment to make sure I didn’t leave anything behind.
And that’s when I noticed the art.
Honestly, I have no idea why it took me so long because the place was overflowing with it. Not hanging up on the walls where you’d expect, but rather the entire perimeter was lined with canvases leaning against the exposed brick. Kind of like Dare was running a mini-gallery. Or maybe had just finished robbing one.
I flipped through some of the work. If his collection was any indication, Dare REALLY loved New York. A lot of it contained typical touristy stuff found around Times Square—sketches of yellow cabs on rainy city streets, various angles of the Statue of Liberty, and colorful Central Park landscapes. The work was extremely well-done, even if the subject was overdone. However, there were a few pieces hidden amongst the mundane that really took my breath away.
Nudes.
Not erotic. Just…beautiful.
For a brief moment, I thought they were Rex Vogel’s. The images were reminiscent of his technique. Plus, Dare had known about him, so it wasn’t hard to deduce that Dare was a fan of his work. And also naked women.
But this particular artist had a uniquely different style. Slightly more contemporary. Definitely more raw and unbridled. Could art be untamed? Because that was the perfect word to describe it.
Excited shivers ran through me as I studied one in particular. It was of a young Japanese woman. Her body was turned away from the artist, her long, black hair strategically covering her so that most of her nudity was left to the viewer’s imagination. Most, but not all. And she was gazing over her shoulder at me.
Untamed (Untamed #1) Page 7