by S. J. Bishop
Dash shook his head. “I don’t get it, Annie. A girl like you should be inundated with guys.”
“A girl like me?” I held my breath.
“Smart, independent, sweet, thoughtful, beautiful…”
“You think I’m beautiful?”
“I think you’re fucking gorgeous.” Dash’s voice was terse and throaty.
Silence hung between us at the admission. Heat was throbbing between my legs. I wanted him so badly, I could barely breathe. My hand slid across the table, slowly. Dash stared at it a moment before turning his palm over. I slid my hand into his and watched as his long fingers closed around my mine.
Electricity shot through me at the touch. Our gazes met, and I couldn’t tell you who moved first, but we on each other, lips to lips. The kiss was soft only one hesitant moment before hardening into something desperate.
Dash tugged me out of my seat, and I moved without breaking contact, straddling him in his chair. I sucked at his mouth, hungrily. His hand came up to fist in my hair, holding my head still for the intrusion of his kiss.
I writhed against him, desperate and needing, and there he was, hard between us, his erection fierce and bigger, even, than I’d imagined. There was no room for second-guessing, no room for doubt of any kind. I kissed him harder and reached down to grab it through his sweatpants. Hunger was riding me, years of wanting what you can’t have and of finally having it, literally, in your grasp.
“Fuck, Annie,” Dash gasped, lifting his hips and pressing himself further into my hand. His mouth fastened on my neck, and lightening shot through me. I knew I was whimpering, but I couldn’t help myself.
“Dash,” I gasped, not caring how wanton I sounded. “I want you inside me. Right now. Oh god!”
Dash, apparently, didn’t need to be asked twice. He wrapped his arms around my waist and stood, heading toward the bedroom.
I had no time to be embarrassed at the clothes on the floor, or the unmade bed. Dash dropped me on the bed and stripped. I stripped, too, pulling down my shorts and tossing my top and my bra across the room.
“Fuck.” Dash’s eyes were fixed in the small trip of red hair at the apex of my thighs. I was too busy staring at the mouthwateringly gorgeous cock that jutted out beneath tight, six-pack abs. I sat up on the edge of the bed as Dash stepped in front of me and dropped to his knees. Before I knew it, he had jerked my legs apart and knelt between them.
“Oh my god!” I cried as his hot tongue shot out and licked me top to bottom, swirling around my clit before delving in again and again.
“Annie,” Dash groaned, biting my thigh. “Annie, you taste like honey.”
I gasped as his mouth returned; only this time, he used his lips, too, feasting on me in a way that no other man had ever done before. I couldn’t help myself; I shivered and burned. I collapsed backward, pressing my hips further into his mouth, my hands reaching for his hair.
When he looked up, his lips were glossy with my wetness. The sight of him nearly undid me.
“Please, Dash, I want you in me. Oh god, I want you!”
His smile was savage. I scooted backward onto the bed as he stood. I had only seconds to look before he was on me, his mouth on mine. I tasted myself on his tongue. He grabbed my hands, trapping them over my head with one hand as he settled between my thighs. His free hand reached down, his fingers delving, swirling, and driving me mad, widening me for his intrusion.
“You. I want you,” I chanted, tugging his mouth to mine and arching my hips into his as the thick head of his erection parted my lips.
“Slowly,” he whispered into my mouth. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Fuck that,” I hissed, grabbing at his hips and impaling myself in one hard thrust.
We both cried out, and I felt Dash’s teeth score my neck. His hands left mine to brace himself on the bed as he tried to slow down. But I didn’t want gentle. I wanted Dash, all of him. I bucked against him, my hands at his hips, desperate to drive the rhythm.
“I don’t think so,” Dash whispered in my ear, and before I knew it, my hands were secure above my head again. Dash pushed one of my knees up to get a better angle and began to fuck me. The rhythm was slow, deep, and driving.
“Oh god! Please…” He was going to kill me like this. He filled every inch of me, set off all the nerve endings I had. I was on the brink of the most mind-blowing orgasm…
As if sensing my need, Dash picked up the pace, shifting our positions so that he hit right up against my clit.
“Come for me, Annie,” he rasped in my ear, and God help me, I did. I came hard, squeezing the thick length of him as stars exploded, as release swept through my body like a tidal wave.
Above me, Dash cursed and kissed me in one hard, unending kiss as he reached his own climax. I could feel him, hot inside me, pulsing. He released my hands and grabbed my hips, pressing us together until the last of the spasms died down.
8
Dash
I couldn’t believe I’d done that. I couldn’t believe I’d fucking done that. Running my hands through my hair, I stared at the ceiling of Annie’s tiny bedroom. I had a sudden flashback to the bed in my house, the four-poster, California King, with Becca’s long legs twisted in the silk sheets. And here I was, in my ex-wife’s sister’s tiny bed in her tiny room in Adams Morgan.
Fuck. I couldn’t believe I’d fucking done that.
After a few minutes of awkward silence, Annie excused herself and went to the bathroom. I knew I needed to get out of there. Guilt swamped me. I’d always suspected that Annie had a crush on me, but to take advantage of her feelings... Why had I done it?
I sat up and texted the Limo company to send a car, then I tugged on my sweats, and then my t-shirt. She’d been all flame in my arms. So fucking hot. I tried to stop thinking about how mind-blowing the sex had been. That couldn’t happen again.
The bathroom door opened, and Annie came back into the room, still naked. With all of that long, red hair and creamy skin, she looked like an angel. An athletic angel. I’d dated cheerleaders and models, girls who did Barre and Pilates – but Annie was something else. Goddamn, the way she’d squeezed me with those thighs.
“Are you heading out?” she asked. She went to pick her shorts up off of the floor, sliding them on casually, as if what we’d just done was perfectly normal.
“Got a long day tomorrow.” I tried to sound calm, but I knew I was being awkward as fuck. “I’ll, ah, talk to you soon, I hope.” Nice, Dash.
Annie blinked and pushed a hunk of red hair out of her face. “I hope,” she said, her eyes following me as I picked up my bag.
“Thanks for dinner.” What the hell was wrong with me? I was backing toward the door and, bless Annie, she wasn’t chasing after me.
“No problem,” she said, her voice calm as I closed the door behind me.
In the car, on the way back to my hotel, I tried not to relive each moment. I had no excuse. I’d had three glasses of wine, which wasn’t nearly enough to claim that I’d been drunk.
No. It was simpler than that. It had been months since I’d had a good lay, and I’d wanted Annie. I’d be lying to myself if I claimed I hadn’t looked twice when she’d lounged by my parent’s pool in her bikini. But to act on that attraction…
What’s the big deal? part of me argued. You’re divorced. It’s not like you started this while you were still married to Becca.
I shook my head. No. What we’d done wasn’t right. I liked Annie. She was family, and she meant something to me. And I’d fucked it up.
Ugh. Maybe this was a good thing. Maybe this would give me the clean break I needed from Becca and the Browns.
But I didn’t feel good. And when I got to my hotel, I couldn’t sleep. I kept seeing Annie’s red hair spilling across her white pillow. I kept seeing her perfect breasts bouncing as I thrust into her, her eyes closed in ecstasy. God, she’d come so hard…
I was stiffening again just thinking about her. Sighing and getting up, I did t
he only thing I could think to do: I drank the whole mini bar.
The next morning was miserable. Not only did I have the worst fucking hangover, but I’d woken up achy and unsatisfied. I’d dreamed of fucking Annie and woke up with a raging hard-on. If I’d slept over at Annie’s I would have rolled her over and had slow, lazy sex. I had a feeling that, unlike Becca, Annie would have let me.
I could have rubbed one out, or taken an aspirin for the hangover, but I didn’t. I’d done this to myself, and I was feeling slightly masochistic. Let this be a reminder of why I shouldn’t drink hard alcohol or fuck around with my ex-sister-in-law.
To make matters worse, at the shoot, Ted Schneider seemed to be in half my scenes for the day.
“Dude, you look wrecked,” he smirked at me. We were filming on the Capital steps. The shoot was open, which meant that paparazzi were no doubt taking photos. I was certain tomorrow’s headlines would read: Dash Barnes looks miserable after divorce. I knew I looked like shit. The makeup woman kept coming up between takes and reapplying makeup under my eyes.
“You know what you need?” asked Ted as the woman dabbed powder on my cheeks to get rid of the shine. He waited until she’d left before he leaned in. “You need to get laid.”
Hah. Wasn’t that just the problem? I ignored him.
“Seriously, bro, you look like you haven’t gotten it good in a few months. You want to hit up the bars with me after the shoot? I can hook you up.” He crossed his arms and waited for my response.
“I’m good, thanks.”
“Maybe you can call that red-head,” said Ted. “You guys seemed to have something going. She looked like she’d be happy to hop on your joystick.”
I had a feeling Ted Schneider was pushing buttons on purpose.
“What is your angle?” I asked him.
“Me?” Ted said innocently.
“No one’s this much of an asshole on purpose,” I said.
“Places, gentlemen,” called the director.
Ted grinned at me but didn’t answer. I stared him down for a full thirty seconds, trying to figure out if it was worth it to put the upstart in his place. In the end, I decided it wasn’t. The season would start soon, and Ted would learn that you didn’t mess with me.
Ted broke eye contact first, when the director reminded him that he wasn’t needed in this scene. While he sauntered offset, I looked over toward the assistant chairs, where Annie had sat the other day. A huge part of me wished she was sitting there today.
9
Anne
There weren’t many teachers in the faculty room for lunch, but Abe was there, sitting by himself at one of the smaller tables and patting the chair next to him.
“Spill, Raggedy-Anne,” he said as I approached. “What happened yesterday?”
My face must have said it all because Abe’s face suddenly changed from teasing to serious. “Okay, doll-face, have a seat,” he said, pulling out my chair for me. I collapsed into it and placed my head in my hands.
I’d been half asleep this morning at practice, and it had been easy not to think about things while I was teaching. I’d managed to teach a full four classes without letting my mind linger on what I’d done last night. But the minute my momentum stopped, the guilt had come flooding in. Oh god. How could I!?
“I can see that you’re blaming yourself right now, Hun,” said Abe, dryly. “But I should remind you that it takes two to tango. Why don’t you tell me what happened?”
I told him about the mix-up during the commercial and how Dash had come back to my place all pissed off. Abe sat back and listened to my story, adding the appropriate, “Mmhmm,” where he needed to, and asking for points of clarification along the way.
“So, you put your hand in his. Did you kiss him, or did he kiss you?”
“I don’t know,” I said helplessly.
“So, it was Lady and the Tramp style?” asked Abe, smirking. “Go on.”
I spared only the more embarrassing details.
“And so, after, he just left?”
I nodded. “It was so awkward. He just picked up and left, and I had to pretend like everything was cool, like it was all no big deal.”
Abe sighed. “So you slept with him without knowing what it was you wanted from him.”
“What was I supposed to do!?” I asked, striving to keep from being overheard. “The opportunity presented itself!”
“Exactly. So stop feeling guilty.”
“What?”
“Stop feeling guilty. You didn’t do anything wrong. Not really. It would have been one thing if Dash had broken your sister’s heart, but she broke up with him. It would be hypocritical of her to get mad at you for sleeping with him. Not that I would tell her,” he added quickly, his eyes widening at the prospect. “God. Don’t do that! But you shouldn’t care what she thinks, either.”
“So, let me get this straight. Yesterday, you were telling me not to do anything stupid, and today, you’re telling me to ‘go for it!’”
Abe shrugged. “I don’t know if I’m saying ‘Go for it!’ From the sound of things, it doesn’t seem like Dash is all that interested in going for it.” He gave me a side eye, “I warned you, by the way.”
“Yes, yes,” I muttered. “You told me so.” He had said that Dash was only interested in sex, and he probably had been right. Why else would Dash have left so awkwardly? Ugh. Well, I did this to myself.
“So, don’t worry about it,” he said. “What’s done is done. Was it good?”
I blushed, and Abe gave me a wicked grin. “I knew it. I knew he was packing a salami downstairs!”
I managed to finish teaching the rest of the day, but I couldn’t make myself go home and face the scene of my crime. So I sat at school for a while, grading (there’s always grading). Abe came by and invited me out for drinks, but I told him I wasn’t in the mood.
“Okay, Annie Oakley,” he said. “But I’m dragging you out this weekend, so you better be up for it.”
I left school around 6. The walk home gave me too much time to think. Despite Abe’s cheerleading, I knew I was in the wrong. While Dash had invited me to dinner, to the shoot, while he’d barged into my apartment, I was the one who’d made the first move.
Dash was vulnerable. I couldn’t imagine what divorce must do to an ego. It was understandable that he’d be on the rebound, but me – I didn’t have an excuse.
I stopped at the local gourmet shop on the way home and picked up a sandwich and a big bottle of Belgian beer. I reached into my bag to pull out my wallet and hit my phone instead. Realizing that I hadn’t checked it since lunch, I pulled it out of my bag. Oh, fuck. I had two texts: one from a teammate asking for a ride tomorrow, and one from Dash.
I shot back a quick response to my teammate (yes I could pick her up). Dash’s text was short: Sorry about last night. U have time to talk?
I swallowed. I’d need to finish that beer, and maybe a bottle of wine, before I got the courage to talk to Dash again.
God, just the thought of him sent heat rushing between my legs. I shook my head, biting my lip. I had a real problem.
I had just hit the steps to my apartment, and was fishing around in my bag for the keys, when I heard him. “Annie!”
I turned, hoping I was imagining his voice, but I wasn’t. Dash stepped out of a black car.
I swallowed and waited while he paid the driver and sent the limo on its way.
“I sent you a text,” he explained, striding up to my door.
“I just got it a few minutes ago.”
Shit. We were both standing there awkwardly. Why was he here?
“Can I come in?” he asked. He looked serious, intent. I couldn’t very well keep him out here on the stoop.
“Yah, come on in,” I said, unlocking my door and ushering him upstairs. Dash climbed the stairs two at a time, and I had to force myself not to stare at the way his butt flexed against the fabric of his athletic shorts. He must have been filming again today.
I un
locked the door to my apartment and stepped in before him, letting him close the door. Then I headed for my kitchen. I had a sandwich to eat. Whatever Dash wanted to say to me, he could say.
“I don’t want you to get the wrong idea,” said Dash, hesitating in the entrance of the kitchen. I pulled out a chair and sat, using my keychain to pop the top off of my beer. There was no need to use a glass. I wasn’t trying to impress him anymore. I picked up the bottle and took a long draught. I could feel his eyes on my throat as I swallowed.
I set the beer down, picked up my sandwich, and was slightly irked when he picked up the beer and took a long drink.
“What idea am I supposed to be getting?” I asked him.
Dash looked unguarded for a moment, and slightly embarrassed, but then he cleared his throat. “What I mean is that, I’m not here for a booty call.”
“Got it.” So, why the hell are you here?
“I understand that we crossed a line last night that we shouldn’t have crossed,” he said. “And I know I probably shouldn’t have come over tonight…” he stopped speaking and ran a hand through his hair, mussing the blond strands. I wished he wasn’t so goddamn beautiful. It would be easier to be angry.
I took a big bite of my sandwich, but my stomach turned traitor. I got nauseous when I was nervous.
“…but, I don’t know,” he finished weakly, waving a hand. “I just… I didn’t want to be alone tonight in my hotel. I didn’t want to fly home to Boston early and sit alone in my apartment. I didn’t want to go out and get drinks with Ted Schnieder or Dino Roberts or Blaire Hopkins. I just wanted to sit on your couch and watch a movie. So, I’m here.”
And we weren’t going to talk about what had happened last night. That much was clear.
He was in need, and he’d come to me. I didn’t want to analyze it any further than that. I didn’t want to examine my own motives or the elation that was blossoming deep within my chest.