by Zoey Derrick
All the pain of ten years washes away in heartbeat. It’s me, it’s him, it’s us. It’s everything I’ve longed for since I was nine years old and he’s proving to me this is what he needs with me. The overwhelming emotion pouring off him causes my head to pull back, my eyes to close, my body to lock up, my toes curl and then my orgasm rockets around him.
I feel so much for him as he lets go, emptying inside of me, that tears of unbelievable happiness spill out. I’m no longer capable of holding them back anymore.
Chapter 37
DYSON
“I Think I’m In Love” - Kat Dahlia
It’s never, not even at seventeen, felt like this. I never knew it could feel like this. Letting go and showing Ireland what she means to me was easier than I ever imagined it could be. She felt it too; at least I hope that’s the reason for her tears. “Talk to me, VeeVee.”
She sniffs, but opens her eyes and meets my inquisitive stare. She’s fighting back more tears and through them she says, “I don’t know what to say, Dyson. I really don’t.” She takes a shuttering breath. “I have no words for what I’m feeling right now.”
I press my lips to hers and let myself fall out of her. My cock is still semi-hard and I don’t want to push her too far into something else at this point, but I could do this with her all night. I press my forehead to hers and tell her, “You don’t have to say anything. I understand.”
She lets out a sigh of relief and I give her a gentle smile.
Words between us aren’t necessary. Everything she’s feeling, I’m feeling too. It’s intense, it’s…euphoric and in a way cathartic. Ten years of pent up anger, frustration and wanting has been washed away. Leaving us both exposed and raw. A weight on my shoulders I hadn’t realized was there is gone. She’s everything I remember and so much more. She’s everything I’ve held onto for all this time. I pull back to look at her. “Shower with me?” I ask her. It doesn’t take much thought because she nods quickly and I sit up, pulling her with me.
“Whoa,” she laughs, “too fast.” She sits on the side of the bed and I sit next to her. I brush the back of my hand down her arm because I can’t stop touching her. Afraid she’s going to disappear at any minute. Afraid this fantasy is going to end and I’m going to wake up alone.
“Better?” I ask.
“Much.” She smiles and stands up, grabbing my hand and leading me into the bathroom. Her sexy ass body sways sweetly as she goes and I am already hard again.
This girl is going to be the death of me.
Once inside the bathroom, she releases my hand and goes to the sink I’d put her stuff on. She digs through a little bag and pulls out something that looks…I don’t even know, but I watch as she gathers her gorgeous hair and twists it around, bringing it up and clipping her hair into a claw looking thing. I smile at her in the mirror. “I don’t want it to get wet again,” she shares. “It’s a pain in the ass to dry.” Her green eyes are brighter than normal as she turns to me. There’s still a faint flush to her skin from what we did in the bedroom. She’s absolutely stunning.
“I definitely prefer it down,” I tease her.
“Me too,” she winks and walks toward me. I can’t help brushing a few of the shorter strands behind her ear. Any excuse to touch her. Keep her real and alive in my mind. Drag out this dream for as long as possible. “I thought you wanted to shower?” she teases and I pull myself out of my thoughts about dreams coming true and smile. I reach into the glass enclosure and fire it up.
Once the water warms up, I lead her inside and she waits for me against the wall. The shower is big enough for a party to fit inside, and I don’t like the distance between us. “Come here.”
She shivers and comes under the spray with me. I let most of it hit me so her hair can stay dry, but she doesn’t seem to care when our bodies press together. “Jesus,” she mumbles.
“What?” I ask.
“Will this feeling ever go away?” Her voice is soft, but serious.
“Do you really want it to?”
She laughs aloud and I smile. “No, I don’t, but I’ll be dammed if I can keep my head when you’re near me.”
I lift her chin and gently kiss her lips. “You’re not the only one, princess.”
She kisses me again, and just as it heats up she slinks back and reaches for something. What is she doing? Curiosity is getting the better of me as I watch her pour my body wash into her palm and she lathers it up between her hands. “Come here.” She uses my words against me and I step closer to her. She meets me halfway and starts to slide her soap covered hands up my chest, over my shoulders, down my arms, across my stomach.
Her innocence shows through and it makes me blush a little when she avoids the erection standing between us. I kind of like it, but the need for her I’ve been trying to suppress ignites again, and my breathing hitches.
“Turn around.” Her tone is terse, but effective.
“Ahh, there’s my tigress,” I tease but I do as she says. Her hands slide up my back from my butt to my shoulders and back down again. Her hands are warm, comforting. She pulls her hands away and I think she’s done, but then I hear a bottle squeeze and after a beat her hands are back and she grabs my ass. “Yup, she’s back.”
She giggles behind me and then her hands are on my thigh and working their way down to my knee and my calf. She’s massaging as she goes and I start to relax. I remember she used to give me backrubs when we’d sit and watch movies. Feeling her firm hands makes me miss them for the first time.
She moves to my other leg, repeating the process, and I notice she takes special care when she gets to my tattoo. “How long have you had this?” Her voice is soft, reverent of the artwork.
“Um, three years ago. It was a present to myself when I made my first million.”
Her hands still. “A million dollars,” she chokes and I chuckle, turning around and kneeling before her. The soap on my body makes it a little weird and I get thrown off balance briefly.
“Are you alright?” I ask. “You’re really pale.”
“I’m always pale.” She gives me a sideways look, showing her claws.
“Paler than normal.” My voice sounds like I’m trying to deliver a bad joke and she gives a small snort of laughter.
“I didn’t think that was possible.” Her eyes lock on mine. “But seriously? A million?”
“My first million.”
“How many more have you made?”
“This conversation might be better had while clothed and out of the shower,” I tell her and she nods. She suddenly looks melancholy. “What’s wrong?” I ask as I step under the spray and clean off the soap. I reach for my shampoo before lathering it into my hair, my eyes haven’t left hers.
“I just…” she shakes her head.
“You promised me honesty.”
“I know, I just, that’s a lot of money, Dyson.” Her voice is sad and I rush to finish up. I want to figure out what’s bothering her before it has a chance to take root and bother her more than it should.
“It’s only money, VeeVee.” I hope the nickname softens her a little and it does.
“I know, but…” she pauses, breaking our eye contact, “I can’t imagine it.”
“You weren’t exactly poor growing up.”
“No, but my mom worked her ass off,” she defends, sadness still coloring her tone and I don’t know if it’s the money talk or bringing up her mother. I finish with my shower and turn off the water. I wrap her up in a towel before grabbing another one and wrapping it around myself.
I put my hands on her shoulders, working to dry her off, and she smiles at me. It doesn’t quite reach into her eyes, but she looks better by the time I’m done drying her off. She adjusts the towel around her and I dry myself quickly before returning the towel to my waist.
“Before we have this discussion, I’d like to know if there’s anything you’d like to do while you’re here, in New York, I mean.” I felt the need to clarify that. I don’t wa
nt her to think her trip here only includes sleeping in my bed all weekend, because it doesn’t, not if she wants to go out.
She shrugs. “Honestly, I hadn’t even thought about it.” She smiles. “But do we have to go out? It’s freezing out there.”
I snort, “Touché.”
“I’ve never been here. I guess I thought when I came here I’d plan it all out. Fill each day with something to do, but…” she pauses and I lead her out of the bathroom, “I haven’t planned anything, including being here.”
“Well, I’d like to think you’ll be back here again.”
“When it’s warmer, though,” she clarifies with a smirk before going to her suitcase.
“So tonight?” I ask, prompting her to decide if there is something she wants to do. I don’t want to lock her in my ivory tower if she’d rather be out clubbing somewhere.
“I think I saw a few movies in your collection.”
I can’t stop the huge smile that spreads across my face. “I’d like that, very much.” I wrap my arms around her. “Why don’t you slip into something comfortable, and we can curl up in bed and watch movies.”
“Uh, Dyson?”
“What, love?”
I watch as a wave of emotion plays out in her eyes at my new term for her. I honestly didn’t even think about it, it just spilled out, but, fuck it – if the shoe fits.
“You don’t have a television in here?” It comes out as a question and I walk to the panel near the door and press a few buttons. The windows were already dark; she obviously figured those out earlier, so I lower the television from the ceiling. It folds flush against it and the backing is the same as the ceiling so it blends in completely. “Holy shit,” She laughs as she watches it. “If I’d known that, I would’ve stayed in bed.”
I chuckle, “Well, now you know.”
She drops her towel and I hiss through my teeth at her brazenness and the fact she’s got the perfect fucking body and it’s naked in front of me. “Get dressed before I put the TV back up and we don’t watch any movies tonight.” My tone is a little harsh, and I sound like a sex crazed teenager. She looks at me in challenge and gives me a full frontal shot of her body. “Fuck,” I hiss.
Then she reaches up and pulls the clip from her hair, setting it free to cascade over her back and shoulders. It’s long enough to hide her breasts from view but the fiery red patch at the junction of her thighs stands out against her pale, gorgeous skin and I have to brace myself against the wall before I fall over.
“If this is a dream, for the love of all things holy, never, ever let me wake up,” I whisper.
Her eyes twinkle with humor. “You’re bias.”
I straighten a little. The tigress wants to challenge me, does she? “Hardly, Ms. McKidd.”
She snorts, “Prove it.”
With the flick of my wrist, I drop my towel. My cock is hard as fucking stone and I grab it in my hand, stroking it up and down. Her eyes widen and that innocent blush returns to her cheeks, making her hotter than ever. I expected her to turn away from me, but she’s staring at me, her mouth agape with shock as I stalk toward her, stroking my cock. The pleasure is incredible knowing where I get to bury him. “What do you say, Ms. McKidd, is this proof enough?”
She snorts, “You were hard in the shower.”
“You were naked in the shower.”
“We’d just had sex.”
Oh, I love this fucking game. “Then he should have been soft, spent. Not primed and ready for round three.” I wiggle my eyebrows at her and she moves her hair behind her shoulders. God, I want her to touch herself, but I’m afraid that’s going to go too far. I’m going to come any fucking second just looking at her. “You’re a damn goddess, you know that?”
Her cheeks redden further and she pulls her eyes from mine, breaking the contact and effectively ending our little game.
Chapter 38
Ireland
“Setting The World On Fire” - Kenny Chesney ft. P!nk
Dyson’s hand comes to my cheek and he slides his knuckles gently toward my neck, and over my left breast. I shiver and my nipples harden. His fingers continue until they rake over the pebbled nub. He grabs it gently with his knuckles and tugs. The pleasure that ignites in my body sends my sex pulsing and clenching, grabbing onto nothing and there’s an ache there. I flinch a little.
“You’re sore,” he says softly and he pulls his hand away from his cock and he lifts my chin. I don’t know how he’s managed to do it, but his eyes lack the lust that was there a moment ago. “Get dressed, princess. There is plenty of time to ravage your body,” he says with a smirk filled with promises of later.
I take a deep, cleansing breath and smile sweetly at him in gratitude. He bends and kisses my lips chastely and while there is definite sparks igniting, he pulls back before letting the kiss get out of hand. “How…” I breathe.
He gives me a knowing grin. “Believe me, it’s not easy, but the last thing I want to do is hurt you.”
I don’t know what to say to that so I nod and he releases me from his gaze and I confess, “I didn’t bring much.” I honestly didn’t know what to expect and I took his advice and packed lightly. I knew this was going to happen. In fact I wanted it and more than anything, I needed it to happen. As much as our first time together nearly killed me, I needed to find some way to replace the old with something new. I needed to finish wiping away the pain. At least this time, if I walk away, I’ll know I got a much better version of Dyson than the one in my head.
He walks through a door, his closet, and returns a moment later with something in his hands and he hands it to me. It’s the softest t-shirt I’ve ever held in my hands. It’s a well-worn one and I smile as I unfold it to see the word Dartmouth on the front. I look from the shirt to him and back to the shirt again. “You went to Dartmouth?” I ask skeptically.
He snorts a laugh, “Hardly, but it’s my favorite shirt.” I try to hand it back to him. “No, I want you to wear it.”
“But I’m going to leave boob marks in it,” I tease him.
He laughs as he pulls on a pair of dark grey flannel pants. “That will be quite the improvement.” He smirks at me and nods, indicating I should put the shirt on.
I pull it over my head, pull my hair from the neckline and it slides down my body, covering my stomach and my sex and lands just below the apex of my thighs. I still need pants, but I can solve that problem. I turn to my suitcase and pull out a pair of jersey knit shorts. They don’t leave a lot to the imagination but at least I’m covered up.
Making conversation, I ask him, “So you didn’t go to Dartmouth. I doubt you went to ASU. So where did you go to college?”
“I went, my freshman year, to Clemson.” My jaw drops. “I’d gotten a partial football scholarship, but I blew my elbow out in the second game.”
“Oh shit, Dyson, I’m sorry.”
He gives me a humorless laugh. “It all worked out in the end.” His voice turns bitter.
“I know that was all you wanted, and schools wanted you too.” I raise an eyebrow, curious why the partial scholarship.
“They did and most of them wanted me despite me not playing much my senior year. That’s why I got a partial.” He pulls a t-shirt over his head; this one is just a plain black V-neck that looks ridiculously comfortable. Not that the Dartmouth one isn’t or maybe it’s because it’s on him that I want it. He continues talking, “But after I blew out my elbow, I started thinking about a lot of stuff, about school, life, shit like that. I wanted something to send me a sign about what to do.” He holds his hand out to me in invitation and leads me from the room.
“And what conclusion did you come to?”
He gives me a sad smile as we descend the steps. “I lost the scholarship and I couldn’t afford to keep going to school. My elbow was having a hard time healing and I took that as my sign I wasn’t meant to play football anymore.” He leads me down the hall toward the game room. He’d said we were gonna watch movies in the
bedroom, so I’m a bit confused until he starts to open the first of three cabinets containing his movie collection. “Pick something,” he coaxes.
I step up to the first cabinet and look over his collection. I’d snooped earlier so I know what is in here. I kind of figured out his order for stuff; year then title. I go for some of the older stuff, well, to start. “So then what happened?” I prompt him to continue with his story.
“I got a phone call that changed everything.”
I turn my head away from his movies to look at him. “Oh?” I urge him.
“My father died.”
I blink at him. Dyson never talked about his father. Neither did his mother. It was something unspoken between the two of them and it never got brought up. My father was long gone before I was born which was long before Dyson and his mom moved to Joplin. Our moms were just two single moms who got along and became friends. Their husbands were never talked about. My mother dated some as I had got older, but like me, she always seemed to find men lacking and I was okay with that. “I’m sorry, Dyson.”
He’s staring toward the window of his game room, but he’s not really here with me and that’s okay. “I was angry, at first,” he finally continues and I look away, giving him the space to tell his story, but I’m listening more to him than I am reading the titles of the movies. “But I wasn’t angry because he was dead. I was angry because I wasn’t the one who did it.”
“Dyson…” My head snaps around to look at him. “Why would you want to kill your father?”
His eyes meet mine and I can see the anger there, anger unlike anything I’ve ever seen before and it has me straightening up. “Because my father was a self-centered-son-of-a-bitch who didn’t deserve to live.”