He hooked a finger under my chin and forced me to look him in the eye. “Are you okay?”
Was I okay? Yes. I was happy as a clam.
“Yes,” I panted. “What was that?”
Dillon smiled and stroked his fingers down my arm. “That was your G-spot.”
“Wow.” I didn’t think I had one. All this time I’d thought it was an urban myth made up to sell women’s magazines. Or that mine was broken. “I’ve never felt…I’ve never had…”
“An orgasm like that before?”
“I’ve never had one period,” I confessed, embarrassed.
Here he’d just finished giving me the most intimate of things and I still couldn’t say the O word out loud.
“You’ve never had an orgasm before?”
“No,” I choked out the word as my throat tightened and tears burned past my eyes. I couldn’t help it. The last thing I wanted to do after that was cry, but my body had other plans. A surge of emotion pushed out and I broke down. It had all been too much. The kindness in Dillon’s words. The intimacy in his touch.
I buried my face in Dillon’s neck and I cried. I cried for the years I’d wasted locked away from the world. I cried for thinking Derrick held the key to my prison when it was me all along. I cried because Dillon’s warm arms held me so tightly and made me feel so safe. I cried because Dillon had set me free.
When I was all out of tears and my breathing finally evened out, Dillon kissed my forehead and then my knuckles one by one.
“Who hurt you, Olivia?”
I pressed my lips together in a thin line. It was the first time he’d ever used my full name.
“Was it your father?”
“No!” I exclaimed vehemently. When I was sure my voice was steady, I said again, “No. God, no.”
Dillon was running a comforting hand up and down my back. I hated him for making me trust him enough to tell him my story. There was only one other person I’d shared it with.
I took a deep breath and decided to start at the beginning.
“It all started early on in my childhood. As far back as I can remember kids made fun of me at school. They bullied me and picked on my clothes, my hair, anything and everything. When I started…developing faster than the other girls, it got even worse. I never really understood why I was a target, but I guess it didn’t help that I kept to myself and my art and wasn’t very social to begin with.
“Anyway, in college things got a little better and I even had my first art show in Paris--the one I told you about--the summer of my junior year. That next spring I met…” God, it was still difficult to say his name even after all these years. But I had to. I had to say it out lout. “I met Derrick. Derrick Huntington. He was a third year architecture major. It seemed too good to be true the way he was so nice to me and I should’ve known it was. We had a whirlwind romance, heavy on the whirlwind and light on the romance. Foolishly, I thought I loved him and I trusted him with my heart.
“After a couple of weeks we slept together. It was my first time and I know it’s probably an awkward situation for everyone, but it wasn’t pleasant at all like I’d pictured it would be. Afterwards, he left right away and I was left wondering what I did wrong.”
I didn’t realize it, but I was trembling. Dillon held on tight as if to keep me from breaking into pieces as I continued my story.
“The next day he called me and…” Jeez, I couldn’t believe I was telling all this to Dillon. “When…when I asked him what was wrong, he said everything was. He told me that our time together was a joke and the only reason he slept with me was because his fraternity dared him to. He told me I was dirty and disgusting and repulsive.” Those were the words that rang in my head to this day. “Then I started to cry and he started laughing. Then I heard a bunch of guys in the background laughing too. Derrick had put our entire conversation on speakerphone. They just kept laughing.” I finished the sentence choking on a sob and Dillon gathered me tighter in his arms.
The memory was painful, like a new stab in the heart, the knife twisting and serrating my organs all over again.
Dillon murmured a few choice words about Derrick and I buried my face into his chest, my hot tears seeping into his tan skin.
“Jesus, Livi. I’m so, so sorry.” He rubbed my back and murmured comforting words.
“It was mortifying,” I sobbed. “I was so humiliated.”
“Oh, Livi, I’ve got you. That bastard won’t hurt you again.”
“That’s why,” I gulped in a lungful of air. “That’s why I’ve been taking things so slow with you. I can’t get over the fear that I’m going to be hurt again. I don’t think I could live through that again, Dillon.”
“It’s okay. I’m not going to make you do anything you don’t want to do, okay?”
“Okay,” I sniffled. “God, I’ve only ever told that story to one person.”
“Your father?”
“Yeah. I had to tell him so he would understand why I quit school. He relayed it to my mother and she was disgusted. I’ll never forget how she looked at me.” I stared up at the ceiling and could see her face in my mind. That cold expression, those cold, compassionless eyes. “She was mad that I confided in my father instead of her and also because I had let something like that happen to me in the first place.”
“Like it was your fault,” Dillon said sarcastically.
“I know. She’s a lovely woman,” I said bitterness lacing my words. “We were never very close, obviously, and that is what ultimately ended our relationship.”
“You haven’t talked to her since then?”
“No. She told me how disappointed she was in me and that she was ashamed to have a daughter who would let someone take advantage of her like that. It was too humiliating for her, so she moved to Paris and then filed for divorce.” That was the difference between my parents. My mother fled the country and my father had bought me an island.
I felt Dillon flinch.
“I’m sure there was a little more to it than that,” he said, smoothing my hair.
I shrugged. “That’s the abridged version.”
“Did you really quit school?”
“Yeah,” I answered sadly. “I moved to Tahiti and shut myself away from the world. After about a year, Daddy insisted I come to Las Vegas. He said it wasn’t healthy to be by myself on the island all the time. He was probably right, but I don’t see how I’m any better off here. At first he wanted me to move in with him at his house in Summerlin but I didn’t want to hamper his dating life by being a grown woman living with her father. So, we compromised and I ended up here.”
“Whatever happened to the guy?” Dillon asked carefully.
I was glad Dillon hadn‘t said his name. I didn‘t want that horrible name on Dillon’s beautiful lips.
“I don’t know,” I sighed. “Daddy wanted to have the whole fraternity expelled, but that meant I’d have to tell the dean what happened and I refused. I’m sure Daddy probably got back at them in his own way, but we’ve never talked about it since that day.”
“That’s why you don’t like to talk on the phone,” Dillon mumbled to himself. After a minute he asked, “Is that why you’re so secretive about your art? You’re afraid someone will laugh at it?”
A nod was all I could manage. My throat tightened and I could feel a fresh batch of tears burning behind my eyes. Everything always seemed so simple when Dillon laid it out in that special way of his.
Chapter Fifteen
“You know there are different kinds of orgasms,” Dillon told me a week later.
We were lying on my bed, our legs braided together. We had an even deeper bond now that he knew my secret. At first, I was worried he’d shun me after hearing my story, but if anything, it had brought us closer together.
I traced a finger around his nipple and smirked at the mischievous smile smeared on his face. “Meaning?”
“This time instead of using my fingers I could use my tongue.”
I bl
ushed and looked away. No matter how comfortable Dillon was talking candidly about sex, I still couldn’t look him in the eye.
He took my hand, opened it and kissed my palm. A seemingly innocent gesture sent waves of ecstasy pulsing through me. “What about that makes you nervous, Livi?”
Oh, I don’t know. Everything.
“I’m worried you…you won’t like me,” I answered honestly. “That I’ll be dirty, smelly, revolting. Repulsive.
Dillon shook his head. “What’s the first thing that comes to your mind when I tell you I want my mouth on you? When I say I want to kiss your pussy?”
“I want you to,” I blurted. Christ, I answered without even thinking about it first. I buried my face in my hands as it burned with humiliation.
His words sunk in. Dillon wanted to kiss my pussy.
He lifted up my chin and smiled. “Good.” Then he kissed me on the lips.
He rolled over me so I was underneath him. I held his face in my hands and kissed him back. Deeply, boldly, with passion welling up from my toes.
His body pressed down onto mine and I arched up to feel his heat. My want was building. My need clawed at me, growing and growing. I wanted Dillon’s hands on my bare skin. And I needed his lips on my secret places.
As if he knew my thoughts, Dillon slid his hand under my shirt and caressed my breasts. My nipple puckered and I sighed when his fingers fondled the tight nubs. His hands moved lower then. Down to my waist and over my hips, tugging at the fabric of my shorts.
My heart pounded and my chest heaved. I murmured a plea followed by his name.
Slowly, he slid off my cotton shorts and hooked his thumb on the waist of my panties.
I writhed and buried my hands in his thick, silky hair. “Please,” I pleaded, breathlessly begging him for more. My brain had turned off all logical thoughts and all I wanted was more. I wouldn’t be denied any longer.
Carefully, he slid my panties down my legs and I gasped at the sensation of the cool air on my flesh. I squeezed my eyes shut and nuzzled into his neck. I was exposed now and there was nowhere to hide. Part of me didn’t want to hide. Hadn’t I done that for long enough?
Slowly, Dillon scooted down and settled between my thighs, keeping a hold of my hand. He smiled at me and I swallowed down the doubt.
I instinctively tried to clamp my legs closed, but his knees were already keeping them spread wide. He flashed me another reassuring smile, looking like he really didn’t mind being down there. It was a little too late to back out now, anyway. My pussy was staring him right in the face.
Gently, ever so gently, he ran his hand over my mound and this thumb brushed my folds. I twitched, he squeezed my hand.
He leaned down and pressed a soft, firm kiss right above my clit and I moaned. He kissed me again, lower this time and lower again. My back arched toward him and I gripped a handful of the sheets. God, it felt good and I was afraid I’d never get my fill of him kissing me that way.
I watched his head move and bob until I couldn’t keep my eyes open any longer. My lids fluttered shut and I threw my head back to rest on the pillow.
Eventually he switched to open-mouthed kisses centered directly over my labia. He slid his tongue around the cluster of tingling nerves of my clit and everywhere but where I needed him the most. He was teasing me. And I was loving every minute of it.
When I looked down expecting to see that mischievous smile of his, Dillon’s attention was solely focused between my thighs.
He used his fingers to spread open my outer lips, exposing my ultra-sensitive clit. It throbbed and pulsed and I cried out when he finally suckled it. I couldn’t breathe. But it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that feeling of euphoria Dillon was coaxing out of me with his mouth.
He fluttered his tongue or maybe it was me fluttering around his mouth. Either way, I felt ready to rocket right off the bed. I didn’t know exactly what he was doing with his tongue, but it was making fireworks explode behind my eyelids.
When his tongue finally slid inside my heat, I sucked in a ragged breath. It was such a different sensation from when he’d used his fingers. Not better, but softer somehow, slicker, warmer. I definitely felt wetter than before and Dillon was vigorously lapping up my juices.
My whole body felt like it needed to sneeze.
Then it happened.
I cried out as I rode the wave of passion out to sea and then back to shore again. Dillon kept his mouth on me until the convulsions passed. Then he gave me one last sweet, wet kiss and slid back up to my side.
I went for the sweet spot at his neck and nuzzled there as my body thrummed with pleasure.
“Hmm,” he hummed into my ear.
“Do I taste…okay?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper.
He pulled me back and shot me one of his ‘you’ve got to be kidding me’ looks. Then he made a big show of smacking his lips. “Mmm. So good. Do you wanna taste?”
Before I could answer, he had his mouth over mine. His tongue darted around my teeth and I twisted my tongue around his, savoring the taste. It tasted musky and sort of sweet. There was nothing revolting or disgusting about it. It was just…me.
I had my fill and then looked at Dillon with a timid smile. The look on his face was pure surprise. I think he’d expected me to protest.
“See, I told you that you tasted good.”
“You should patent that mouth of yours. Or insure it for a million dollars. And those fingers! Oooh!” I shuddered and held him close.
“Next time I’ll use both,” he said, his voice husky and deep.
My breath hitched and my eyes widened. The thought of Dillon’s mouth and fingers combined sent shivers up my spine. I smiled, happy there would be a next time.
“And those aren’t even my best attribute.”
“Oh, Dillon.” I touched his cheek and kissed his lips. “You’ve been so patient with me.” I wished I could tell him I was ready for that. I wished I could tell myself.
“I would never rush you, Livi. Just know that there’s more to come.”
I silently wondered if he purposely meant the play on words.
Chapter Sixteen
Monday morning I woke up on the wrong side of the bed. Dillon was coming over in a matter of minutes and I didn’t want to be in a foul mood for him, but I couldn’t pinpoint exactly what was wrong.
It didn’t take me long to figure it out.
I knew exactly what I was angry about. Dillon had given me something that no other man had. He’d given me hope, friendship and more orgasms than I could count on two hands.
And most of all, he’d allowed me to trust him.
My mind and body were at war. My body was primed and ready to give itself to Dillon. To let him take me to that place I’d only fantasized about. And my mind wouldn’t let me forget what Derrick had done to me. No matter how much I wanted to, I didn’t think I could open myself up to that kind of humiliation again. Sure, I trusted Dillon, but then again I’d thought the same about Derrick all those years ago. That feeling of trust was deceptive.
Deep down, I knew Dillon would never deliberately hurt me like that. What would he have to gain from it? But I still wouldn’t let myself accept it. Did I even deserve that kind of happiness?
I didn’t think so.
Dillon arrived on time, as always, in his usual good mood, which just seemed to aggravate me even more.
I greeted him with a plastic smile and a half-hearted kiss. God, he was beautiful. I wanted him so bad I could taste it, yet all I did was let the past control me, paralyze me. Prevent me from moving forward.
He tossed his keys on the table next to his envelope and I pretended to make myself busy looking through my mail.
“I was driving by the hotel yesterday on my way to meet Mike for lunch at The Bellagio and I thought of you up here. It reminded me of Rapunzel in her tower.”
I sniffed and tossed my mail aside. “Too bad I can’t throw my hair out the window instead of you having to take t
he elevator,” I grumbled.
Dillon grimaced at my tone but didn’t comment on it. “Oh, I meant to tell you. I stopped by the gallery on my way up and checked out your Submersed painting again.”
I frowned. “Why would you do that?”
“Well, it’s the only art of yours I’m allowed to see.” Then all of a sudden, Dillon looked at me like he’d had a revelation. I could almost see a light bulb come on over his head. “That’s it! I finally figured it out. Why didn’t I think of that before?”
“What?” I let out an irritated sigh. “Figured what out?”
“It’s not a mermaid.”
“What in the world are you talking about?” I knew exactly what he was talking about. I bit the inside of my cheek and held my breath. It was a pity that this signaled the end of our relationship because Dillon seemed so proud to have cracked the case. The mysterious case of Olivia Sharpe.
Now I could never see him again.
Dillon looked me dead in the eye and it felt like he’d pinned me to the wall with his gaze. “Submersed. The woman in it. She isn’t a mermaid. She’s…she’s you.”
“Yeah, well, art is subjective,” I sputtered and my hands betrayed me by fluttering out from my body.
He grabbed my arms and pinned them to my sides with his grip. “She’s you. You painted yourself. You painted how you feel trapped and submersed by your own fears. I didn’t realize it at first, but now I get it. I can see it so clearly. You let her go to the gallery because a part of you wanted free, but you’re too afraid to let her go completely. That’s why you put that ridiculous price tag on it. You’re scared.”
My mouth gaped open, but I couldn’t find any words to say to him. I felt numb. Somehow, in a few sentences, Dillon Milano had managed to sum up my entire existence. Damn him to hell.
The numbness faded away into anger. I wanted to slap him. I wanted to claw that self-righteous look off his beautiful face. I wanted to pummel his chest until I couldn’t feel anything.
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