by Tara Leigh
Chapter Twenty
Dax
I wasn’t sure Verity had any idea what she was doing to me. Taking my insides out and turning them upside down. They were completely rearranged, her fingerprints all over them.
Almost as if they didn’t belong to me anymore.
She’d left a piece of herself behind, too.
But I wanted more. I wanted all of her.
My skin was hot, feverish. But my mind had never been more clear.
Verity Moore. She was sickness and cure. Risk and safety net. The face of an innocent, the body of a sinner. A past filled with darkness, a future shining bright.
My broken bombshell.
My reckless, resilient rebel.
“You came to the water’s edge because I was asking things that made you uncomfortable. You still feel that way?”
Verity turned her face to the side, resting her cheek just below my collarbone. “Uncomfortable is the opposite of how I feel right now.”
I gathered her even closer, tightening my hold. She felt so damn right in my arms. How had I not known this from the start? Why had I been fighting her so hard? “Good. Because I have something to tell you. Something I haven’t been honest about.”
She stiffened in my arms, disquiet carving a ridge between her brows.
“‘Bombshell Rebel’—I wrote it.”
Her jaw dropped. “You? But…why didn’t you say anything?”
“I write a lot, under a pen name. No one except Travis knows.”
“Those lyrics. Dax.” She pulled away just slightly. “It was like you were inside my head. How…?”
“The first time you came over my place, after New York, you called me out, remember? Said you didn’t show up for a booty call, or because you were a Barbie doll for me to play with.”
She nodded, a blush rising to her cheeks. “Yeah, I remember. I overreacted—”
“No. No, you didn’t. I was a dick. A selfish, self-centered piece of shit. But your reaction…You weren’t surprised to be treated like that. You were surprised to be treated like that by me. I couldn’t stop thinking about you, about my behavior. And I worked through it by writing about it.” I didn’t bother getting into the minutia of putting it into the wrong folder—clearly my subconscious had been active that day.
She gave a slow shake of her head, red tendrils of hair fluttering around her face. “If I told you to take me to bed right now, what would you say?”
My dick smacked the back of my zipper, silently screaming, Hell, yes! The fucker wanted to throw a ticker-tape parade. “Guess I’d ask if it was because of the song, or because of me.”
“For a guy who’s supposed to be the quiet one, you sure ask a lot of questions.”
I snorted into the wind. “I don’t usually care enough to bother.” I planted a light kiss on the top of Verity’s head. “Can’t say that about you, Verity. I care. A lot.”
I felt her deep exhale, that last bit of resistance, of doubt—about me, about us—leaving her body. For a moment there was only the crash of the waves, the squawk of the seagulls.
“Knowing you wrote ‘Bombshell Rebel’ for me is sexy as hell. And I’m honored. It’s only further proof that you see me, Dax. You really see me.” Verity’s eyes were a clear, bright bottle green, her hair a windswept blaze of fire, her skin luminous in the moonlight. But there was so much more to her than just beauty. “Neither of us have been open books, but I feel safe with you.”
Verity was was right on both counts.
She was safe with me. I would drown myself in this ocean before I hurt her.
And there were still things she was hiding from me. I could feel them gathering like rain clouds at the edge of the horizon, impatiently grumbling. I just wasn’t sure which one of us she was protecting. “When you’re ready to share more of the secrets you’ve been keeping, I’m ready to bear their burden with you. You don’t have to carry their weight alone, Verity.”
Those dimples carved into her cheeks as she smiled up at me. “You sure you can handle them?”
Verity wasn’t the only one of us keeping secrets. “You sure you can handle mine?” Without waiting for an answer, I grabbed her hand as we made our way up the winding path that had been cut into the cliff leading to my house.
As we got farther, I swept her into my arms, loving that she wrapped her wrists around my neck and nuzzled into me. “How am I doing so far?”
“You carrying me to your bed?”
“If that’s where you want to go,” I answered, the rasp in my voice having nothing to do with Verity’s slight weight in my arms.
“Then I’d say you’re doing pretty good.”
“Only pretty good?”
“Yep. If you want a stronger endorsement, you’ll have to earn it.”
I entered through the back door. “Is that a challenge?”
The sweet, lilting notes of Verity’s giggle had to be one of the most powerful aphrodisiacs on the planet. “Is it working?” she asked.
“Christ, Verity. There’s nothing about you that doesn’t work for me. Nothing.”
The selfish, impatient part of me wanted to get her naked the second we walked inside. The other part of me wanted to take my time, unwrap her like a gift I’d waited a lifetime to receive.
I settled for somewhere in between, coming to a standstill in the center of my living room, letting her slide down my body until her toes were enveloped by the shag rug at our feet.
With the touch of a button, the fire in the grate roared to life. There wasn’t much need for fireplaces in L.A., and this one was for show, not for heat, but I’d always been drawn to them. The idea that something so dangerous, so lethal, could be purposely brought into a home, enjoyed for its beauty despite its capacity to burn down the walls around me was strangely appealing.
“This isn’t your bedroom,” she said, light from the flames licking at her skin, making my tongue jealous.
“Are you complaining?” I didn’t care where we were, really.
She shook her head slowly. “Not even a little bit.”
We shared a smile, and I gathered her to my chest again, our mouths meeting on a shared sigh of pleasure. Our kiss was a tender sampling of what was to come. Heated breaths, the intensely erotic slide of tongues, the wet warmth of private places.
I groaned, one hand gathering Verity’s hair in my fist as I used the other to grab her by her knees and settle us both on the shag rug at our feet. Before she could lie flat, I broke our hold to lift the hem of her shirt and pull it over her head.
Her hair fluttered every which way, falling around her shoulders in a wild tangle. Crimson brushstrokes on creamy skin. “So fucking beautiful,” I breathed, curving my palm over her jawline, my thumb sweeping over her pink lips, pushing between the crease of her mouth. She bit down on it, a not-quite-gentle nibble, whirling her tongue around the tip before sucking it into her mouth.
“Fuuuck.” My curse was a hollow husk, all bristle and hot air. If life had a pause button I would have smacked the shit out of it and hired some artsy photographer to take a picture. The kind I’d have blown up in black-and-white. The kind I’d hang in my bedroom.
A bedroom I wanted to share with Verity.
I cursed again, this time at the bone-deep certainty that Verity was a woman I wanted to go to sleep with every night and wake up with every morning. I wanted to share smiles and tears, secrets and stories.
I thought I was in love once, years ago.
I was a moron.
What I felt then was nothing compared to now.
Verity was the real deal.
She was True.
Slowly, I dragged my thumb from her mouth, sliding it down her chin, down her throat, pushing it behind the center clasp of her bra. “Convenient,” I mumbled, easily disengaging it and pushing the thin straps off her shoulders.
Verity leaned back on her elbows, her thighs splayed over mine, eyes shining as brightly as the fire. “I love watching your face when you und
ress me. You look at me like you look at a guitar or a piano. Appraising, appreciating.”
I swallowed heavily. Verity’s body was an instrument I wanted to play; there was no denying that. But she was also a work of art to be treasured. “Anyone who doesn’t, doesn’t deserve to look.”
“Tell that to the stylists who pick me apart inch by inch as if I don’t have ears.” She dipped her chin, her voice becoming a throaty tease. “Lemme see what you’re hiding beneath all that cotton.”
“If they ever say another unkind word to you, I might have to go down there, explain the extent of their idiocy,” I said, not entirely kidding as I lifted my arms, gathering handfuls of fabric from behind my back and tugging the shirt over my head. I tossed it to the side and looked back at Verity, my attention drawn by the sweep of her tongue between the crease of her lips, then disappearing to tuck her lower lip behind her teeth. I could watch nothing but Verity’s mouth for days and never get bored. I swear it had a personality all its own.
“Maybe you should take my place, instead.” The burn of her stare swept over every muscle and sinew of my chest and abs. “You’d have them stumped—there’s not a single thing to criticize.”
I pulled her back upright, sliding my hands along the smoothness of her naked back and the ridge of her spine before gripping her ass to pull her into my lap, her legs straddling me. “Fuck, you feel good.”
Verity’s dimples flashed as her palms rose up my chest, skating down my arms before moving back up again and settling along the plane of my collarbone, her fingers a caress on my neck.
Beneath the want, the lust, the thickness of the desire hovering in the air between us, there was a peacefulness to this moment, an inevitability. I knew that I was exactly where I was supposed to be. Verity was the music of my soul, and I intended to spend the foreseeable future learning her lyrics.
She rested her forehead against mine. “I wish I had the words to describe how your touch makes me feel.”
“Try.” I wanted to know.
“Like you’re pushing me off a cliff.” She took a shuddering breath I felt to my core. “But knowing you’ll be there to catch me.”
“Always.” It was a promise.
We shared a long look, so intense there was no need for more words. Our bodies had picked up the conversation, anyway.
Sweeping her hair aside, I sucked on Verity’s neck, licking and biting her sweet skin. Her head tipped back, a red waterfall pouring over the arm I was bracing her with, a moan tripping from her lips as I kissed my way to her breasts.
That moan became a gasp as my lips closed over her pretty pink peaks. Everything about Verity was sweet.
With a last nip, I lowered her to the rug, this time sliding over her, bracing my weight on my knees and forearms, my desperate erection nestled between Verity’s thighs. Beyond the familiar scents that clung to her skin, I detected the faint whiff of something headier, a more concentrated sweetness.
Inching downward, my journey was set to a soundtrack of moans and cries and soft, soft sighs as my tongue traced the outline of her rib cage, committing each rise and hollow to memory, and savored the tight little dimple of her belly button.
She was wearing navy pants that clung to her shape like a second skin, though the low waist still had a clasp and a zipper to deal with. A damn belt, too.
There was the slide of leather, the clang of the buckle, the metallic whisper of the clasp, the whine of the zipper.
I folded my fingers over the band, making sure to gather the lace of Verity’s thong in my grasp as I pulled the fabric from her legs, her skin like warm satin against my knuckles.
Fully naked, Verity was a sight I wanted to soak into my corneas, imprint on my eyelids. So beautiful my heart ached to look at her.
Lowering my mouth to her skin again, I focused on one square inch at a time. The concave sweep of her belly, the slide of her hip, the plush curve of her thighs, the fragile indent behind her knees. Every inch was a marvel. Every inch leading me toward the sweetest, most delicious part of her.
Verity was bare and glistening, exposed and open.
Mine.
Verity
Light from the fireplace fell across Dax’s shoulders in wavering streaks of gold, making his gorgeous skin shimmer. Or maybe it was just the haze dancing around my vision, pure pleasure carving its mark into me with each lick of Dax’s tongue, each slide of his fingers. He was relentless, finding hidden parts of my body I didn’t know existed, eliciting sensations so delicious I wouldn’t have believed them possible.
The magic of his mouth was beyond my ability to comprehend. I knew I would never be able to look at his lips, at his tongue, without recalling, in excruciating detail, exactly what they were capable of, the skills he hid behind each sideways smile. I moaned, feeling my sanity slipping away, bit by bit by bit.
My hips arched upward, my thighs trembling against Dax’s roughened jawline as he curved his fingers into me. Pressing, seeking, finding. Jesus, this man was winding me up so tight I could barely draw breath.
I was a quivering jellyfish trapped on a shag rug in the Pacific Palisades. And Dax was sucking all my sting right out of me. My only defense. Not only was he immune to the poison I’d harbored within myself—he was hungry for it.
Defenseless.
That’s what I was. Completely, utterly defenseless.
His for the taking.
And the very idea of it thrilled me.
I had come back to California to stand on my own two feet, and I had. But now I was splayed out on Dax’s living room floor, completely open and vulnerable and his—and I’d never been so happy in my entire life.
This moment was beyond a fantasy. Beyond a fairy tale.
White-hot streaks of pleasure lashed my nerve endings into a frenzy, sending a scream cartwheeling from my shocked gasp, my feet twin arrows pointing up at heaven, my hands curling into fists and grabbing at Dax’s hair like he was the only thing keeping me tethered to the world.
My orgasm felt like a death. A moment when my heart stopped, my breath caught, my brain activity so overloaded that it ceased entirely.
The rebirth that followed was the most exquisite emergence into light, into life. My heart broke into a gallop, my lungs swelling, my mind scattering like glitter in the wind.
Dax gave a last, lingering kiss before crawling back over me, sucking my breasts into his mouth. The sensitive peaks sent bolts of electricity shooting through me with each nibble. But impatience was winding its way through me, too. I needed to feel Dax inside me, filling me up. I was desperate for us to be joined in a way that we hadn’t been before. “Please. Jesus—I want…I want—”
Maybe Dax felt it, too, because soon his face was over mine, his arms solidly planted on either side of my head. A sexy cage I was only too willing to be trapped within. “I want, too. I want you, Verity. So fucking badly.” Dax’s eyes blazed as his mouth dropped to mine and I tasted myself on his lips. Unexpectedly erotic.
This kiss was more than an exploration. This kiss—it was a claiming.
Sliding my palms down Dax’s rib cage, I fumbled with his button, then the zipper, finally shoving at the waistband of his pants with my hands and feet. I needed Dax to be as naked as I was. As desperately needy as I was.
Kicking free of his jeans, Dax settled his length over me, the thick, hard pulse of his erection pressing on my lower belly like a promise. My hips bucked upward, my calves arching over his back, ankles locking and pulling him even tighter against me. His groan rumbled against my lips, and I matched it, my hands roving from his shoulders to his neck, fingers pushing greedily into his hair. I wanted to touch and taste and feel. Everything. All of him. Now.
Dax shifted his weight, his thighs pushing up just enough that I felt his cock dragging along my stomach, the thickness falling like a spear between my spread thighs, the fat crown poised at the exact split where I was most vulnerable. Just one lunge of his hips and I would be pierced, full to overflowing.
<
br /> But instead Dax rocked slightly upward, nudging the swollen bundle of nerves he’d so effectively mastered just minutes ago.
I drew a shocked gasp, blinking wildly. Seeing only stars. “Jesus Christ, Dax. What are you doing to me?” My voice didn’t belong to me anymore. It was a choked rasp, a barely audible echo clinging to my heaving breaths.
His eyes found mine in an intense stare. “What do you think I’m doing to you?”
I swallowed. “I think you might be killing me.”
His chuckle sent goose bumps skating across my skin, streaking down my spine. “True, I’m just getting started. But killing you is the farthest thing from my mind.”
I gave an impatient nudge of my hips. “Oh yeah? Then tell me, what exactly are your intentions?”
He dropped a gentle kiss on the tip on my nose, his hips moving again, his cock sliding back into place. “That’s simple, baby. I’m makin’ you mine.”
I was struck dumb, rendered completely mute. It felt as if I’d breathed my hopes into Dax’s mouth and he’d swallowed them down, digesting them in a way that they had become his, too.
I found my voice when Dax’s features tightened into something that resembled pain. “What is it?”
“I don’t want to get up, but”—he lowered his forehead so it was pressing on my shoulder—“I don’t keep condoms in my living room.”
Condoms. I hadn’t even thought about them. Ridiculous given that I’d filmed a PSA advocating safe sex just a few months ago.
Except that right now I felt safe with Dax. Safe enough not to need a latex barrier between us. Not to need any barrier between us. “Are you…um…?”
He picked his head up. “Clean? Yeah.”
I shivered. The word had never sounded so dirty. “Me too. And I’m on the pill.” Before I came back to L.A., I had been tested for every possible STD, repeating them again recently, just to be sure. I was clean.
Glancing down at the most private part of him, which was pressed up against the most private part of me, I treasured the sight, licking my lips as I took in the fierce beauty of his thick length, the boldness of his swollen crown, the single bead of precum glistening from the tip like a fat tear.