I expect him to jerk me toward him. To force me to bend over the desk.
I imagine him spreading my legs wide and holding my head down while he spanks me, then teases and strokes me with his cock before thrusting deep into me with his fingers.
Or maybe this is it—maybe this is what he needs—and I’ll finally feel him slamming hard into me. His cock filling me. His fingers clutching my shoulders so hard he marks me as he takes me fully and completely.
I want it—and at the same time I hate myself for wanting it because I know it might not happen. But the passion—the wildness—that I know is coming.
I really cannot wait.
And so I’m more than a little befuddled when his gaze shifts back to me, and the feral look is gone, subjugated to a slow-burn of passion and the face of a warrior who’s just fought the battle of his life.
I shake my head slowly, not wanting to understand, but I do. I get it, because I get him.
And I don’t like it.
“Dallas—”
“Shhh, baby.” His forefinger presses against my lips, quieting me, as he moves closer, then presses his hands lightly over my breasts before trailing his fingertips down my body, the contact making me tremble with a desire that is significantly more tame, but no less real. His fingers move lower, teasing the fold of skin between my thigh and my torso, stroking the soft skin of my vulva. Driving me deliciously wild because he is taking such care to completely avoid my clit.
With his other hand, he cups one breast, his thumb playing lightly over my nipple even as he bends forward and closes his mouth over the other.
I gasp, my body shaking with desire. With need. I feel as though I am on fire, like every millimeter of my skin is a sensual playground.
He has reined himself in, but the effect on me is no less dramatic. His touch is a garden of sensual delights, but when he pulls back, his teeth grazing my nipple in the process, I open my eyes and look at him. That’s when I see that his soft caresses are belied by the fire in his eyes.
He wants more, damn him. And yet he’s holding back, cheating us both.
“Dallas,” I say again.
“What, baby?”
I start to protest that he needs to stop protecting me when I’ve told him I’ll go with him wherever he needs me to go. But then I realize this isn’t about protecting me, but about protecting himself.
He’s fighting hard to hold it all in. To push it all back. His memories. His fears. The dark desires that he loathes.
I want him to stop fighting—to let it out—to share with me all of what happened in there, in the dark. To tell me what it is he craves.
I want that—even more, I need it. And I know that he needs it, too.
But I don’t say a word. I can’t push him on this. Not now. Not when we’re both still raw.
“Jane?”
I hear the concern in his voice and force a smile to my lips. “I love you,” I say. “I just wanted to tell you that I love you.”
“Oh, baby.”
He pulls me to him and kisses me gently, then eases me down onto the area rug. It’s soft and thick, and I stretch my arms above my head as he straddles me. Slowly, he kisses his way down my body, then gently parts my thighs.
I feel the whisper of breath on my clit and arch up, my hands over my breasts. My palms brush my sensitive nipples in time with his tongue laving my clit, sending waves of pleasure crashing through me with such wild brutality that my entire body is trembling.
His fingers are inside me, his mouth playing me. I’m lost in pleasure, and I want to explode even as much as I want this sensation to last, but I have no control at all. I’ve surrendered entirely to Dallas. His touch, his demands, his teases and caresses, and it’s all too much. Building and building until finally it is as though reality is yanked out from under me, and I burst apart, with Dallas right there to hold me and put me back together.
I gasp and shudder, my body lost in pleasure as he slides up my body and holds me close, telling me he loves me. Telling me that I’m his. Telling me that everything is going to work out.
“Promise?” I whisper when I can form words again.
“Always.”
I smile, then slide my hand down to stroke him. I’m pretty much bare, but he is still very clothed. And very hard.
I meet his eyes as my hand cups his steel-hard cock. “You really should do something about that. Or perhaps I could volunteer my services? Take over until you want to finish?”
But he only shakes his head as he presses his hand on top of mine. “I like this,” he says. “I like feeling what you do to me.”
Oh.
“When you put it like that, I like it, too.” I kiss him lightly and curl against him, and for the first time since the party began, it feels like we’re us again. I sigh, thinking of what happened. Of my fears and doubts. Then I tilt my head back to look at him.