Page 50 of How Dare You

I pull back. “By the end of the night, I’ll have you calling me daddy like you mean it.”

“I guess we’ll have to wait and see, won’t we?” she asks with a coy smile.

Yes we will. I pull her back from the trailer door, holding her tight to my chest as I reach for the handle.

Devon

I still his hand. “Not on the bed.”

“Why not?”

“Because of our bet. I can’t stay here for two extra nights, and you don’t want to have to sleep outside.” I give him half of the truth. I can’t imagine sleeping in that bed for the rest of the week after we’ve had sex there and keeping my hands to myself.

“You realize—” He kisses me, and it’s soft and familiar, a sweet moment between words, “you lost the bet days ago.”

The sincerity in his voice, the sweetness of that last kiss, they scare me more than any of the other things he accused me of. If I let this become easy and casual, then it’s too much like reality. “Did not. Outside or nothing.”

“Outside it is then.” He kisses me again, and it’s back to frenzied and passionate, like before, as if he sensed I couldn’t handle the intimacy of another casual kiss. He thrusts against me, making me curse the barrier of our clothing. Spinning me around, he carries me toward the daybed. I’m a tall girl, though not necessarily big. Still, it’s not common for someone to carry me around like I weigh nothing. It makes me a little giddy.

He pulls us backwards onto the daybed until he’s propped up on his elbows and I’m straddling him. “Take your dress off for me,” he commands, and my hands are pulling at the hem without a thought. This is just one night. There is nothing wrong with giving in for one night.

His voice comes out on a rasp, when I toss my cotton shift onto the cushion beside us, leaving me in nothing but a pair of black lace undies. “Look at you.” The heat of the fire warms my back, and his roaming hands warm everywhere else. He sits up, kissing me again, my bare nipples pressing into the cotton of his shirt. When my fingers go to the hem, he’s quick to help me peel it off.

I let my hands explore his shoulders, his back, his muscular arms, as my hips move in an involuntary roll against the hard length in his pants. He kisses down my neck, across my chest, and pulls one hard nipple between his lips, suckling there as I continue to roll against him. “I was so disappointed I didn’t get to do this last time,” he says, switching to the other side, massaging the nipple now wet from his lips with his fingers. “They’re beautiful.” And then he bites down with his teeth for the briefest moment, releasing it and blowing against the wet point before grabbing onto my waist and flipping me onto my back.

A startled cry escapes my mouth, and then he’s kissing down my chest, my stomach, and across my hips. Sinking his teeth lightly into the soft skin there before looking up at me.

“Take these off for me, too.” His words are a command, nothing like his regular charming tone, and there is a little thrill deep in my stomach at obeying his words. I pull them off, quickly tossing them aside. “Your pants too,” I say, reaching down toward him.

“You don’t tell me what to do.” His amused breath skates over my hip. “They’ll come off when I say.”

“But I—”

He abandons his place hovering above my now bare sex and brings himself up to brace his hands on either side of my head. “Understand this. I’ll make you feel amazing, and in turn, you are going to do as I say. Are we clear?”

“Clear,” I answer.

He kisses me, slow and sweet, then says against my lips, “Tell me your name.”

“What?” I breathe.

“I mean it. Your name.” It’s an order, though I don’t understand why.

“Devon.”

“Devon what?” His voice is still firm.

I’m unsure where he’s going with this. “Devon Blake.”

Still caging me in with his hands on either side of my face, his hips pressed against mine, he says, “That’s right. You’re Devon Blake, and you don’t get to pretend this isn’t you who’s naked beneath me, who’s going to come on my tongue, my fingers, and my cock, who’s going to call me daddy before it’s done. This is you.”

He moves away, the combination of his words lingering in the air along with the loss of his warmth leaving me wildly exposed, blinking up into the starry night sky.

I try to catch my breath. “This is one night. It doesn’t mean anything.”

He kneels at the end of the day bed, pulling me forward by my hips. “We were never going to be just one night.” He places the first of what I hope are many kisses between my legs, at the juncture of my thigh. “And it means everything.”

His declaration rings true. This thing between us is an inevitability that I keep losing an internal war over, but I still try to protest. “We’re never doing this agai—” my words are cut off by a gasp when he brings his mouth down again, licking a long line all the way from my clit to my entrance, circling his tongue there. His hands trace a path from my knees, around my hips and back as he presses more fervently with his tongue. This has to be just one night.

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