Page 39 of Dallas

By the time I woke up again, I was more disoriented than ever. The bedsheets were a tangled mess all around us, pillows on the floor and the scent of sweat in the air. I had never known such satisfaction and intimacy and joy.

I could see his smile even in the darkness. He’d been watching me sleep. “Am I that entertaining?” I asked with a wry smile.

“Among other things, aye,” he chuckled, running his hand up and down my bare back. “Och, I merely liked to see you looking so peaceful for once. You ought to relax a bit more, have a little more fun in life. Always so serious.”

“I suppose you think you could teach me a thing or two about that?” I asked, arching one eyebrow, and he took this as an invitation to wrap me up in his arms and rain kisses down on my forehead, cheeks, mouth.

And it would be this way forever, I knew. No one had to tell me we were perfectly matched in every way. That was how fate had planned it, after all.

Who was I to argue with fate?

He was so warm—hot, even, just as I’d expect a dragon to be. It was like hugging hot stone, but that didn’t matter.

“I am the luckiest witch alive,” I whispered, melting against him. My body seemed to tingle in his arms, pressed against his unyielding chest. Nothing had ever felt so right. It scared me.

He lowered his head until his lips skimmed my forehead. “You’re shaking.”

“I know. Hold me, please.” I couldn’t be close enough to him. He made every part of me tremble with desire.

I kissed his cheek. The stubble there was rough against my lips.

He turned his head, and our lips made contact. A surge of electricity went straight through my body, almost making my hair stand on end. Something deep inside my soul called for him. This was what I needed. I needed his arms around me, his mouth moving against mine, his tongue claiming me. I sighed in relief, ready to give in.

His hands slid over my back. He was ever so gentle.

I knew this man’s power. I’d witnessed its effects. And yet, he was so very gentle.

He could’ve overwhelmed me and taken me any way he wanted to. He could’ve crushed me under his body. Instead, he was kind and sweet—but just under the surface, there was a roiling, seething river of passion that could’ve drowned me. He was careful not to let that happen.

Instead, he gathered me up in his arms and held me gently.

I wanted him, all of him, against all of me.

He pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it aside before covering my body with his. The feeling of his skin against mine was satisfying, along with being able to run my hands over his smooth, firm, bulging arms and shoulders.

“You ready for this?” he rasped against my ear, then kissed his way down my jaw, to my chin, then even lower.

I tilted my head back and closed my eyes to revel in the passion and desire of his kisses.

“I do.”

It was all I could say and all I needed to say. Yes, I wanted him. I’d grown so tired of fighting against how much I wanted him and needed him, how everything had gotten better since he came into my life and not just because he protected me.

His hand traveled over my damp skin.

I raised one leg and hooked it around his to let him slide his fingers up my thigh until he caressed the curve of my derriere. I groaned, thrusting my hips up, wanting all the contact I could get.

My fingers tangled in his thick hair, pulling his head closer as his lips left a scorching trail along my chest, down between my breasts. I groaned, rolling my head back and forth.

He tugged at my nightie, pulling it off and he looked down at me. His eyes were half-lidded, full of deep desire. Craving for me. It was all for me. The heat building in my core, spreading between my thighs, growing hotter. He wanted me. One hand closed over my breast and fondled me while he dragged his tongue in slow circles around my other nipple. I cried out in relief and desperation. My body screamed in pleasure while begging for even more, more, everything he could give me. I arched my back, pressing my breast to his greedy lips. He sucked and licked and nibbled as I groaned and called his name.

He slid his hand over my stomach, making me squirm as he moved further south. His big, rough palm cupped my mound and pressed hard. I went wild—surprising myself with the passion that flowed through me—grinding against his hand, breathing in short pants as the hotness built and built. I felt his fingers slide into me while the heel of his hand continued that delicious pressure over my clit.

“Oh, Dallas!” I moaned, jerking my hips up and down in time with the rhythm of his fingers. He pumped them in and out while he set my skin on fire with his tongue, licking and flicking and sucking. I couldn’t stand it anymore, and I scraped my nails over his broad back as the pleasure got to be too much and I came with a shuddery scream.

He slowed but didn’t stop, still taking me with his fingers while my grinding slowed down, and I went still. The heat only lessened but didn’t go away, and I found myself writhing gently the longer he went. One of my hands deliberately brushed against the straining bulge in his boxers, and his groan made my muscles tighten around his fingers.

“Get rid of these,” I groaned, pulling at his boxers.

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