Page 57 of Dahlia Made A List

I wanted to touch every inch of her, inside and out. Brand her as mine. Send a giant “fuck you” to the universe and carve out the future she wanted come hell or high water.

“Put the condom on me, pretty girl.”

She shivered against me, pressing her forehead into the side of my neck. Her fingers trembled and she fumbled to open the packet twice before groaning in success. When her cool little fingers rolled the protection down my length, I imagined a time when we wouldn’t need one.

I groaned, the onslaught of emotion putting a tremble in my own fingers. I fisted one hand in her hair, tipped her head back and kissed her. Hard and devouring, needy and consuming. My tongue pushed past her soft lips, learning the touch and feel of her. Her taste, her scent, I memorized it all.

“Arms around my neck, Dahlia.”

She linked her arms around me and I lifted us both until I sat on my knees, my hands on her ass as I pulled her down onto my dick. The warm wet slide as I entered her body had my eyes rolling back in my skull, had my hands digging into her softness, had my pulse ricocheting.

“So fuckin’ right.” I groaned, sucking in a breath, fighting the urge to pound her against me, to make us both explode in seconds. I held her impaled on my dick, opened my eyes and stared at the woman wrecking my world in amazement. “You’re fuckin’ perfect.”

She shook her head, but then I lifted her, sliding her up along the length of my dick, savoring the pull of her body on mine before slamming her back down. She caught the rhythm in the next instant and started to rock her hips in an unrelenting, sexy-as-fuck dance.

Her tits bounced against my chest, her fingers digging into the muscles of my neck, and I reveled in her sounds, in the gasps as she came down on me, the whimpers when my dick hit that sensitive spot inside her just right.

I wanted to slow down, but she was so hot, so wet, so sensitive and expressive in her pleasure. She stared into my face, her breath choppy, her eyes heavy-lidded. Heat curled in my chest, burning, burning . . . Yeah, I was close to combusting, but the heat had nothing to do with my dick and everything to do with the way this beautiful woman made me feel.

“You like that, pretty girl?” I pulled her hips down, held myself pressed deep. “You like the way I make you feel?”

She nodded, her ponytail destroyed, her hair flipping around her flushed face as she flattened her palms to my cheeks. “Yes, Wyatt. I love the way you make me feel. It’s everything.”

Maybe that was the negotiation, then. Maybe she’d take my broken pieces if I gave her this pleasure in return. Shame tried to take hold, but then she surged up, rolling her hips, her inner muscles tightening around me, milking my dick and thought deserted me.

A pleasure haze fell over me and my world narrowed down to Dahlia. To the scent of her skin, the taste of her sweat, the clench of her pussy.

To the way her eyes glazed over as her pleasure took hold. A little gasp of surprise escaped her and I thrust up, dragging her pleasure out, and her sounds turned deeper, more intense, wrenched from some secret place inside her.

She softened against me with a satisfied feminine moan, her pussy still clenching around mine, pulling me into a mind-rending release. The ocean of need inside me drained into her, stripping me of all the tension and bullshit. In the back of my mind, I knew it was just temporary. Knew the sex, great sex, didn’t change a damn thing.

I was still broken. And she still deserved better.

Chapter Twenty

Dahlia

Roughconcretebarricadesdividedthe civilians from the drag strip. I bounced from foot to foot, one hand shielding my eyes, the other squeezing the crap out of a plastic water bottle.

Wyatt sat behind the wheel of his sexy ass Firebird while a vintage cherry red Mustang rolled up beside him in the other lane.

We’d been here half the day already and this would be his second pass. He’d smoked the last one, beating the other car by a million miles.

In between his passes, we’d strolled the grounds. When I’d snuck my hand into his larger one, he’d not resisted, swallowing my fingers up with his and putting an extra bounce in my step.

I didn’t really know what we were doing. A week ago, everything shifted and left us to float along in this weird, undefined blur of together-but-not. I didn’t have any clarity from one day to the next, but he made plans with me, he kept them, and he fucked me royally. For now, I’d take it.

That was a lie. I’d take it for as long as he’d give it to me. Not just the sex, but him. Even our undefined relationship was better than any I’d had in the past. Because Wyatt was still Wyatt. Steady and true and reliable and strong in his grumpy Wyatt way.

Just then Kiko, the man who’d sold me my pretty Chuck, passed by, dipping his chin in greeting. I grinned and waved back.

Then the loud growl of two mighty race cars filled the air as Wyatt and the driver of the Mustang burned rubber and lunged forward only to back up again. Putting down hot rubber, Wyatt had explained, so the cars would have traction. The idea that the car tearing down the drag strip at over a hundred miles per hour was the same one I’d learned to drive around the back loop was enough to put a bite of belated fear in me.

The two cars reclaimed their starting position as a blonde woman perched on the narrow strip of ground between the lanes. She flashed a large light chest-level and the two cars shot forward, the roar of the engines drowning out the shouts of the crowd.

I jumped up and down, water bottle waving as Wyatt hit the finish line mere seconds after starting.

Screaming and laughing, I craned my head to see around people and catch sight of Wyatt slowing the Firebird. He turned onto a side road that ran parallel to the track and led back to the staging area.

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