Page 23 of The Trailer Park Twink
Dallas and I shuffle around the bar and stand side by side in the kitchen. When Clint asks us to turn around and lower our pants, I bring mine halfway down my ass, exposing only enough skin to show the tattoo. Dallas must have other plans though, because he unzips his jeans and shoves them—as well as his underwear—down to his ankles. My breathing is shaky and it takes every bit of self-control in me to refrain from taking a step back and blatantly staring at it. The sound of Clint’s phone’s camera shutter pulls me out of the moment, flinging me back to reality. I look down, disappointed to realize Dallas is shielding his cock from me with his hands. The base is exposed which sends my own cock swelling to life. He’s so thick! And there’s so much hair around it. Fuck. I kind of want to bury my nose in his pubes and inhale deeply. I could just live down there, surviving on his natural musky scent for the rest of my life.
Once Clint gives us the all-clear, I pull my pants up and wait for Dallas to do the same. His eyes meet mine, and he looks a little nervous, like maybe he wants me to look away, but Idon’t. I just stare at the hand shielding him from view, hoping he’ll let go long enough to pull up his pants.
Sure enough, when he bends over, he lets go and grabs his underwear and jeans, pulling them up. As he stands upright, I finally see it. The object of my desire for the better part of a decade, ever since I spotted him and began my stalking routine. It’s absolutely worth the wait. He might not be giving any porn stars a run for their money, but he’s still bigger than anyone I’ve ever had before.
“You’re so big, Daddy,” I say before I can stop myself, sounding awestruck, I’m sure.
His cheeks burn red. “Thanks, buddy.” He bumps his shoulder against mine. “From what I remember, yours ain’t half-bad, neither.”
“You think so?”
“Yeah.” His glossy eyes sparkle against the harsh overhead lighting, and I can’t help but get lost in them. “Yeah, Aussie. I think so.”
We spend the rest of the evening cuddled up on the couch, but no one even bats an eye at how close we both are at this very moment. Everyone in the room knows he’s married to my mom, but they say nothing whenever he kisses my scalp or when he rubs my stomach through my shirt. His hand rises and falls on an endless loop, caressing me like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
By the end of the evening, Dallas and I are both a bit tipsy—well, he’s absolutely hammered, but I’ve got a decent buzz—so driving home isn’t an option. None of the men live in town, so when I ask if any of them would be willing to give us a lift home, Dallas cuts me off, asking Bubba if we can stay the night. Bubba agrees without a second thought, pointing at the sofa we’re sitting on, telling us it folds out into a bed.
Clint is taking a bedroom on the other end of the trailer, and Bubba and Johnny are in the next room over, their snoring loud and relentless. Dallas and I are side by side on the sleeper sofa, wearing nothing but our underwear beneath the blanket, facing each other. He’s got this stunning, punch-drunk look on his face, and, as if he can’t stop himself, his hand touches my cheek.
“I don’t care what your momma says,” he drunkenly slurs. “You’re comin’ with us.”
I shake my head, even though every nerve in my body is alight with an overwhelming sense of completion, I don’t want to be the reason he ends up on Mom’s shit list. “I’m okay, I promise. You two should go. I can just stay at home.”
“Is that really what you want?” We both know it isn’t.
“No.”
“Good. That’s settled then.”
It isn’t, actually, because I know Mom will never allow it. I don’t get a chance to argue, because his hand finds my hipand pulls me even closer to him. His fingers dance against my stomach, tracing circles into my hairless skin. The longer he cuddles against me, the lower his hand falls, until he’s got one finger spilling into my underwear.
“Aussie?”
“Yeah, Daddy?”
He’s quiet for a while, and for a moment, I think he’s fallen asleep. Puckering my lips, I risk a kiss to his neck, my lips lingering far longer than they have any right to. Opening my mouth, I allow myself this one, single moment, my tongue brushing gently against his skin, practically tiptoeing across so I don’t wake him. Stupid me for assuming, because Dallas lets out this low, guttural growl that rattles me to my core.
“You’d be so fucking sexy if you were a woman,” he says in a voice that matches the growl from moments ago, all possessive and raw and fucking unhinged, because . . . what the fuck?
“What?” I try to back away so I can give him a glare, because what the fuck was that comment? Unfortunately, Dallas has other plans. He holds me right against him as I writhe and wriggle, trying to look into his eyes.
He brings his lips to my ear, ghosting my cheek along the way. “I’d probably kiss you if you were a lady.” My heart skips a beat, then cracks at the implication. That maybe he could love me if I wasn’t a man. That I’m not good enough as I am. It stings. “Maybe . . .”
“Maybe what?”
I can hear his swallow. Even drunk, he sounds nervous. “Maybe you could dress up one day. Get prettied up just for me.” Okay, well, now I see why he was nervous. He should be. He should be shaking in his goddamn boots. But then he pulls away, looking into my eyes, and I can see the battle going on inside him. He doesn’t want to hurt me. I know that. He would never want to make me feel less than what I am to him; everything. I’m his everything, and he’s mine. His hand touches my cheek, and all that worry vanishes, leaving the doe-eyed man I love. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For coming home to me. I missed you so fuckin’ much, Aussie. Couldn’t keep my head on straight. All I could think of was how them men were putting their hands all over you. Touching you like you belonged to them. But then you came home.”
“But then I came home,” I agree. The jealousy in his voice is undeniable, and I realize I never stopped to think how my relationship might hurt him. I saw him at the bar. I saw the jealousy in his eyes, aimed right at Tatum. Of course it hurt him. Of course my Dallas was jealous. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
I have to look away, because I don’t think I can say this looking into his big brown eyes. “For giving them something Ididn’t have any right to give away.” His finger tugs at my chin, guiding me back to him.
“Last night,” he whispers. “When you were playing with it . . .”
