Page 24 of Dallas
Arianna
* * *
It’s a challenge to hold my head up as I sit in the fancy dining room to eat in this most surreal of settings. I force myself not to wince even though my ass burns.
I can’t believe Dallas masturbated against me and I’m wearing his dry come on my skin. He didn’t even let me watch. I still haven’t seen his erection, even though the evidence is all over my butt.
I’m also aware the backs of my thighs are bright pink. Claire is far too polite to say anything, but Ryder winks at me the first time we make eye contact. He knows.
The idea should mortify me, but it’s seemingly a way of life in this family. They don’t have boundaries normal people have.
Claire groans when Ryder sets a glass of ice in front of her and opens a can of ginger ale. “I’m never going to want to see another clear soda again after this baby is born.”
Ryder chuckles as he pours the soda into her glass. “As soon as you can keep more food down, you can switch to water, baby. The carbonation helps settle your stomach and gives you at least a few calories. Plus…” He leans over and kisses the top of her head. “…you still can’t have much caffeine while you’re nursing, and then you’ll be pregnant again, so maybe forget what it tasted like.”
She shoots him a glare. “Stop being so bossy. The doctor said one cup of coffee in the morning wouldn’t hurt the baby.”
“The doctor isn’t your husband, though.” He sits next to her and sets her napkin on her lap before tapping her nose.
She rolls her eyes.
I don’t think I breathe through their entire exchange. It’s so odd. Part of me thinks I should be outraged by how overbearing Ryder is toward Claire. Just like Dallas, he’s unbelievably dominant and controlling. But there’s something about them that comes off as endearing and hot as hell at the same time.
Ryder isn’t bossing her around to be a dick. He’s doing so from a place of devotion and love. It’s in his eyes. He wants his wife to be as healthy as possible. And Claire isn’t as incensed as she lets on either. There are stars in her eyes when she looks at him, totally devoted to his wishes.
Dallas leans over and sets his lips on my ear as his palm comes to my thigh, pushing my skirt up so he can grip my bare skin far too close to my pussy. “Spread your knees, baby. Don’t make me tell you again.”
I jerk my legs apart, not wanting him to repeat himself and risk either of the other two hearing him. My face flames with heat, though, and I can’t meet anyone’s gaze. I busy myself adjusting my napkin in my lap, wondering how I’m going to manage to swallow a single bite of food.
Gretchen enters the dining room carrying a salad bowl. She sets it in the middle of the table. It’s beyond weird having her wait on me.
Dallas strokes my inner thigh as she bustles back out of the room. “You’ll get used to Gretchen, baby. Trust me, we have all tried to get her to stop waiting on us to no avail. She’s insulted if we attempt to lighten her load. She loves serving us. I think it’s because it’s been so long since anyone lived in this mansion. It was just her and our curmudgeon of a grandfather for many, many years. She’s tickled to have new life and happiness at the estate again.”
He makes sense, but it’s going to take a while to get used to. And what am I even thinking? Just because I’m having dinner with these people tonight doesn’t mean I’m going to be doing so every night for the rest of my life.
It’s one time. I’m under a weird spell. I’ve been living in this strange alternate universe for a week. It’s intensified significantly since yesterday. For the past week, my relationship with Dallas has only been in my head. Now, it’s actually happening, and I feel like the room is spinning.
He’s more intense than I dreamed up every night when I touched myself under the covers. He was demanding in my imagination, but he’s ten times bossier and hotter in real life.
He’s also a tease, and that point is driven home when he slides his hand closer to my sex. I’m dripping with arousal. I try to push his hand away, but he doesn’t budge. He, Ryder, and Claire are discussing their plans to hire people to move the oldest pieces of period furniture to the attic, but all I can do is wrap my ankles around the legs of the chair and try to breathe normally.
My face is permanently hot.
Gretchen brings in more dishes and sets them on the table. I’m grateful she comes and goes from the other side of the room so she can’t see the way I’m sitting or the fact that Dallas has a hand between my legs.
Claire knows. She occasionally gives me a knowing, sympathetic smile, her face scrunching up slightly as her shoulders lift as if to say, “get used to it.”
I haven’t had a meal this delicious since I was a child. Besides the salad, we’re having pork medallions in a flavorful sauce and roasted vegetables.
I’m not a great cook, and most of the time I make something easy or frozen when I get off work.
My mother cooked when I was very young, and later, we had staff who prepared our meals. That all ended abruptly ten years ago, and I’ve never really thought much about the meals I’ve missed out on since then. There have been bigger problems in my life than food.
Gretchen’s cooking is so good I find myself nearly moaning around every bite. I don’t think I make any sounds, but Dallas glances at me every once in a while and smiles his approval.
His hand stays on my thigh throughout the meal, his fingers stroking my skin, keeping me hot and bothered. By the time we finish eating, I’m about to combust.
Dallas lets his fingers stray closer as we eat delicate slices of cheesecake.
