Page 120 of Soul So Dark
Folding the paper up, I stuff it into my back pocket and throw open my closet door. I kneel down and start clearing the space in front of the patched portion of the wall near the floor. I reach for my knife to start scoring the wall, but it’s not there. After searching my room as well as every pair of pants in my clothes hamper, I still come up empty.
With an exasperated groan, I stalk out of the room and return with a jab saw from the garage. I make quick work of punching through the drywall to reveal the cavity between the studs and start sawing a hole big enough to reach inside. It doesn’t have to be large, just enough to remove what I’ve been hiding there for the past 10 months.
And once I pull it free, I shove everything back into place and storm out of the room and straight out of the house into the twilight.
???
Scott’s truck is parked outside the garage, but Colson’s Civic is gone. Keeping close to the tree line, I slow my pace when I recognize Scott and Christy’s voices on the back patio. Based on the additional voices and the woodsmoke rising into the trees, I surmise they have guests. My eyes dart to the front porch and I seize the opportunity to head, undetected, to the front door.
It’s not out of the ordinary for me to show up on the Lutz’s front porch, or even walk in without ringing the doorbell. If anyone comes inside, it would only take a few seconds to say I’m dropping something off for Colson. Fortunately, no one does and I continue upstairs. I just hope Dallas is home.
I gently twist the knob and the door gives way, revealing the soft pink glow of her Pepto Bismol walls.
Maybe she leaves it unlocked if Colson’s not home.
I find her asleep on her bed, glasses cast off onto the comforter next to her phone and gaming headset. Gently, I shut the door, twist the lock, and then I just stand there, staring at her for the next few minutes. She’s wearing another oversized t-shirt, this time a blue one withDire Wolves Soccerscreen printed on it in white. It’s definitely Colson’s.
But it’d look better if it was my jersey…
Realizing I’m still carrying the dusty item I extracted from my wall, I set it on her dresser before approaching the bed. Eyeing her black boy shorts that’ll always look too small compared to her wide hips, I slowly slide my knee onto the bed and swing my other over her legs.
It’s a dangerous place, crouching over Dallas while she sleeps. She stirs beneath me and I try not to breathe, waiting for a scream, a curse, maybe a punch in the face or a kick in the balls. But it never comes. And the longer I look at her in the dim light, the less I care about every responsibility I have, including the ones I have to her.
I’ve somehow made it 18 years without dying in some ridiculous way, no thanks to her brother, I’ve helped Adrian keep our family together even while Luca actively tries to destroy it, I made a plan for my life on my own, and yet, somehow, I’m the one being accused of abandoning my family.Now, I’m staring down at the only person who seems to have any shred of insight to how I feel, and she’s the only one I don’t want to leave.
Dallas’s chest rises and falls with deep, steady breaths as I take in every feature of her face framed by a cascade of long black hair. I wonder if she feels my eyes on her, if I’m infiltrating whatever dream she’s having right now.
Her skin feels like satin under my fingers as I run them up her torso to her ribs, sliding her t-shirt up as I go. My hand stills as I watch for movement, but she’s dead to the world. A smile tugs at the corners of my mouth. If I put my dick in her, I bet she’d wake up then…
No, I want her good and conscious for that. I want to see her face when she feels me bottom out inside her for the first time.
I continue sliding her shirt up, stopping just beneath her tits. And when she doesn’t move, I sink down and run my tongue over her warm stomach. I want to collapse on top of her and tear her apart.God, I love the way she feels in my mouth…
Dallas inhales sharply and her muscles tense, but she settles back down, adjusting her hips beneath me. Slowly, I reach down and gently hook my fingers in her waistband. I hesitate, staring at her for the longest time, the adrenaline pumping harder and harder until I can’t take it anymore.
I should take my hands off of her, step back, and maybe just leave because every ounce of sensibility and willpower I have is about to disappear. I came here a torqued-up mess, and this isn’t helping. She’s not even awake to distract me and bring me back down. She’s asleep, and I’m not coming back down.
I don’t want to come back down.
Fuck it.
Gently, I start working her black boy shorts down her waist and over the curve of her hips.
But, suddenly, Dallas’s eyes open and my hand flies to her mouth, gently covering it to keep her quiet. She gasps and grabs my wrist, but then relaxes when she sees it’s me. She immediately smiles as I slide my hand away from her mouth and to the side of her neck.
“Where did you come from?” she whispers.
I plaster on a sweet smile for her like I'm not about to split straight out of my skin. “I had to get out of my house.” She nods, probably understanding more than anyone else could. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”
“Liar,” she says like she can read my mind, then swings her leg around my back and pulls me down on top of her. “I missed you,” she hums in my ear as I run my hands up her torso, inhaling that intoxicating scent that can only be Dallas Lutz.
Or that Marc Jacobs shit she was talking about.
“I missed you, too, Dal,” I say as I trail soft kisses over her lips.
“Oh,” she pulls back like she just remembered something, “you left this here.”
She reaches over to the side table and grabs a small, dark object. And, to my surprise, when she opens her hand, my black metal pocket knife sits square in the middle of her palm.
