Loving Dallas(41)

But it’s confusing and it has been since Charlotte. Because it feels real, as real and all consuming as Dallas’s presence enveloping me the way he did when we danced tonight. His breath hits my neck before his lips do and my knees weaken. His solid body supports my weight as his fingers tease the thin cotton barrier between us. I can feel his entire length against my backside and it makes me moan in anticipation.

“Anyone could see, Dallas,” I breathe, too turned on to be as panicked as I should be. “They could just look up and they’d see.”

“Yeah?” he says, as if this isn’t of any concern to him. “You like that, sweet girl? We’re supposed to be discreet, though. But what if I take you right now? What if you come apart right here on this balcony?”

His thick warm finger slides beneath my panties and strokes the length of my own slick arousal.

“We can’t do this,” I whisper. “I mean, we can. I want to. Just not right here.”

“I want them to watch,” he says into my ear. “I want them to know that you’re mine, to see how hot I make you and how hard you come for me. Only for me.”

I was right about the spirits of the past inhabiting this city. Dallas is a man possessed.

I can’t form a coherent sentence so I agree to his request wordlessly. Spreading my legs farther apart for him, I lean back on his chest.

“Only for you,” I whisper, and they’re the last words I speak before he slides into me, groaning as he fills me and gripping my hips with both hands.

“Fuck, Robyn. You’re so damn hot. I can hardly control myself.”

“Then don’t.”

This is insane. Anyone could look up right now and with a second glance they would know exactly what we were up to. But I can’t bring myself to feel anything other than exhilarated. Everything is brighter, more vibrant with him inside me. Time slows and I can hear every breath he takes, see every pinpoint of light down below.

I know the exact moment when he begins to lose himself inside me. I’m acutely aware of the change when hard thrusts become a slow, intense grind.

“Come for me, sweet girl. Let me feel how much you enjoy being a dirty girl out here for the world to see.”

My insides clench around him, propelled by his sexy words.

“Dallas,” I whisper, because I feel myself falling. Not off the balcony but into oblivion with him.

“Come for me, Robyn. Show me how much you love this, how hard it turns you on knowing they could see, knowing they could watch me f*ck you. Show me how dirty you can be, sweet girl.” His middle finger hits my clit at precisely the perfect moment and it flings me over the edge. His name rolls off my tongue over and over as he finishes inside me. “That’s my girl,” he whispers between gentle kisses on my neck. “My sweet dirty girl.”

I lie face-to-face with Dallas—his arms wrapped around my naked body—after we’ve both come more times than I can count. For a while we just laid there, catching our breath, but somehow that turned to satisfied smiles and now he’s staring into my eyes and we’re both in danger of unleashing the truths of our souls.

“I was starting to wonder if we were ever going to get to this part of our agreement. You kept walking me to my door and saying good night like you couldn’t wait to kick rocks.”

Dallas gives me a sad smile. “I wanted to be sure you really wanted this. The truth is, I feel like us being on this tour together is the universe allowing me to make up for lost time.”

I nuzzle my head beneath his chin so I can listen to his heartbeat. And so I can escape the intense moment where I might say something that I shouldn’t. “Lost time?”

“When you decided not to go on the road with us that summer, I was surprised, to say the least. But when you ended things between us, it wasn’t something I was at all prepared to deal with. You tried later, to explain, I think. And I handled it like a stupid, cocky kid not used to not getting his way when I should’ve heard you out.”

Lying here in postcoital bliss with him exposes my vulnerable side. This is not the route we should be heading down if we’re keeping this casual. Rehashing our past is the opposite of casual.

“I bombed show after show that summer. The tour ended abruptly and we didn’t get asked back to a single venue. Want to know why?”

Speaking of bombs, he just dropped one on me. I didn’t know this because I spent most of that summer avoiding him.

I take his face in my hands and latch my gaze on to his—needing a physical connection to gather the strength I need to hear this.

Dallas takes my silence for a yes and continues. “Every song I’d written, the majority of the ones on the set list, they were about you. Or at least inspired by you. I couldn’t get up there and give it my all when I was singing about a girl who’d dumped my ass.”

His confession wedges into a crack in my heart, causing it to take off, beating in triple time.

After kissing him gently on the mouth, I take a deep breath and try my best to explain something I should have told him years ago.

“Dallas, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know and I never meant to . . .” To what? Ruin his life? Destroy his dream? No wonder he never wanted to speak to me again. The frustrated anger I saw on his face when I appeared on this tour makes so much more sense now. I try to speak over the lump of emotion constricting my throat. “I should’ve told you the truth that summer. I should’ve—”