My Dark Romeo: An Enemies-to-Lovers Romance(83)

I came, and I came, and I came into Dallas’s cunt.

When I finally pulled out, everything between us was sticky. I peered down between her legs.

My thick white cum dripped from her swollen red slit to the hood of my car. Pink flakes of blood scattered inside the cloudy, milky liquid.

Panting and out of breath, I realized this marked the first time that I’d lost myself to a moment.

That I’d forgotten everything.

Including the fact that she was present.

My gaze rode up her bruised pussy to her torso. Sometime during sex, I’d torn the top of her dress without even noticing.

Red marks covered her exposed breasts. Full of scratches and bites.

Her neck still bore the imprints of my fingers—how hard had I grabbed her?

And though I dreaded seeing the aftermath on her face, I couldn’t stop myself.

I looked up and nearly keeled over to vomit.

Flushed pink cloaked her face. A single silent tear traveled down her cheek. A glossy sheen coated her hazel eyes, almost golden in their tone and empty as my chest.

The corner of her lips had produced a thin line of blood. Her doing. Not mine. She’d bitten them to tamp down her pained cries.

Shortbread wanted me to fuck her bareback so badly, she’d suffered through the entire ordeal.

Incomparable guilt slammed into me. Bitterness hit the back of my throat.

I’d taken her without considering her pleasure. Against my better judgment. And in the process, I’d ruined her first genuine experience of sex.

“Sorry.” I jerked away from Dallas, shoved my dripping half-mast cock back into my pants, and zipped up. “Jesus. Fuck. I’m so—”

The rest of the sentence vanished in my throat.

I shook my head, still in disbelief that I’d fucked her to the point of blood and tears. Without even sparing her a glance.

She sat up. That lone tear still shimmered from her cheek, somehow even worse than a loud sob.

“Do you have any gum?” The perfect, even composure braided into her voice rattled me.

In fact, everything about Dallas rattled me.

On autopilot, I produced two pieces of gum from my tin container, forking them over to her. She tucked both into her pretty pink mouth that I would never kiss and fuck again.

“Shortbread…” I stopped.

An apology wouldn’t even begin to cover it.

“No. It’s my time to speak.” She made no move to flee. To slap me. To call the police, her parents, her sister.

My cum still dripped fat white drops through her exposed pussy. A single streak of blood smeared across the hood of my car.

I stood far enough from her that I wasn’t a threat and listened.

“I want you to stop having me followed.” The words came out as if they were spoken within the cold, clinical walls of a boardroom. Before an army of shareholders, not a husband. “No more cars tailing Jared. No more security detail. And no more monitoring me through cameras. I feel like I’m a Big Brother contestant. Only, I can never win.” She threw her hands up. “I want this to be my home, not my prison.”

The surprise from hearing she wanted to stay nearly brought me to my knees. I remained standing, though, my face impassive.

If there was one thing I’d learned from my father, it was to stand tall and proud, even when you had nothing to be proud of.

She sank her teeth into the gum, a blank expression on her face, reminding me of myself for one startling moment. “Tell me you understand and it will be done, or I am moving out and giving you the divorce you want so much.”

It was on the tip of my tongue to tell her I was calling her an Uber that would take her back to Bibleville. However, my rationality wouldn’t allow my pride to override my senses.

“That’s acceptable.”

She drew in a ragged breath. “I want to have a baby.”

And what I wanted was for her to take Plan B. But such a request would be cowardly. It wasn’t her fault I’d lost control.

We both played to win. The home team—me—had suffered an unexpected loss today. No need to cheat her out of her victory. No matter how big it might turn out to be.

She could get pregnant.

These past twenty minutes could determine the rest of my life.

I retrieved my tin container, popping a piece of gum past my lips. “Well, I don’t.”

“Why are you so against procreating?”

“Trauma.”

“Are you ever going to tell me?”

“No.”

She didn’t seem surprised by my answer. Or upset. In fact, as I advanced toward her, I noticed tiny bubbles peppering the tear, which still hadn’t evaporated.

No. Not a tear.

Was that…spit?

I realized, for the first time, that I’d never actually seen Dallas cry.

Ever.

Something shifted in me just then. I no longer saw Dallas Costa as a nuisance. After all, she held the upper hand in almost all of our mental games.

And this time, she’d brought me to the brink, then tipped me over the edge. Made me fuck her bareback, and feel guilty about the whole thing, and bargain with her, too.

Dallas Costa was no plaything. She was my equal, and it would be wise to treat her as such.

Shortbread frowned, most likely debating what she wanted to bargain for in our negotiation. If I gave her the opportunity to speak first, the request would probably be every inch of my soul.