I want to make this work. Dammit, somehow we have to make this work. Sex and life and everything.
I have one hand on his chest and the other on my clit, and I'm stroking myself and his cock, rock hard now and deep inside me. He is filling me completely, and my eyes are so focused on his face that I don't realize that his hands have moved. They're no longer at his sides, but now cup my ass, his fingers squeezing me as he works with me, pushing me down onto him harder and harder so that this ride is growing wilder and wilder, and I don't know if he's dreaming or awake. I just know that I love the way he's filling me. Taking me.
And then he opens his eyes and I gasp--He's awake. Awake and aroused and with me. He's right there with me, his eyes on mine. His breath coming in time with mine. We're in perfect sync, his cock inside me, and that knowledge is even more of a turn on than the way his body feels locked with mine.
I see a wicked, triumphant grin spread across his face, but I'm unprepared when he moves suddenly to roll us over so that I'm on my back and he's on top of me.
He's still hard, and I shudder with pleasure as he thrusts inside me, again and again, our bodies slapping together in a wild fury that I so want to lead to an explosion. And we're close--we're both so deliciously close. I can see it on his face. I can feel it in the tension of his body. Just a little bit longer and--
But it's no good, and with a raw curse, he pulls out of me, soft now, and rolls onto his side, pulling me along with him, his arm around my waist, my eyes looking into his.
"Dallas." I don't know what to say. I want to soothe. I want to celebrate. I'm afraid that he's disappointed, but he quiets me with a kiss so deep and passionate that it erases all my worries and sends me floating off to a place where there's only desire and pleasure as Dallas marks a trail of kisses down my neck, between my breasts, and then all the way down my abdomen to my pelvis.
His tongue teases me, and the instant he closes his mouth over my sensitive clit, I explode against him, all of the built-up passion and energy radiating out of me in one vibrant, massive, overwhelming orgasm that he draws out by teasing my clit with his tongue, playing me like a finely tuned instrument from which he is determined to coax a concerto.
Finally, when he has drained me fully, he slides up my body and cups my face with his hands. "I'm sorry," he murmurs, then kisses my temple and teases my earlobe. "I'm so sorry."
I brush a kiss over his lips. "Thank you," I say sincerely. "I'm sorry, too." I reach for his hand and twine our fingers together as he pulls me even closer and I rest my head in the curve of his shoulder. "We're stronger together than apart, you know."
"Because we're meant to be together, Jane. We've known it our whole lives."
I nod, acknowledging the truth of his words. "But it only works if we are together. Don't you get that, Dallas? I can't be with you, if you don't let me in."
I see his throat move as he swallows. "I know," he says. "I should have told you about Adele. About Deliverance. About what the Woman did to me after they released you. All of it." He shifts, so that he is looking at me more directly. "But, Jane, you have to know that whatever I've kept from you, I did it because I thought it was right. I had a reason. I would never deliberately hurt you. All I ever want to do is keep you safe."
"I know." I brush a kiss over his lips. "I really do know that."
He reaches over to grab his phone and check the time. "It's tomorrow," he says, then grins. "Happy birthday. What do you want to do today?"
I snuggle closer. "I'm already doing it."
My ear is pressed against his chest now, and I both feel and hear his chuckle. "You know, yesterday you were pretty mad at me."
"Yeah, well, you're my brother." I prop myself up on an elbow. "I've spent my life being mad at you and getting over it." I see his face and roll my eyes. "Don't look like that. It's our reality. We can't exactly hide from it."
I push up and then straddle his waist, forcing him all the way onto his back. "So this is what we're going to do on my birthday. I'm going to work on scene revisions. You're going to lounge on my deck looking like my gorgeous boy toy. Then we're going to go to a concert. And when we come back, you're going to fuck me hard."
"Am I?"
"Oh, yes. Tie me up. Spank me. Fuck me however and wherever you want." I slide my hand over his now-hard cock. "I have a few interesting toys in my bedside drawer, so feel free to help yourself. But that's what I want. To be used by you. Very, very thoroughly."
His eyes are alight with a very wicked shade of green. "Sounds more like a present for me."
"Believe me, I want it."
He slides his finger between my legs, and I'm so sensitive that even that gentle touch on my clit makes me shudder as electricity tingles over every inch of my skin.
"Yeah," he says. "I guess you do."
We snuggle close again and sleep until almost lunchtime. And then we spend the day exactly how I said we would. It's LA, so the weather is gorgeous, and my deck has such a wonderful view of the hills and city beyond that it's easy to pass the time out there, me working and Dallas reading, with only small breaks for food and conversation. It's nice and comfortable. It feels like home.
Hell, it feels awesome.
As the afternoon draws late, I shut down my laptop and head to the railing, then look out over the green hills below and wisps of white clouds above. After a moment, Dallas joins me, his arms encircling me at the waist. I lean back against him and sigh deeply. "This is nice," I say. "If I didn't have two tickets for a concert tonight, I might have to stay here and do naughty things with you."
He tightens his grip and kisses my ear, then whispers, "I promise we'll be naughty tonight," with such heat that I'm tempted to forgo showering and changing clothes in favor of pulling him down on a chaise lounge and having my way with him.
Soon enough for that, though.
"I need to get ready," I say, then start to push back from the rail so I can head inside to my bedroom.
He tugs me to a stop. "If you don't mind, I thought we could go with some friends tonight. They can swing by and pick us up."
"Oh." I'm a little surprised; I hadn't expected that we'd be going with other people.
"But only if you're cool with having company tonight," he hurries to say. "I'm more than willing to have you all to myself."
"Who?"
"Damien and his wife, Nikki," he says.
"Damien Stark?" I ask, referring to the professional tennis player turned entrepreneur turned multi-billionaire.
"Westerfield's is his club, and he's the one who scored the tickets for me."
I nod, the pieces falling into place. "You invested in that island resort one of his companies recently launched, right?" I try to remember what I read about the high-end retreat just off the coast. "The Resort at Cortez?"
"I did. And the architect and project manager would be joining us, too. Jackson Steele and his wife, Sylvia. But only if you're okay with company. It's your birthday, and that means your wish is my command."
I slide my arms around him and press close. "I like the sound of that," I admit. "But I'll issue my commands after the concert. I'm happy to go with your friends. Honestly, I'd like to hear more about the resort. It sounds amazing."
"We can go tomorrow, if you want. I've got a little bungalow there, actually. An investor perk. What do you say? Concert in public tonight, with both of us on our best behavior? Island getaway tomorrow, alone and being very, very naughty?"
I laugh, remembering the last time we were alone together on an island; frankly, naughty is an understatement. "Actually," I say, "I think that sounds like an absolutely perfect plan."
Tsunami
We arrive at Westerfield's in a Stark International limo and get the full VIP treatment. I walk up the red carpet with Nikki and Sylvia, with whom I've been chatting and drinking during the drive from my house down to West Hollywood. The guys are behind us, talking about the resort and plans for a retail complex that the three of them are considerin
g working on together.
Honestly, it's far too much business talk during my birthday celebration, and when we get to the door, I step back from the girls and tell the men that it's time to be festive. I almost put my arm through Dallas's, but he steps back at the last second, and I shoot him a grateful glance. I've been so comfortable with these four all evening that it's far too easy to let my guard down.
And while I don't get the impression that any of them--Jackson or Damien, Sylvia or Nikki--would judge us harshly, that's not a theory that I'm willing to put to the test.
"My birthday," I point out. "My rules. Fun and dance and drinking from here on out."
"And right next to the stage," Damien says. "Best seats in the house. Except for the fact that it's standing room only. But if you want to sit we can go up to my office and watch through the window."
"Not on your life. I want to dance."
Beside me, Sylvia laughs. "Sounds like your brother got you the perfect present."
I flash Dallas a smile. "He knows me well. I love this band."
"You're lucky," she says. "I adore my brother, but as far as birthday presents go, he has no imagination whatsoever. He usually gets me a Starbucks gift card. Or wine."
"Both good choices," I say as we follow Damien through the crowd toward the stage. "How about you?" I ask Nikki. "Good sibling presents or crappy sibling presents?"
"My sister died when I was a teenager," she says, and I freeze, because it's really hard to walk after putting your foot so firmly in your mouth.
"It's okay," she says, squeezing my hand. "You couldn't know, and the truth is she always gave great presents, but never something I thought I wanted. The best was my camera. It's what got me started with my hobby. I love it."
"And now you have a sister-in-law," Sylvia says, indicating herself. "And I have absolutely no idea what to get you for a present ever." She meets my eyes. "You probably already know this, growing up in the family you did, but it's really hard to buy a gift for people who can afford to buy themselves whatever they want."
"That's Damien," Nikki says, laughing. "I'm still getting used to having money in the bank."
They're both talking so casually and openly that I forget about my faux pas and relax again, taking the time to look around the space. We've passed into a roped off area that is apparently only for holders of VIP tickets. According to Damien, there will be more room to move in this area which is good news as that means there will be room to dance. I can already tell that the general admission area is going to be so jammed that the crowd will be doing well simply to sway.
I suggest to Dallas that we go get a drink, but that's handled for us as well. Damien taps something into his phone, and seconds later a jean-clad waitress brings us all a drink. Honestly, it's all pretty awesome, and I break protocol long enough to grab Dallas's hand, then rise up onto my tiptoes so that I can whisper to him. "Thanks," I say. "Even before the band comes on, I can honestly say this is the best birthday ever."
I see Jackson pushing in through the crowd and only then realize that he'd stepped away. I glance at Sylvia, and must look confused, because she leans in to tell me that he'd gone to a quieter area to call their nanny and check on their kids, a four-year-old daughter and a three-month-old son.
"Everything's good," he says, kissing her temple. "I caught them right before Ronnie went down, and she said to tell you she loves you."
Sylvia smiles wide, and I feel a tightening in my gut. I want that. I want a family. I want kids.
I want Dallas.
And I don't want to hide.
I turn toward him--though I don't know what I intend to say. It's not as if I'm going to jump up on stage and announce our love. I guess I just want to look at him, this man with whom I share such a vexing love.
I'm about to pull him aside on some pretense when the opening band comes on, so I forcefully push my melancholy aside--tonight is about being festive, after all--and let myself get swept away in the music.
The VIP section fills up quickly, but there's still room to dance, and I'm doing so much of that I'm slick with sweat, even though I've dressed simply in a cotton halter and low-rise jeans. I'm drinking vodka like it's water to cool down, and I'm already a little bit buzzed, which is perfectly fine by me. I didn't catch the band's name, but they're awesome, and when they finish and we all applaud, I make a mental note to ask Damien later. Meanwhile, my eyes are glued to the stage as the host introduces the main act.
Dallas is standing right behind me, and though his hands aren't touching me, he sways forward and I sway back, so that our bodies brush just slightly. And I know that while we both hope that it looks like an innocent brush of two people moving on a dance floor, in our minds, we're both fucking right here in the crowd.
And damned if I don't want to reach back, hold his hips still, and grind my ass against his erection. The urge is so powerful, in fact, that I clasp my hands in front of my belly button, afraid that if I let go I will give in to desire. Because I'm wired on music and drink and my inhibitions are very, very low.
Then Dominion Gate comes on, and everyone around us goes completely crazy, and when they lead into their first song, I start to dance and Nikki and Sylvia soon join me, and I can feel Dallas behind us, swaying to the music, his eyes hard and hot on me. And, yes, I add a few extra shimmies knowing that he is watching me.
Soon enough, though, I just get lost in the music. I don't even realize that a tall, blond guy has moved in close to dance with me, and when I do, I start to move away. But then I think, fuck it. We're supposed to be playing the role of siblings, right?
And, yeah, maybe some part of me wants Dallas to see. To have the tiniest inkling of what it was like for me every time I saw one of those women at his side. And it's not like I'm going to fuck the guy. But I am touching him, our hips brushing as we move to the music. Our bodies finding the music as I wish that he was Dallas and that I was grinding hard against him. And it's only when Dallas moves in and roughly shoves the guy out of the way that I realize just how much I've gotten to him.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" He's leaning in close because he has to practically shout to be heard over the band.
I hold on to his shoulder for balance as I answer. "Dancing."
"Dammit, Jane. You--"
"No. No. You're the one I want to dance with. Hell, you're the one I want to press against," I add. "To kiss." And then, because I've drunk too damn much, I move in closer, then grind against him before boldly lowering my hand to brush his erection.
"Christ, Jane." He pushes me away, then roughly pulls me back.
And even though I know it's a mistake, I rise up onto my toes and close my mouth over his.
I'm not sure what I intended. Maybe just a quick, chaste brush of lips. A tease.
Dallas doesn't take it that way. He's had as much to drink as I have, maybe more, and between us we're a walking billboard for impaired reason. Because god knows he shouldn't be sliding his arm around my waist. Shouldn't be pulling me close. Shouldn't be slanting his mouth over mine and sliding his tongue inside, kissing me deep and hard and making me so goddamn wet right here on the dance floor.
He shouldn't, but he is. And only when the bright flash of cameras breaks through my haze and reality finally crashes through my addled brain do I realize the consequences and push him away from me.
But it's too late. We've been recognized, and camera phones are still snapping and people nearby are pointing and yelling, and though I can't hear what they're saying over the band, I don't stay to find out. Instead, I turn away, ignoring both Nikki and Sylvia who reach for me, and race out of the VIP section.
I shove through the crowd, or at least I try to. But it's only when bouncers open a path that I am finally able to move, and I realize belatedly that Damien and Dallas are ahead of me, and that Damien's had security clear us a path.
Dallas and Jackson are on either side of me as Damien holds the door open and says something to the bouncer,
who signals for the limo to pull up.
The driver steps out to open the door, and we start to hustle that way. "Just take it," I hear Damien say. "I can get another one easily enough."
"Thanks, man," Dallas says. "I can't--"
But Damien just shakes his head. "I don't need an explanation." He turns and smiles at me. "It was great meeting you, Jane. You're going to be just fine."
I somehow manage to respond, and Dallas and I head across the parking lot to the limo. But we don't make it.
Someone inside must have made a call, because now the small crowd of reporters and paparazzi that had been hanging around outside the club hoping for pictures of Damien Stark or the band or Dallas has turned feral, and I can feel my panic rising. I can't believe that I've done this. That I started this avalanche. Me, who only wants to be in control. Who fantasized about being open in my relationship with Dallas, but never, ever wanted this. The media. The attention. All the trappings and bullshit.
But that's what we have, and now the press is surrounding us like a pack of dogs, and although Damien and his security guys tell them to back off, they continue to shout questions and flash pictures.
Finally, Dallas simply stops. "Come on, folks," he says. "There's not a damn thing to see here. You people know my reputation. Bad boy billionaire, right?"
"Are you fucking your sister now, Dallas?" one bold reporter asks. "Doesn't get much more bad boy than that."
Dallas points a finger at him, and I watch as his face changes to the personable media whore that he plays so well. "You have to admit she's gorgeous, even as sisters go. But what you guys witnessed was a dare--nothing more. Somebody dared me to kiss my sister like I kiss all my women." He lifts a shoulder. "I'm sure she'll give me shit for it later, but I never turn down a dare. Especially when money's on the table."
"How much money?"
"Who dared you?"
"So is your brother a good kisser, Jane?"
As they shout questions, Dallas takes my elbow and leads me toward the waiting limo. I can tell from his expression that he knows the story that he made up on the fly is completely absurd. And, frankly, I'm in a little bit of shock, because even though I know it won't last, in this moment, they actually seem to believe his bullshit story.