Chapter 8

CHAPTER

EIGHT

DILLION

I’m not going to sleep with him.

I’m in his room, but I’m not going to sleep with him.

At least, that’s what I tell myself.

The only person I’ve ever slept with who I didn’t know is my secret lover. I’ve never done it before him, and I can’t imagine doing it after him. For whatever reason, my inhibitions are gone with him. Probably because he can’t see me, and I can’t see him. It’s more of one of those out-of-sight, out-of-mind things.

“I ain’t gonna bite you, babe,” he murmurs.

I don’t even know his name, and he doesn’t know mine either. “What’s your name?” I ask, facing him.

He chuckles, but I’m not sure why. He doesn’t know my name. I don’t know his. All I know is that he’s hot, he walked into the bakery, and he knows these other girls. I also don’t know much about them past their names.

“Name’s Clink,” he murmurs before he sets his cup of limes down and twists the top off.

I watch, holding the beers, then turn slightly to set them down on the nightstand. Ripping my eyes from him, I take in the room. It’s messy, but to my surprise, it doesn’t seem dirty.

There are clothes strewn all over the floor, but not trash, which is odd because I expected trash. I just know from the men who hung around in my childhood that they were disgusting pigs and expected the women to do everything for them.

Clink could be the exact same way, I don’t know, but it’s clear that a woman hasn’t been in here picking up after him recently.

“You want a drink?” he asks, interrupting my perusal of his space.

Turning my attention toward him, I smile. He thrusts the bottle toward me. Wrapping my fingers around the neck, I bring it to my lips and take a small sip. The liquid burns my throat as it goes down, causing my belly to warm.

“I’m Dillion,” I whisper.

He hums. “Yeah, baby. I know.”

“How? You said you didn’t.”

He takes a step toward me, then another, until he’s directly in front of me. Pressing my lips together, I notice they’re already a little tingly. I know I didn't drink much, but it’s a little wild that I’m already feeling the effects.

Although, now that I’m looking up at this beautiful creature, I think it might be him who’s making me feel this way.

“I couldn’t let you know that I looked into you right away. That would be weird, but it wasn’t hard to figure out. When I want something, I figure out a way to get it.”

His words are laced with innuendo, and I find that I like it. Maybe it’s just his voice. Maybe it’s his looks. But I have a feeling it’s just who he is. It’s his presence and the way he carries himself. He could probably be butt ugly, and I would still be attracted to him right now.

“Oh yeah?” I ask. “So, what did you find out?”

I’m not sure I really want to know the answer to that question, but I have a feeling I’m going to hear it anyway. I regret asking. I regret a lot of things, but I don’t want to be disappointed in him, this night, or in myself.

“All I needed was to know if you were married and what your name was. Anything else I wanted you to tell me yourself.”

Sinking my teeth into my bottom lip, I turn slightly and reach for the beer that is on the nightstand. Lifting it to my lips, I take a pull. “I’ve never been married,” I state.

I’m pretty sure he already knows that, especially since he smirks when I tell him. He reaches out, slips the bottle of beer from my hand, then lifts it to his own lips.

My breath hitches as his mouth touches where mine just was. It's almost like a kiss, but definitely not because I find myself craving a kiss from his lips. Craving everything from him. Unable to take my eyes off his mouth.

“Me either,” he says. “Glad to know my sources were correct, then,” he chuckles, taking half a step toward me.

I watch as he lifts the tequila to his lips, taking a pull from the bottle. Sliding my tongue along my bottom lip, I think about taking one, too, but decide not to reach for it. This feels like a dance. It feels like we’re moving around one another but staying just out of reach.

He brings the bottle to my lips, his gaze focused on mine. When I open my mouth, he pours some tequila inside. I swallow what I can. The rest drips down my chin and then to my chest. I would feel guilty that it’s dripping onto the floor, but I don’t think he cares.

Smiling, I wipe the booze away and chase it down with some beer. My chest burns, and the woozy, drunk sensation becomes stronger. He stares at me, his eyes practically burning into mine. That’s what is making me feel this way.

He’s making me feel this way. Trembling, I stand in front of him, wishing he would touch me. I shouldn’t wish that. I swore I wouldn’t. I don’t know what this makes me, the fact that I want this man to touch me after I’ve just had sex with another one last night. Does this make me a slut?

I’ve never been considered as one before. All the men in my family’s organization tried to get with me, and when I denied them, they called me a prude. I was a virgin when I left home.

Sometimes, I wish I had stayed that way. I threw that part of myself away as if it were a burden that I was trying to get rid of quickly.

And it was.

I wanted it gone—but I wanted nothing to do with my family’s men. I didn’t want any of them near me, not for a moment. But now I’m wondering if I’m just as bad as them. I want to pretend that I’m not like them, but I’m obviously filled with a wild instinct that can’t be erased.

It’s ingrained inside of me as much as I fight it.

So, I make an instant decision. I’m going to give myself this night. This man. This moment. Just like I do with my secret lover, and then I will be gone. I will walk away from this whole life and start anew.

Somewhere I can disappear.

I’ll take these memories, these moments, with me, and I’ll welcome them to keep me warm and satisfied until the end of my days because they will be all I’ll have. I don’t plan on dating, falling in love, or having children. These memories will last me a lifetime, and they will be all I have.

So, I'm going to throw caution to the wind.

CLINK

Dillion is lost inside of her head. I thought the booze would loosen her up, but it’s clear she’s completely gone. The wetness of the alcohol has already dried on her tits. Which is a shame, although I can think of a few ways to make them wet again.

I bite the corner of my bottom lip as I try to hide my smile. I can’t. She’s fucking adorable.

“Dillion,” I gently call out.

I’m trying not to just strip her naked and fuck her. I want to talk to her a little more. The stripping naked and fucking thing is something I do late at night. I want this to be different, and the more I think about all of that, the more of a pussy I feel.

Walking to the bed, I slowly sink down on the edge and look up at her. I set the tequila down on the floor beside my feet before I reach out and wrap my fingers around her hip, gently tugging her toward me.

Spreading my thighs, I guide her between them. Lifting the bottle to my lips, I take a long pull of beer. She does the same, licking her lips when she’s finished. I don’t know why, but I’m surprised she even drinks beer.

Sliding my fingers from her hip, I wrap them around her waist. “Your waist is so fucking tiny. I can’t believe you’re fucking real. You’re beautiful, Dillon.”

She snorts before she responds. “My waist isn’t all that’s tiny,” she mumbles.

I know what she’s referring to, but she doesn’t need to. Her tits are great. I know. I’ve explored every fucking inch of them. I can’t tell her that, though. Instead, I decide that I need her to show me those perfect fucking spheres.

“They look good to me. Show me,” I demand.

Her breath hitches, and I expect her to tell me no, but she doesn’t. Instead, she lifts her beer to her lips, finishes it, and then sets it down on the nightstand before she grips the hem of her tight shirt and peels it up her body and over her head.

She tosses the top away, leaving her standing before me completely bare. No bra. “Fuck me,” I hiss.

Seeing her in the light of my bedroom is a whole new experience. I slide my hand up the center of her torso, then shift it to her breast, cupping one of them and sliding my thumb across her nipple.

I watch as it hardens, then I lift my other hand to the other tit. I’m still holding the bottle of beer. Sliding the cool bottle against her other nipple, I watch as it hardens, a bead of sweat from the bottle clinging to her skin.

Leaning forward slightly, I touch my lips to her nipple and kiss the water from her flesh. “Fucking sexy,” I grunt.

She laughs, shaking her head, then moans when I open my mouth and take as much of her as I can inside. Her hand flies to my head, gripping my hair in her fingers as she holds me to her. I can hear her breathing come out in pants before she moans.

“Clink,” she exhales. “I want you.”

Releasing her tit, I lift my head, my eyes finding hers immediately. “You don’t know me.”

She hums, her eyes glassy, almost as if she’s high. I know she isn’t. I am a little, but she definitely is not. “I don’t, but I don’t care. I used to never do anything wild. Maybe it’s me, maybe it’s Pineville. I don’t know, but I want you, and I’m telling you. I know a man as beautiful as you won’t give two shits about me tomorrow, but I don’t think I care.”

“Baby,” I rasp, “I’m gonna give a shit about you tomorrow, and the next day, and the day after that. You’ll be mine from today on.”

Her eyes widen. I shouldn’t have said that. I know it’s going to scare the shit out of her, but I don’t care. It’s the truth. Not just because she’s mine, given to me. But because I fucking claim her.

Placing my beer on the floor, I shift my hands to the waist of her shorts and unbutton them before I slowly tug the zipper down. Dillion shimmies them off, standing in front of me in just a pair of little panties.

“You won’t want me, and I won’t be here for long, but tonight, I’m yours,” she whispers.

I could sit here and argue with her, but I decide against it. Instead, I grip her panties in my hands, shredding them completely. She reaches down, gripping my wrists. I wonder if this is where she’s going to tell me to stop, but she doesn’t.

“Not just tonight, baby.”