Dashing Through the Snow Page 5

  The inside of her mouth tastes like sweet, sweet chocolate and sweet, sweet Dilyn. I groan, angling my head to better devour her.

  I make myself pull back after a minute, coming up onto my knees. Her expression is dazed, drunk with desire. “My turn,” I warn before I reach for the hem of her sweater.

  She doesn’t argue when I pull it up, but lifts her arms so I can ease it over her head. I toss it to the side, my eyes going immediately to the lacy little scrap of material covering her firm, round breasts. Her bra is practically transparent, and I can see the dusky peaks of her nipples through it.

  “Good and holy God! This isn’t what I was expecting,” I mutter.

  “Wh-what were you expecting?” she asks, pulling her arms toward her chest to cover up.

  I realize she totally took that the wrong way.

  I grab her wrists and tug them away so I can see her once again. “I thought maybe white cotton. Something prim and proper. But this…this tells me something else entirely.”

  “And what’s that?”

  I put my hands on her shoulders and nudge her until she lies back, her head tilting to one side so she can watch me. I let my fingers skate down her arms, my thumbs brushing her hard nipples as I drag my hands away. “This tells me there’s a little naughty in you. You like to feel sexy, even when no one is looking. Unless, of course, you were lying about your boyfriend status.”

  She frowns down at me. “I wasn’t lying about my boyfriend status.”

  “Then do you put this on for your vibrator?”

  “How do you—” She stops herself, her cheeks pinking noticeably, even in the firelight.

  I grin. “So you have a vibrator. Nothing wrong with that. Just tells me I’m right. Under that sassy yet proper exterior, you’re a vixen.”

  “I’m not a vixen.”

  “Oh, but you are. You knew you were teasing me and you did it on purpose, knowing I couldn’t do anything about it. That, gorgeous girl, is the very definition of a vixen,” I tell her as I spear a marshmallow.

  I lay it to the side as I crumble up a Graham Cracker and sprinkle it over her pale, flat stomach, making sure to pool some in her bellybutton. Next, I break up the chocolate into a few smaller pieces and place them in a row along the edge of her pants. They’ll melt quickly, and that’s just what I want.

  I take my time as I get up and walk to the fire, squatting down to slowly roast the marshmallow. I don’t want to get the center too hot. Burning her is not what I have in mind.

  When it’s perfectly heated, I stand up and walk back to her. I stand over her, looking down. Seeing her this way—lying shirtless, flat on her back, looking up at me like she wants me to eat her and take my time doing it—has got to be one of the hottest damn things I’ve ever seen. And I’ve done this before. But something about Dilyn…

  Jesus H. Christ!

  She’s just something different.

  So sassy and brave in some ways, so innocent and wounded in others—she’s like the best of both worlds. Fire and ice. Heaven and hell. Sin and salvation.

  And the more I uncover, the more I want to uncover.

  I bend slowly until I’m on my knees, hovering over her. Her amber gaze is locked on mine, but from the corner of my eye, I see her quiver. I grind my back teeth together, reminding myself that this can only go so far and no further.

  Me and my stupid, stupid promises.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  DILYN

  The anticipation is killing me. Watching Dash watch me, knowing he’s going to touch me soon and that he’s going to do his best to make me regret the no-sex promise—it’s the most delicious kind of torture I’ve ever experienced.

  Dash’s black eyes leave mine and drop to his hand. He punctures the skin of the marshmallow, dipping his fingertip into the gooey center and wiping it in a straight line on my skin, from the lower edge of my bra to my navel. He repeats the process, this time tracing a sticky path along the cups of my bra, like he’s outlining my cleavage. My nipples prickle against their lacy confines.

  He uses the last of the marshmallow to make a slash from hip to hip, low on my belly, right above the chocolate.

  After Dash sets the skewer aside, he positions his body to hover, parallel, over mine. He braces a hand on either side of my waist then bends over me. He looks like a predator. Reflexively, the walls of my sex squeeze with the primal pleasure of becoming prey. His prey.

  “The key to deconstructed s’mores,” Dash begins in his dark, husky voice, “is to make sure that you never need to use your hands. And me? I like to start with the marshmallow.”

  He hovers over me, the muscles of his arms tensing like bands of steel under the satin of his skin. They stand out in sharp relief, making thick ridges of shadow backlit by the golden glow of the fire.

  Dash uses the tip of his tongue to lick away the marshmallow smeared along the swell of my breasts. A lick, a lick, and a long lap. Lick, lick, lap. Lick, lick, lap.

  Tease, tease, holy shit.

  He swirls his tongue over my skin, slipping just under the edge of the lace, coming so close to my straining nipples that I have to curl my fingers into the fur of the rug to keep from threading them into his shaggy black hair.

  “And then some cracker,” he mumbles, moving down on my body to press his open mouth to my stomach and gobble up bits of Graham Cracker.

  “Then the chocolate.”

  As he eats a chunk of chocolate off me, his chest brushes the tops of my thighs. I have the desperate urge to wrap my legs around him and beg, beg for what I made him promise not to give me.

  Dash lifts his head, pinning me with a look so hot, so…carnal, I feel myself melting. He licks his lips after he swallows then gives me a cocky, one-sided grin. “Good thing I made a little extra. I’m still very…hungry.”

  This time, as he eases his body up over me, he lets one thick leg fall between mine so that when he hovers over my stomach, it grazes the apex of my thighs.

  I suck in a breath and bite back a groan.

  “Problem?” he asks, pure devilish delight in his eyes.

  I shake my head, unable to form the most basic of words in my current state.

  “Good, because this is the best damn s’more I’ve ever had.”

  Dash brings that wicked mouth of his back to my abdomen, licking and sucking away the marshmallow cream from my skin before scooping up cracker crumbs.

  He moans as he eats, a sound that lights a fire in my core. “I think I missed some,” he murmurs before plunging the tip of his tongue into my navel and swirling it around.

  I’m panting now. I can’t help it and I couldn’t hide it if I tried. I know where he’s going next.

  The chocolate.

  Dash licks his way lower, eating the final two pieces of chocolate. He insinuates his other leg between my thighs and then spreads them so he can sit up and unbutton my pants. “The chocolate melted. Let me clean that up for you,” he says, easing the zipper halfway down and shimmying the material over my hips enough to bare the top edge of my panties.

  Dash laves his tongue over the low part of my belly, licking off chocolate, pulling my skin gently into his mouth, sucking it clean. My heart is pounding as he works his way south, his chin grazing closer and closer to my most sensitive spot.

  “I think I smeared some here,” he rumbles, his lips pressing against the top of my mound, through my panties.

  My heart is pounding, sending blood pumping to the place just below Dash’s mouth. I don’t argue, I can’t argue, when he nudges the material of my panties down enough that he can slip the tip of his tongue into my slit.

  I buck against him, moving my hips toward the heat of his mouth, mindless with the need for him to keep going.

  I feel his hands come to either side of my hips, wrapping around to my ass, picking me up and pressing me to his face. He rubs back and forth over me, a growling sound rumbling in the back of his throat, the predator again, going in for the kill.

  I groan
with disappointment and look down when I feel his weight disappear. Dash has rolled back onto his haunches to tug my pants off, his eyes fixed on my hot center.

  I watch him throw my bottoms aside. I see him put his hands on the insides of my thighs. I feel him push them apart.

  I can’t take my eyes off him as he kneels between my legs and opens his mouth against me.

  At the first scrape of his tongue over me, I squeeze my eyes shut and arch my back. Dash palms my ass again, holding me up to him, holding me open to him, as he thrusts his tongue into me.

  I move my hips and he moves his mouth, working it over me, licking and sucking and circling and flicking until the pressure builds so high within me that I can’t take a deep breath.

  Air is huffing in and out of my lungs as fast as Dash’s tongue is licking and swirling between my legs. Higher, higher, faster, faster he pushes me until breath stops moving, time stops passing, and the world explodes in a shower of heat and light that shoots through me like the most exquisite shrapnel, ripping into me with a pleasure that feels like fire.

  Dash’s tongue laps in long, leisurely swipes over me, drinking up every last drop of my release. And when I’m finished, lying limp and flushed on the rug in front of him, he releases my lower half and skims his way up my body.

  With his thumb and forefinger, he grips my chin and tugs until I open my mouth. He covers my lips with his, kissing me deeply and dragging his tongue through the inside of my mouth. When he lifts his head again, I’m left with the taste of sugar, chocolate and me mixed with the faintest hint of Dash. It’s a heady concoction, one I find more erotic and more satisfying than any I’ve ever tasted.

  He watches me for a few seconds before he breaks into a satisfied smile. “That was the best damn dessert I’ve ever had.”

  I can’t help smiling. “I thought you were supposed to fend me off.”

  “You said no sex. We didn’t have sex.”

  I give him the stink eye. Well, as much as I can muster given my extremely languid and satisfied condition. “Semantics.”

  “Semantics are what separate us from the animals. You should’ve been more specific.”

  I shake my head, not in the least bit upset. “And here I thought it was opposable thumbs that separated us.”

  “Did you say thumbs? Wait until you see what I can do with mine.”

  He winks and my insides turn to mush. I knew this man was dangerous within about two minutes of meeting him, but something tells me that, even now, I have no idea just how dangerous.

  “Rules, man! Rules!” I exclaim in mock exasperation. I cling to our agreement with utter desperation, because some part of me knows that if he decides he wants to make use of that stunning erection that I know he’s sporting, I’ll be helpless to resist.

  “Rules schmules,” he scoffs, stretching out alongside me and pulling me into the curve of his body. “Let’s not talk about those right now. We need to keep warm.”

  “Why? Not that I’m complaining, but that’s what the fire’s for. You know, heat.”

  “Well, since the power is out, I figured we should probably use our body heat to keep each other warm. Along with the fire, of course.”

  I can imagine the grin he’s wearing as he says that. I smile just thinking about it.

  “But the power isn’t out.”

  “Actually, it is.”

  I start to sit up, but he stops me, wrapping his arms tightly around me and snugging me up to his warmth.

  “Since when?”

  “I don’t know exactly, but when I went to get the chocolate, I tried to turn on the light, but it wouldn’t come on. I checked the fridge and, sure enough, no light there either. Power’s out.”

  “So we’re stuck in a snowstorm with no power now?”

  “Seems like it.”

  I ponder this news, but no sense of fear or panic comes with the knowledge. “Why am I not more upset about this?”

  “Because you know you’re in good hands, that’s why.”

  “How do I know that? I hardly know you.”

  “You know me. It doesn’t always take years to get to know someone. Sometimes you get a feel for people within minutes. And you know me. Trust me, you know me.”

  I wonder if I do. I wonder if what I feel that I know about him is accurate.

  We fall quiet and I consider the man at my back. I think about all the things, all the facts and details I don’t know. All the things I’d like to know.

  “I did a little research on you on the plane. Your name is Alexander Samuel Grainger. Is Dash your sports name?”

  “No, just a nickname.”

  “So it has nothing to do with your addiction to speed?”

  “I’m not addicted to speed. I told you it’s not like that.”

  He did, and I’d like to believe him, but my father has made it very hard for me to trust in men that are anything like him.

  “Yes, you did. But Dash seems pretty perfect, though. How’d you get it?”

  “In high school I got busted at a girl’s house. I was up in her room and we were… Well, you know.” He clears his throat. “Anyway, her parents came home, so I had to sneak out the window. Bare-assed. All I managed to grab from inside was a fuzzy white pillow from her window seat. It was the middle of winter, snowing hard and cold as hell, but I made it to my car. Shriveled dick and all. The girl told her friends that I’d made a mad dash through the snow. Some guys on the football team got wind of it. Started calling me Dash. It stuck.”

  I laugh lightly. “That’s a great story.”

  “Those were good times.”

  I catch the hint of sadness in his tone, a wistfulness that says times weren’t always good. “Was that before your brother?”

  “Actually, no, that was after. That was the beginning of my downward spiral, I guess. I started acting out. Doing shit I knew would get me into trouble. I guess it started out as a way to get my parents’ attention, but then doing it and not getting caught became this kind of game to me. Sneaking into girls’ rooms, getting drunk and jumping off bridges into rivers. Then trashing the principal’s office, setting fire to all the trash cans on Main Street. It escalated pretty quickly.”

  “That doesn’t sound so awful. I’d bet a lot of teenagers do the same things.”

  Dash is quiet behind me for nearly a full minute before he speaks, and when he does, his voice is low and solemn. “I bet drugs aren’t a part of the norm.”

  “You got involved with drugs?”

  He doesn’t answer right away. “Can this be off the record? I have a lot of underage fans. I’d hate to set a bad example.”

  The fact that he worries about leading kids down the wrong path sends a spear of admiration followed quickly by deepening attraction tearing through my heart. I wiggle and scooch until I’m turned around in Dash’s hold, facing him in the circle of his arms. I gaze into his eyes, so he can see my sincerity, just in case he might doubt me

  “Of course we are off the record, but just so you can know something true about me, I would never include something like that without your express consent. I don’t… I just don’t do things like that.”

  His smile is soft, his eyes kind. “I think I already knew that, but…” He shrugs one massive shoulder, and, as I look up into his gorgeous face, I think I could lie here forever—with him, like this—and be perfectly content.

  I bring one arm up between us, tracing the slight cleft in his strong chin with the tip of my finger. “I think you’re right. About knowing people, I mean. I…for some reason I really trusted you when you said you’d fend me off.”

  “Always go with your gut. It will never lead you astray.”

  “I guess I do when it comes to work, but never with people. I haven’t had a lot of really good experiences.”

  “Until now?” he prompts with a cocky grin.

  I smile. “Until now.”

  “Wanna play twenty questions? You can use it all for your interview if you want.”


  I don’t hesitate with my answer, again trusting him on a level that confounds the thinking part of my brain. “Sure.”

  “Cool. I’ll go first. What’s your favorite holiday? I know it’s definitely not Christmas.”

  “Probably New Year. Not only does it mean Christmas is over, which is always a good thing for me, but it’s sort of like starting over. What’s yours?”

  “Now? Christmas.” His smile is open and gorgeous, and I have to laugh. “What do you need to start over from?”

  “More often than not, it has something to do with a relationship. A failed relationship. Seems like things always go wrong around Christmas. Christmas just isn’t my holiday.” I glance up to meet Dash’s thoughtful stare. “But that might change this year.”

  He leans forward and brushes his lips over mine. It’s a tentative touch, not meant to incite, but to comfort.

  “What about you? Ever feel like you need to start over?”

  “Not really. Everything that’s happened to me, all the choices I’ve made and things I’ve experienced, have made me who I am. And while I’m not perfect by any means, I’m okay with who I’ve become. What I’ve done in life.”

  “So you’ve never wanted more?”

  “Not to be an asshole, but I usually get what I want. I don’t give up until I do, but I think it’s a waste of time to spend the now in search of what you may or may not get tomorrow. I’d much rather find a way to be okay with today.”

  I tuck those words away, knowing I’ll take them out later and re-examine all the wisdom they hold. “That makes sense. I wish I could be more like that.”

  “You can be. Stop looking back. Stop letting yesterday define tomorrow and do what makes you happy today.”

  “Who says I’m not?”

  “You’re holding back. I don’t think you can ever be free until you stop holding back.”

  “Is this your way of trying to talk me into having sex with you?”

  He looks steadily into my eyes. “I’m not trying to talk you into anything. I want to have sex with you, which I think is fairly obvious. And if I really pushed it, pushed you, I could. Before you get mad, I’m not saying you have no choice. I’m just saying that I know you’re attracted to me, and I know you’d like to have sex with me, but you’re afraid. For whatever reason, you’re afraid. But the fact that you asked me to make sure we don’t have sex assures me that if I wanted to break that promise, I could.”