“Wes?” My name is a question, and I know what she’s asking.
“No,” I say quickly, even though part of me wants to say yes and tell her about my dream.
Tell her and be free of some of it. Would the wound begin to heal? Is it even okay if it does? Do I deserve to heal? The more time I spend around Dakota, the more I begin to think that maybe I can have a sliver of the happiness I once wanted for myself.
Dakota climbs onto the bed and sits back on her heels. The outside edge of her bent leg presses against my side. She leans down, lips grazing my cheek, sliding over to the corner of my mouth. “I can take your mind off it,” she whispers, her breath warm on my skin.
It’s not even an offer that needs consideration. The answer is yes, absolutely, of course, I’ve been waiting five years to be with you again.
Desire rushes through me, hot and intense. I need her now. If I am the wound, Dakota is the salve.
I roll her over without warning and she gasps. I cover her body with the length of mine, prop myself up on a forearm, and turn on the nightstand lamp. The yellow light casts a soft glow.
“I need to see you,” I explain, staring down into the depths of the hazel eyes I’ve never forgotten.
“Same,” she chokes out, cupping my cheek.
My head dips low and I skim the tip of my nose over the pink flush on her cheeks. Her fingernails rake through my hair and down my neck, sending a shudder through me.
My mouth moves over hers, and she meets me with the hunger I remember from before. Her back arches, breasts pushing into me, hips urging me on. Going slow is not in the cards for us right now.
I sit up and help her take off her shirt, then grip the waistband of her shorts. She lifts her hips, the cotton fabric clearing her legs and landing somewhere in the room. At a time like this, pausing is required even in the midst of frenzy. I need to appreciate what’s in front of me. Dakota with her soft, creamy skin, her curves, her feminine shoulders. I don’t think I’ve ever appreciated shoulders before, but looking down at Dakota right now, I’m definitely understanding their appeal.
“Dakota, you are so fucking gorgeous.” My eyes stay trained on her as my hand dips low, gliding over her stomach, south to the apex of her legs. A low groan vibrates in my throat when my fingers slip over her.
She swallows hard, her eyes hooded, breath coming in heavy pants. “Only you,” she stops to drag in air, “could use bad language in a compliment.”
I grin. “You might be right about that.”
“Come here,” she says, holding her arms out, wanting me on top of her.
I do as she asks, lying down on her but careful to support my weight on my forearms. Her leg lifts and her toes slide into the waistband of my pants, gripping the fabric, then yanking them down my body.
“Hidden talents,” I murmur, kissing a trail from her neck up to her jaw.
She turns her head and captures my lips, pulling my lower lip between her teeth and biting gently. A moan reverberates through my throat and she replaces her teeth with her tongue.
“More,” I tell her, my tongue dipping into her mouth to sweep against hers. Her hips buck with impatience, and it makes me chuckle against her, until I realize something that cuts off my laugh.
Pulling back a few inches, I look down at her bewildered expression. “Fuck,” I growl. “I don’t have a condom.” I’ve been sexually active for nearly twenty years of my life, you’d think I’d have thought ahead a little bit. To be fair, I’m not exactly a ladies’ man.
Dakota’s surprise melts away and she smiles up at me. “Wes, it’s okay. I’m on birth control.”
“Thank God,” I groan, relief racing around my body to extinguish the panic-fire that spread through me.
Dakota reaches between us, gripping me, hitching up one leg so it’s alongside her body, and lines me up against her.
A breath hisses between my teeth. We used condoms before. All three times. I’m not even inside her yet, and I already know this is going to ruin me. I’m a goner.
I push inside, and, just like I knew, it’s indescribable. It’s better than Christmas, early morning rides on Ranger, and an ice-cold beer on a scorching day—combined.
Elbows planted above her shoulders, I rock forward and fill her completely. My head swirls with thoughts of Dakota, and the scent of the hair my nose is pressed against, and the incredible feel of her body beneath mine.
She makes a sound, something low and primal, and it urges me on. I pull back, rock forward again, setting up a rhythm. Dakota matches me, an active participant beneath me. I kiss her as one hand slides down, fingers curling around her hip, holding on. My breath comes in small, sharp stabs and our bodies slide together, slick with exertion. My eyes close against the intensity. I want to hold on to it, and let it go unbridled at the exact same time. I open my eyes to find Dakota looking at me.
“So good,” she says, her voice garbled, the words almost incoherent. She places a hand on my chest, over my heart, like she did when she woke me from my nightmare. “Wes,” she bites out. “So good.”
Oh. It’s not the sex she’s talking about. Wes. So good. It’s me.
Something inside me loosens. I don’t know what it is, but it’s there, this feeling of having more room. Having space to breathe, to be, to exist. To feel.
I lean down and claim Dakota’s mouth, run my tongue along hers. Can she taste my feelings? Sense the space that’s suddenly opened up in my chest?
My lips remain pressed to hers, and when her leg muscles tense and her back arches, I’m there, consuming her pleasured cries. The sound of her, the feel of her, is everything I need, and my entire body shakes. Her fingers dig into my back as I ride it out, and she moans softly into my mouth one more time.
Our bodies still, and I pull away to breathe, but I don’t go very far. My cheek presses against her chest, my hot breath falling down into the valley of her breasts. Her fingers run through my hair as our breathing regulates.
I want to say something, anything, but words escape me. They seem so unimportant compared to what we just said with our bodies. So I lie there, my head rising and falling with her breath, rooted in place and watching the outline of her breast in the dim light.
“I need to get cleaned up,” she murmurs after a few minutes.
Oh. Right. In all my sated glory, I’d forgotten the physical remnants of me are still inside her.
Rolling off her, I stand and offer her a hand. She accepts, smiling up at me as I pull her from the bed and wrap her in a hug. Just breathing in the scent of her hair makes me hard again.
Her chuckle bounces against my chest. “I really need to get cleaned up,” she reminds me, and when I let her go, I see that her legs are crossed at the thigh.
“Shit, sorry.” I step aside and she walks quickly into the bathroom.
When she’s finished, I take a turn and come back. I must’ve been expecting to see her in my bedroom, because when I walk in and she’s not there, I feel surprised. I walk back into the hall and spot the glow of the open fridge.
Dakota steps away with two water bottles. She’s wearing my T-shirt.
“I hope you don’t mind,” she says, handing me a water and using two fingers to pull at the fabric.
“Not at all.” In fact, it’s the sexiest thing I’ve seen her in yet.