Savage Love, page 7
Dylan swooped up Carolina into his denim-covered arms, kissing her chastely on the tip of her upturned nose, hearing his brother's perplexed sputtering and Vega's thrilled laughter. Carrying her back to the house and through the unoccupied living room, he laughed low in his chest. “He's going to be after you now. Chris loves a good fight. I want you to make up with him so I don't have to spend the whole time he's here trying to save your hide.”
She whispered softly against his ear, “Are you worried about my hide?”
His steps faltered as her pleasantly warm breath thrilled him. “Yep.”
Chris was the farthest thing from her mind. Inhaling, she filled her lungs with Dylan's scent, pulsating energy, amber, rosewood, moss, cinnamon and a hint of comforting vanilla, felt her nipples harden beneath layers of silk and spandex as his hand supporting her stocking covered thigh began a feather-like caress. Pushing back golden strands of his hair, she traced the outline of his ear with one hand while undoing the buttons of his shirt to his waist with the other. She dipped one finger down, between rough denim and smooth flesh covered stone, stroking him, “When do I get my snack?”
“Right now,” he declared, releasing her thighs so she could slide down his front. Reaching behind him, he punched a code into a keypad and opened the door where he'd stopped. Stepping back into the darkness he drew her inside, listening as the door automatically locked behind them. When he pressed the switch to his right, recessed bulbs cast silvery light around oak and electric-blue walls. Stepping back he removed his shirt, watching for her reaction as he tossed his belt aside and unbuttoned his Levi's.
Carolina looked around the rectangular-shaped room with three walls displaying an arsenal of weapons, guns, swords and knives. Recalling his brother's words, she stepped back. “You want to do it in here?”
Still wearing his jeans and boots Dylan sat down on the brown leather bench in the center of the room, “Yes I do. The room is soundproof. No one can get in and you can't get out. Now take off your clothes and come here.”
She kicked off her black ballet flats then removed her clothing, allowing articles to fall gracefully to the floor. Standing before him in a pink satin bra and matching garter skirt, the smells of steel and oil excited her fiery spirit. Metals gleamed, beckoning, a dagger with diamonds on its blade and an emerald encrusted handle, more so than the rest. She knew he was studying her. “How beautiful, may I hold it?” Not waiting for his response, she walked to the heart of the case and removed the weighty weapon. Gliding back to him, she balanced the end of the razor sharp blade on the tip of her index finger.
Dylan sat in silence as she straddled his lap with the ancient knife still teetering on her finger, her eyes turning the exact color of the inlaid emeralds. With care, he slid his hands up the insides of her thighs, spreading her legs wider as she flipped the dagger repeatedly in the air, continually allowing the tip to land on her finger. Leaving her garter on, he snapped the sides of her thong, removed the delicate fabric, and finished unbuttoning his Levi's to slide into her warm valley. Lying back against the bench, he looked up to her. “Do that with your other hand while I make love to you.”
Entranced she kept playing with the tip. “No. If I miss you'll get hurt.”
Catching the dagger in mid-air, he transferred the blade to her right hand. “Now,” he ordered, thrusting forcefully into her, watching as she closed her eyes, sighing, tossing the dagger blindly, the sharp point landing on her fingertip well above his heart.
Withdrawing from her he lunged upward demanding hoarsely, “Keep pace with me.” Up, the weapon went, revolving in the air, the steel shining brightly, and then the sharp point came down closer to his chest, her hand trembling, and sweat beading her forehead.
“Let the blade come closer. I trust you.” He pumped into her steadily, feeling her body shake from the control needed to keep the dagger from plunging into his chest. “Honey you're so warm and wet. Move for me.”
Keeping her eyes closed she raised and lowered her hips on his rigid flesh. Tossing the blade up when he entered, balancing the tip when he pulled out, her insides quivering, her hand beginning to shake. “Dylan please stop. I can't-”
“Naw ya feel too good. Let the tip come a little closer, just a little closer.” Gripping her hips, he made her match the beat of his thrusts, forcing her to move faster, the shining blade cutting through the air like mesmerizing lightning. “That's it honey.”
She felt him throbbing inside her, the indentation of the blade on her fingertip, her hips and thighs aching from the pace he was forcing her to keep. The tension between her legs signaled she was ready for release and opening her eyes she saw the dagger loose its precise flow, flipping and rotating above him. “Dylan please stop.”
Watching her and the shining blade he breathed raggedly, pushing, thrusting, forcing himself harder into her, never slowing or doubting, “Closer honey, just a little closer, then let go. I want you to let go.”
The back of her trembling hand pressed tightly against his sweat-covered chest, his hammering heartbeat causing her hand to slip against his skin. The ramming of his unyielding manhood drove her beyond common sense as she caught the sharp blade on her finger, the only barrier between him and certain injury. He thrust harder and she groaned his name, flicking the dagger high in the air, her eyes locking on his.
Holding her gaze, he released her hips to grab her wrists tightly, stretching her arms back, making her arch forward as he plunged mightily, the force lifting her up, his voice gruffly demanding, “Honey, I want us to watch each other come.”
The quaking rocked her body, her arms straining to be free to catch the blade but he wouldn't release her. His body arched into hers, spurting forth his hot ejaculate. His eyes remained fixed on hers as she helplessly watched the blade's rapid descent and with staunch determination to protect him Carolina in the grip of a reality-bending orgasm, closed her eyes, focused invisible bands of energy and extended her rigid tongue to feel the pointed tip of the dagger land like a feather. There she balanced the priceless implement of torture as her body continued convulsing.
Dylan felt another orgasm slam into him at the sight of her unbelievable determination and strength, the force of his eruption knocking her off balance, sending the dagger back toward the ceiling. He released her arms, quickly flipping her beneath him to grad the shining blade expertly from the air. Lowering his mouth to hers, he sipped at her lips, sampling her spicy sweetness. With his thirst quenched he crisply confided, “I didn't like being shut out of your life, made to stay away from you for so long and I didn't like Patrick freely handling you this morning. Do you understand honey?”
Raising her head, she kissed him on both cheeks before apologetically touching her lips to his, “Yes I understand treacle bear.” Sliding from beneath him, she smoothed her garter-skirt down over her naked rear before taking the dagger from his hand. Walking to the door, she kept her back to him and the case where the knife belonged. With a flick of her wrist, she sent the lance torpedoing over her shoulder.
Dylan felt the blade glide past his ear, turning in time to see the dagger land perfectly on its stand. Returning his gaze to her, he found Carolina facing him, leaning against the door, silently waiting. Rising to his feet, Dylan leisurely righted his attire. Gathering her clothes, he walked to where she stood and dressed her, tucking her torn thong into the front pocket of his jeans. When he was done, he stood heatedly staring at her until her lips parted. He then lowered his head so his tongue could lay siege to her mouth. Reaching around her, he punched the exit code into the keypad. When he heard the system disengage, he opened the door and swung her up into his arms seriously cautioning, “Remember no more fighting with Chris.”
Dylan carried her back to the unoccupied living room where he deposited her on a camel-colored sofa then sat beside her. Needing to set the record straight she informed him assertively, “He started sniping at me first.”
He stroked her tweed-co
She felt her whole body tremble at his simple words and touch. Impressed by his quiet authority and power she instantly wanted to comply, however being a scrapper she asked sweetly, “What if I think you’re worth fighting for?”
Dylan's hand stilled its movement and he searched her eyes. “Where's all this coming from? For weeks, you haven't wanted to see me. Then out of nowhere you call, telling me Justin wants to stay with you. This morning we loved each other like we've never been apart, then you tell my brother we're engaged, claiming we've been having an affair for months and just now, you risked your life for me. What's going on?”
Inhaling deeply, she confessed, “First of all, what I said about us being engaged just flew out of my mouth because I was hurt by the things your brother was saying and I wanted to shut him up. Yesterday when you came to my office, I was fighting the connection I feel to you, growing more set against seeing you again because I felt you and the twins were pushing me. I don't respond well to being pushed.”
He thought she responded beautifully when he pushed her. “That's why you locked horns with Chris?”
She nodded. “Yesterday I had the fight with your ex. Once again I felt pushed.”
“Then Justin was at my office when I got back. We talked and he helped me see I'd been selfish so I promised to be more open minded.” Her statement wasn't exactly the truth, she thought, but it would have to do.
“But you still felt pushed?”
“Yes I did and even Patrick told me I should give you a chance, try to be happy.”
“Still, being with me wasn't your idea?”
“No, but this morning when you made love to me our being together felt right, like we'd known each other forever and I'd been missing the best part of myself.”
In his mind, Dylan gave a great whoop of victory at her saying 'made love to' instead of 'had sex with'. “The dagger just now, what was that?”
“Madness, danger and mind-altering sex,” she admitted passionately.
For him, her abilities were much more. “Where do we go from here Carolina?”
Her flame dimmed as the wind of uncertainty blew across her. “I know you want me to love you,” she spoke hesitantly.
“That's what I need. But for now tell me what makes you comfortable.”
“I'll keep the kids in the equation this time. I really messed us up before.”
“Only if you don't feel pushed to define what's between us solely for their sakes. I want your decision to be ninety-five percent you and five percent everyone else.”
“Alright, I think you're sexy and charming. You're a quiet force instead of a tornado or hurricane, which appeals to me. A huge plus is that you're great with the boys. Your openness and readiness for commitment humbles me. You're a skilled, considerate, demanding and slightly insane lover, the second best I've ever had and I get wet every time you do that rugged-Texan, Powers Boothe, Tommy Lee Jones, thing with your voice, which is almost always. We appear to have similar styles and tastes. Lastly, although Patrick told me you're a musician, I know at heart you're a farmer and rancher, with the superbly fragrant flower fields and robust horses I smell around us and that makes me absolutely wild for you.”
It was a darn good list but he was upset. “The second best? Who's the first?”
“Patrick,” she answered candidly, confirming the impression they'd already given.
Dylan had suspected as much, possibly more, but he'd wanted her to tell him honestly. “Tossing out the best lover part and considering the rest, how do you see me fitting into your life? Would your family have approved of me?”
“What about Patrick?”
“He wants me to be happy with you.” She hoped her sadness was imperceptible.
Dylan didn't think he would be so tolerant. “How 'bout the runaway groom?”
“Absolutely.” Her treacle bear was immeasurably more to her than that snake in the grass.
He felt pleasurable pains in his chest and stomach, asking, “What am I to you?”
“Almost everything,” she whispered, the realization shocking, and even more stunning was her honest admission, because she was very adept at guarding her sensitivities.
Dylan pulled her close, kissing her lightly on her cheek, “Then marry me honey?”
She wasn't surprised by his proposal but she was terrified of moving forward as much as she feared disappointing him. In a pleading tone she submitted, “I'd like to pretend a little while longer.”
Placing a tender kiss on her lips, he then cupped her cheeks in his hands, fingers accustomed to strumming and picking setting a soothingly compelling tempo along the lines of her jaw and against the soft and silken pout of her lips he agreed and demanded, “Honey, just a little.”
Justin and the twins exuberantly bounded into the room, as Dylan was releasing Carolina, who sat with a pleasurably dazed expression on her face. The young trio’s voices unified and they didn’t try to hide their excited anticipation as they asked, “Guess what Uncle Chris told us?”
Dylan smiled, liking the fact that, on some level, the twins already knew they were a part of the clan. “Did he tell you he has a pet boa named stretch?”
The twins chimed in awe, “No. Does he?”
“Yep, he does,” Dylan replied.
“Sweet,” the twins cheered.
It figures, Carolina thought, alarms going off in her head. “What did he tell you?”
Justin gave her a heart-melting look. “He told us you guys are getting married.”
Dylan and Carolina looked at each other, both thinking that was a ‘little while’ indeed, and in unison questioned, “Did he now?”
“Yeah. So Dylan that means you'll be our new dad legally,” hoped the twins.
“And this time you'll be my mom forever,” Justin declared.
“Yes that's what it means,” Dylan and Carolina told the boys and their shouts of happiness filled the massive residence.
They’d made love twice since arriving home, once in the gunroom and again when they'd taken her luggage upstairs to the bedroom he insisted they share, where he'd, not bothering to remove a single stitch, tumbled her sweet giggling self back on the smooth, king-sized comforter. Scrunching up her skirt, he'd ridden her hard. Time after time telling her how much he'd missed her, stroking her soft thighs that were wrapped tightly around his waist as he moved in and out of her warm wetness with single-minded determination to erase her memories of Patrick. However, his heart had overruled his ego, mellowing his thrusts, easing him into loving her because he needed to as much as he needed to breathe, not because he was envious and resentful.
Poetically he'd professed how happy he was to finally have her home. His lips had coaxed hers into tender, biting kisses. His hips rolled against her until he'd felt her trembling begin. Her hands had clutched him to her as she'd chanted foreign words he hadn't understood but had guessed meant something pretty darn good because she'd arched her back making a long lusty sigh before he'd found his own release. As their passion subsided, their boys knocked on the door calling him out for a game of laser tag.
In the few short seconds required to button his jeans, kiss her so long and walk out to meet his sons, was all the time needed for his bitter thoughts to resurface. Visions of his sweet Carolina spread as wide as the Texas sky, being licked and nibbled by Patrick until she had an orgasm that was off the Richter Scale, filled his head. Therefore, when he'd teamed up with his boys against his brothers and several of their kids he'd imagined Patrick at the business end of his toy gun, successfully wiping out his opponents in record time. However, that had been a game. His reality would most likely be a harder victory to claim, so his jealous preoccupation continued.
Now it was lunchtime and he was sitting beside Carolina in the long ranch-style dining hall that easily accommod
His hand branded her skin through the thick cotton napkin and her tweed skirt but the heat wasn't sufficient to set her tongue to indiscriminately wagging about Patrick. Resting her chin on the heel of her hand she replied, “He has various interests. I've helped him with some land acquisitions. But mostly I'd call him a fixer.” She gave him the answer that was best, not nearly the truth of who or what Patrick was.
He wondered if she practiced being vague. “A fixer?”
Persistence thy name is Dylan she thought. “He fixes things like the main character in the movie 'Michael Clayton', just on a larger scale.” Carolina looked around the table seeing that everyone had food except for her. “I'm starving. Why am I the only one with nothing to eat?”
She wasn't fooling him. Charles Bronson also fixed things in 'The Mechanic'. He nudged his plate in her direction, “Take mine.”
“No, I'll wait. But, I’m getting a headache. Your brother is doing this deliberately.”
Dylan silently admitted to himself that she was probably right, but cheerfully tried placating her, “Vega told me he was going to make you some chili.”
Carolina felt her body tingle at the thought. It was one of her favorite foods, but she hadn’t consumed any in over six years. Looking toward the kitchen in anticipation, she excitedly told Dylan, “Oh, I love chili. I'll stop complaining.”