The Resistance, page 4
“You look comfy. You planning on staying a while… or even the night?”
“I’m becoming quite partial to the palace in the sky.” I yawn, my food coma coming on fast.
He shuffles around the table and picks me up. My eyes go wide, and he says, “Let’s move this to the bedroom.”
He carries me into the room and I don’t resist, but I do tease. “You do remember that I have a reputation of being a sex-crazed hussy, right?”
With a hard chuckle, he tosses me onto the fluffy, white bed in the middle of the extra-feathery down comforter. “I’ll take my chances. Now hop in.” He walks into the bathroom and shuts the door.
I’m not a shy person when it comes to stripping down to my bra and panties. They cover just as much as most bikinis, and living in California, I’m in a bikini quite often. After undressing, I scramble under the covers before Dalton comes back out. I fall back on the mattress with the pillows anchoring my head and attempt to pose all pretty, propping myself up at an angle with my hand behind my head. It feels wonky, but he walks out too soon for me to readjust and try a different position. Eyeing him, I say, “Maybe I shouldn’t trust you. What if you were trying to fatten me up all along so you can have your gluttonous ways with me?”
Wearing only a fitted pair of boxer briefs and all of his tattoos finally revealed, he slips under the covers and rolls onto his side, breaking into laughter. “I’d say you watch too many scary movies or read too many fairy tales. If I was your friend, I would have advised you not to come up to my room. As for me, I’m glad you came. At this point, you’ve had plenty of opportunity to escape; I’m not holding you captive. I would however be disappointed if you left.”
“I’m already feeling a little captivated.”
“I’m a little captivated myself.”
“Just a little?”
“More than a little.”
“More seems to be a running theme between us.”
“I like more,” he says, looking very relaxed. “More’s good.”
Fighting the shyness sneaking in, I reach over and run my finger over his shoulder—the one with the Texas flag and just below it, the number forty-four which is much smaller. The hula girl is centered right on his bicep. He has a tiger over his heart; it’s very detailed and seems familiar, but I can’t place where I would have seen it before. “You have three tattoos on this arm and none on your other,” I say, noticing.
No long response or explanation. Just a simple reply, “Yeah.”
Moving on, I drag my finger over his abs to his other side. He rolls onto his back so I can get a better look at the tattoos on his ribs. Three guns, identical, slanted downward. As I rub my finger over them, I ask, “Did these hurt?”
His eyes follow my finger as I trace. “The guns?” Out of the corner of his eyes, he looks at me. “No. I got them at different times.”
“No pain. Impressive.”
“I was drunk,” he says, “I didn’t feel much of anything at the time. The next morning was a total bitch though.”
Looking back at the guns—old-fashioned with black barrels and brown-handles—my curiosity is piqued. “What kind are they?”
“They’re .45 Colts.”
“Why did you get them? What do they represent?”
He smiles—sleepy, but amused. “That’s for another time. Are we gonna sleep?”
I move closer and his arm comes around me. “Yes, let’s do this and get it over with so I can start that long walk of shame across the hotel to my tower later.”
“The walk of sex-less shame? Is that what we’re talking about?”
“It’s happened before… to someone, not me, of course, until now, but it happens. It’s real. The shame and humiliation a girl will carry with her from the rejection associated with a guy tempting her to his room with the insinuation of sex, but instead gets her to eat a huge, delicious cheeseburger and then to top it off, sleep with him, but not the sex sleep but real sleep.”
He kisses my forehead. “There’s no shame in this.”
My cheeks heat and his words make me smile. “None whatsoever.”
Then he pulls me closer and we fall asleep…
“It’s easy to believe in Hell. It’s Heaven I’m not sure exists.” ~Johnny Outlaw
I snuggle closer, the depth of my dreams becoming shallow as light starts to invade the back of my lids. My senses are enticed by warmth and the scent of comfort surrounding me. My thoughts shift from cloudy to clear as I wake up in Dalton’s arms. Peeking my eyes open, I see his handsome face—his eyes still closed, his breath hitting my cheek softly. Details of him come back as his strong arms tighten around me. Vegas. Convention. Dalton. Works at the hotel. Dinner. Penthouse. Sleep. I think that about sums up my night. By the shining lights outside streaming in, I check the time. It’s only been an hour, but feels like longer. He’s cozy.
“I’m glad you stayed,” he whispers.
“Mmm.” I turn and face him. Dalton has a gentle smile on his face, but his eyes are still closed. He’s fighting the reality of dealing with what comes next for us as much as I am. And if we both open our eyes, we have to deal, so I close mine again and snuggle in, enjoying this way too much to give it up just yet.
When I feel a kiss on my forehead, I smile and open my eyes again. “Hi,” I say, not sure if anything else fits the occasion.
He leans down really close, looking deep into my eyes, the moment granting us more than lighthearted niceties. His lips press down on mine and I close my eyes again, savoring the feel and enjoying the build-up that has lead to this. But just as I squirm around to free my arms so I can wrap them around his neck, a thought occurs to the contrary. “I thought you said you wanted to get to know me.”
“I know you. I know your name, your address, your height, your clothing size, your eye color, your hair color, that you grew up in Texas, and most importantly, that you’re trusting me when I haven’t earned it. You sleep with your mouth open, which is very fucking tempting,” he says, moving his hand to my hip and sliding it back and forth. “And your heart races, even in your sleep, when I touch you right here.”
I’d like to say that I stood my ground on the sleeping with my mouth open part, but I’m too distracted by his green eyes and the lustful way he’s looking at me. This is what I came up here for in the first place, I remind myself once again. Or is this how I’m justifying having sex with him after meeting him only hours before. So keeping my mouth shut, open, or however he finds it most ‘tempting’ is exactly what I’m going to do. Lifting up, I kiss him and that is the moment when everything changes…
My wrists are pushed up and held tight above my head as his body maneuvers on top of me, his eyes locked on mine as my breathing deepens. Every movement is calculated and smooth, covering me in a way that only intensifies my desire. His lips barely touch mine, his voice low and intimate as he whispers, “I want you, all of you. I want to be inside of you and feel the peace you’ve found, even if just for a short time.”
Pushing my head further into the pillow, I pull my arms forward and stroke his cheeks. “I can’t battle your demons, Dalton.”
He rubs his nose along mine, closing his eyes while I hold him. With his forehead pressed to mine, he says, “Be my angel. Just for the night.”
The only answer needed is my mouth on his. He relaxes on top of me as one of his hands explores down my waist over my hip and then back up. My breath catches, proof that he does know me better than I thought. Our initial connection at the bar was not based on depth of character. It was based on attraction. We aren’t a couple in love. We’re a couple of people in lust where he can be my demon and I’ll be his angel for the night.
My lace underwear doesn’t block much and his briefs don’t hide much. It’s almost pointless that we’re even wearing barriers, but this is how things are supposed to be. I can’t demand more from him, that makes me slutty. If he demands more, that makes him a player. So we move along with the sensations that have been stirred from within. An unseemly moan escapes without my approval and he slides over to the side.
With his arm resting across his head, he glances my way. “You said you didn’t want to play games. I don’t either. I like you, Holliday. You’re gorgeous and your body’s rockin’, but that lingerie you’re wearing is fucking torturing me. I want to rip this fucker,” he says, tugging on my panties, “from your body and suck your nipples until they’re hard. Then I’ll take ownership of your pussy—first with my mouth, then with my cock. So let me ask you, do you want to keep your bra and panties?”
“I—”
“Shhhh.” His finger covers my open mouth. I suck it in, swirling my tongue around the tip and then wrap my lips tightly over it. His right eyebrow twitches up once, revealing how much I affect him. I like the power. He centers his expression back onto me, no tells or weaknesses left to be discovered. This is sex in its most raw form—the act itself not a production, but the emotions he’s created engulf the room, swallowing us with it. I’m heady with lust and as much as I want to checkmate, his move wins. I want him inside me, filling me just as much as he wants to be there. His voice is controlled, low and serious. “If you say yes to keeping them, I’ll be nice. I’ll make your fantasy Prince Charming come to life while we make love. But if you say no, I’ll rip them to shreds and fuck you so hard you’ll never forget I was here,” he says as he cups me between the legs and squeezes. “Choose wisely.”
“There is no choice. I knew what I wanted when I agreed to come up here.” Silence fills the space between us, but I don’t just break it, I shatter it into a million tiny pieces when I say, “Rip’em.”
I gasp, startled, as my bottoms are ripped from my body, leaving red marks on my hips where the lacey sides were stretched just below my own tattoo. My head drops back, the sting of pain and the pleasure of his desire forging across my body. The bra is ripped down the center, the silk and lace no match for his passion. I smile, admiring how sexy he is, turned on by his strength. The man I met downstairs is not the same one ravaging my body now. Freed from all clothing—the barriers that once divided our desire—I lay bare before him, giving into my own carnal needs.
One swift jump and he’s on his feet, his briefs dropping to the floor. He’s not shy about his body. He obviously works hard to stay in shape, and I imagine many others have appreciated his efforts. Everything about him exudes experience, a master in the field of sexual stimulation. I’m not a novice and I’ve learned a few tricks as well as earned a few bedpost notches of my own. Being an attractive single girl in L.A. has its perks, but when my eyes follow the line from his waist down that muscular V to his prominent erection, I realize being a good-looking girl in Vegas is a total windfall tonight.
“C’mere, you,” I say, reaching over and grabbing his hand.
With one swift tug, he falls forward, catching himself before he lands flat on the bed. Dalton crawls over me and lengthens his body along mine, then rolls over so I’m on top. “Ride me, Angel.”
He stretches his arm to the side and grabs his wallet. Opening it, he pulls a condom out, and tosses the wallet carelessly to the floor. Sitting up, he drags me on his thighs up higher on the bed. After ripping the package open, he takes the condom and rolls it down his cock. He slides back down and lifts me by the hips. The man knows what he wants and I’m happy to oblige.
I’m just about to adjust on top of him when he says, “Wait.” He reaches to the nightstand one more time and grabs his phone. Scrolling, he smiles when he finds what he’s looking for. With one push of the button, a song I’m all too familiar with begins. I know every word and every riff. “Stairway to Heaven” was the soundtrack to a lot of trouble I got into back in high school. “Led Zeppelin?”
With a smirk in place, he nods. “This is great fucking music.”
“Great fucking music or great music for fucking?” I ask as his hands squeeze my breasts.
“Both.” He lays back, his hands sliding up the outside of my thighs, and says, “Take me to that place that keeps you from getting jaded. That place where you find peace without the demons destroying everything you thought you wanted. Take me there.”
Darkness fills his eyes, his gaze alluding to everything he doesn’t have to be any longer. I lift up and sink down on him, my hands pressed flat against his chest, wanting to smother the dark and cover it with light. Slowly rocking back and forth like the tempo calls for, his words lyrics to my ears, invading my thoughts. I drop my head back as his hands grab my hips, holding me down. The resistance causes inner turmoil as my insides begin to coil. Wanting more, my hands fall behind onto his legs, balancing me on top of him as we move against the other.
I let my mind drift with the melody, the fullness of him overtaking all other feelings. The music builds and my body reacts to the rhythm he’s creating inside me. The song becomes our anthem, a soundtrack to our moans and heavy breaths.
When I look down at him, his eyes are open, watching me, one hand roaming my body freely. The other caressing my tattooed skin.
The song speaks of winding roads, shadows and souls… I’m flipped onto the mattress. Dalton’s inside me again, moving over me. Our bodies become slick with sweat, emotions begin swirling between us. Feelings that this could be more than just one night plant themselves like seeds in the depths of my mind.
I close my eyes to block the thought that I might actually be able to save this beautiful man from his demons. The here and now. Focus on how amazing this man makes you feel and the passion he puts into every thrust. The here and now. He pushes my hair back from my cheek and leans down to kiss it. Slowly sliding down my chest, he takes a nipple into his mouth, sucking.
The here and now.
The here and now.
My eyes fly open as a sharp pain shoots across my skin as I realize he bit me.
“You still here?” he asks.
“I’m here,” I say, my voice coming in raspy, making me want to clear it, but I resist.
Dalton moves back up, but doesn’t break our connection. He’s starting to feel like he was always a part of me. His kisses are gentle. I open my mouth and our tongues meet. It’s not our first kiss, but this time feels different, more real. The fun of this fling feeling less like a temporary good time, the line blurred along the way.
Running my nails down his back, I stop when I reach his ass and encourage him to start moving again. He does as he moves his hands into my hair and around to the back of my neck, lifting me so my head drops back onto the pillow, leaving my throat exposed to him. His tongue licks me from the base of my neck to my chin. Holding me close, he rolls over placing me on top. Gripping me by my ass, he scoots up the bed, putting his back against the headboard while I straddle him.
I take hold of the headboard and as he tastes the tender skin between my breasts, I fuck him. We make our own music, sounds derived from pleasure and bare skin sliding together.
Wrapping his arms under mine, he holds onto me and slams harder, but I want faster and fight his strength. I can tell he’s close just like me. It’s his expression—the one that teeters between pain and gratification—that sends me, my orgasm hitting hard and I cry out his name. My body trembles around him and he grinds harder. I catch sight of him. He’s biting his bottom lip and his eyes are squeezed shut when he calls out, “Angel. Fuck.”
Continuing with a few more small gyrates, he holds me just as tight. I rest my forehead against the headboard and bring my hands down to his neck, moving up until I’m cupping his face. Leaning back just enough to look him in the eyes, I see cloudy greens lending themselves more toward hazel in the aftermath of our activities. I kiss his lips. Then again.
And once more.
Dalton holds my face between his hands and brings me lower, closer, and kisses each of my eyelids then my nose, and stops against my lips. “You showed me Heaven,” he whispers.
“And you gave me Hell,” I reply with a lazy grin.
He smiles and it feels like the most genuine moment we’ve shared. While I know intimate details about Jack Dalton, I don’t know him at all. The man is shrouded in mystery and his protective armor is thick. But in this moment, we’re just a girl and a guy sharing something special, something spectacular created from our union.
The phone vibrates on the nightstand and he picks it up to read the message. With the phone in hand, he sighs heavily, his gaze drifting back over to the clock beside the bed. Our moment is lost, the façade of whatever cover he gave me earlier back in place. My disappointment was inevitable.
“I need to leave soon and I have to shower,” he says, looking away from me.
I remain, still situated on top of him, waiting for his eyes to meet mine. The seconds pass and I don’t want to be the cause of any awkwardness.
Lifting up, I swing my leg over and walk to the bathroom. Trying to sound like tonight didn’t change me, I say, “Yeah, no worries. I’ll get out of here. Maybe I can borrow your robe?”
“Take the robe. Keep it.”
I shut the bathroom door and fall back against it, willing the tears to stay away as I try to swallow down the lump in my throat. I don’t understand my emotions being caught up like this. Jack Dalton is not my first one-night stand and he won’t be my last. So I need to push away the desire to see him again and get back to my life.
Grabbing the robe from the hook, I put it around me. The collar smelling like Dalton and I find some comfort that I’ll have this piece of him and the memories of our rendezvous long after I leave Vegas.
After freshening up, I walk out. No sappy emotions remain dwelling on my face. My normal confidence is back in place. He’s got jeans on, hanging low, the fly only half-way buttoned-up. His right arm across his chest as he holds his left shoulder and all signs of light in his eyes are dark like the room. Outside the large, picturesque windows, the Strip still sparkles like it did when I came up here, like nothing has changed.
My torn panties dangle from his hand. Lifting them up, he asks, “Can I have these?”
