Sweetest Taboo Page 13

I lift a shoulder as cold fingers of discontent edge toward me. "Well, it's true."

  "Very true," he says, and the heat in his voice is undeniable.

  "I want more." My confession is soft, and I toy with the stem of my wineglass as I say it. "I don't know, Dallas. I want to say I'm not pissed at Daddy for not agreeing with your idea about rescinding, but I am. He just doesn't see the big picture. And you and I--we've lost out on so much time already."

  For a moment he just looks at me, then he gets up and kneels in front of me, his hands on the arms of my beach chair so that I'm locked in and he's very, very close. "I love you," he says.

  "You better," I counter.

  His lips don't even twitch, and his eyes don't drift off mine. "I love you," he says again, extending his hand. "Come with me."

  Since I really have no choice in the matter, I do, and he leads me all the way down to where the ocean greets the waves as they roll in and roll out in a timeless rhythm.

  I'm about to ask him again what we're doing, but he pulls me close and kisses me, hard and deep and so passionately it seems as though that kiss has released a thousand strings of firelight that are now lighting me up from the inside.

  I whimper when he pulls away, because although I want him to tell me what's on his mind, I also don't want that kiss to end.

  "Tell me you can't live without this," he says.

  "You know I can't."

  "Tell me you want me."

  "I do," I whisper. "You know I do."

  "I did some thinking on the beach today and I realized that I don't want to wait anymore. So I went to the gift shop, and I bought you something."

  I'm about to ask what he's talking about when he actually drops to one knee in front of me, then holds up a blue-green macrame ring. It's so absurd--and yet his face is so serious--that tears well in my eyes and I press my fingers to my mouth.

  "Marry me, Jane."

  A tear escapes, and I taste its saltiness when I open my mouth to gasp. "Dallas, what--"

  "I love you," he interrupts. "I've loved you for as long as I can remember, and I will love you for the rest of my life and beyond. I don't want to spend a day without you. You inspire me. You humble me. You're my best friend and my deepest passion. The other half of me. The best part of my soul. Please, Jane Martin. Will you be my wife?"

  I'm not sure when it happened, but somehow I'm on my knees, too, and he's slipping the silly ring on my finger, and I'm hugging it to my chest, the tears coming too hard and too fast for me to manage words.

  I want to pull him close and kiss him hard; I want to shake him and demand to know what the hell he's been smoking.

  I'm bursting with sunshine; I'm completely miserable.

  I love him--and yet we both know I can't have him. And I don't understand why he's playing such a cruel game, teasing us both with something that is so far out of reach.

  He cups my cheek. "Say something, baby. If it's the ring, I promise I'll take you to Tiffany when we get back home."

  Laughter escapes, conquering the building tears. "No way," I say. "I love this ring. It's just that I--I don't know why you're doing this. We can't--you know we can't. There's no state--no country, even--where we can get married, and if Daddy won't agree..."

  "All the more reason for us to go ahead and do it."

  "You're talking crazy, Dallas."

  "I'm talking about you and me." He brushes the tears from my cheek with the side of his thumb. "Maybe we are a little crazy, but I want to do this."

  "Do what?" I know my voice sounds exasperated but I feel like a child who's been shown the most delectable chocolate cake and yet it's forever just out of reach.

  "I saw Cass and Siobhan on the beach this morning, and their engagement got me thinking about my friend Jared from St. Anthony's. Do you remember him?"

  "The guy you and Quince used to study with? The one with the Dr. Who obsession?"

  "That's him. He's gay, and about thirteen years ago, he and his partner, William, got married."

  I frown. "Where were they living?"

  "Chicago. He's an American like me. Just over there for the education."

  "But--wait. Gay marriage hasn't been legal for that long. Not even close."

  "They did it themselves. Had a ceremony with friends, and it was nice. Quince and I were both there. Had estate planning papers drawn up. Not a state-sanctioned marriage, a do-it-yourself one."

  "Oh," I say, finally understanding where he's going with this.

  "So we have a service. We revise our wills. We draft a partnership agreement. We hire a lawyer and make the estate part of this work. The rest of it is just you and me deciding to do it." He squeezes my hand. "And somewhere in all of that, I really will buy you a better ring."

  I burst out laughing. "I love what you're suggesting. But, Dallas, it's not the same, and they still win, and--"

  "No," he says, shaking his head. "That's the point. They don't win. We do. Because we're changing the rules. We're taking control from the people who deign to say what we can be to each other. And we'll be together. Say, yes, baby. Say yes, and be my wife."

  "Yes," I say, then throw my arms around him as a joyous laughter bubbles out of me. "Yes, yes, a million times, yes."

  And then he's kissing me, and we fall backward on the sand, and the surf splashes up over us so that I squeal and try to squirm away, but he holds me down tight, his hands pinning me at the wrists as he straddles my waist.

  "And you know the best part?" he says with a playful grin.

  "The sex?"

  He grins, but otherwise ignores me. "If we ever sell our story, you can write it."

  "That's not the best part," I counter. "The best part is that we have a happy ending."

  "Yeah," he says, looking at me with such tenderness I almost melt. "We do."

  I'm still trapped beneath him, but as another wave comes in, I gasp from the cold and then wiggle my hips. "And meanwhile, we still have the sex."

  His mouth twitches. "Oh, yeah," he agrees. "We definitely do."

  He stands, then scoops me up, surprising me by hoisting me over his shoulder and giving my ass a light slap. "Dallas!" I squeal, but the protest is only for show. Wherever he's taking me, I'm going willingly. I just don't want to go far.

  Neither does he, and he puts me down carefully on the blanket after just a few steps. "Here?" I ask, a little breathless.

  "Here. Now. Because I don't want to go another step without being inside you. I want the blue sky above us and the heat of the sun rivaling the way the touch of your skin burns through me."

  He's still standing, and I enjoy the view of his damp T-shirt and shorts clinging to his perfect body. He's hard, and I can see the outline of his cock against his shorts. He gets down beside me, and I prop myself up on one elbow as he leans in close to my ear and whispers softly so that his breath tickles my senses and sends shivers down my spine. "We've wasted time. But we're not going to waste any more."

  "We're not?"

  "Definitely not." His mouth brushes slowly over my cheek as he murmurs the words, and, dammit, I just can't take it any longer. I twist my head, forcing my mouth against his, and then sigh with pleasure when he opens to me.

  He tastes like the Cabernet he's been sipping, and I'm so light-headed from the way his tongue is teasing me that I think perhaps I'm drunk on him, and I moan a little, letting him in deeper and losing myself in the taste and touch of him.

  I'm aching for him, desperate to feel his hands on me. I crave the warmth of his skin against mine and the weight of his hips on my pelvis. I crave that sweetness of a building climax as he teases me softly, stroking tender areas, playing me like an instrument that he is building to a bold crescendo.

  I crave it, and yet so far, I don't have it, though I can't complain about the wonders he's performing with his mouth. First teasing my lips, then peppering kisses up my cheek.

  Now, his teeth nip at the lobe of my ear, and I feel the tug all the way down to my sex. I press my legs tog
ether, desperate to quell this building craving. And yet that's not the kind of satisfaction I want. So instead I change tactics, and as his tongue sweeps the curve of my ear, sending shivers coursing through me, I ease my own hand down under the band of my bikini bottom and slide my finger over my very wet pussy. I close my eyes, losing myself in the feel of Dallas's tongue on my ear--and my fantasy that it's his fingers stroking me. Teasing me. Dipping just barely inside my folds, and then--

  His firm grip closes around my wrist and I open my eyes to the realization that he is no longer nibbling on my ear. On the contrary, he's glaring down at me, his expression stern, and at the same time amused.

  "Oh, no," he says. "No unauthorized touching."

  "Is that the game?" I ask innocently. I spread my legs as wide as possible and look up at him with wide eyes. "Well, in that case, why don't you take over for me?"

  "No."

  I blink. That really wasn't the answer I was expecting. "No?"

  "I want you to beg," he says, and since I have no shame where Dallas is concerned I take his hand and press it to my crotch, then suck in a sharp breath. "Please. Oh, god, Dallas, please."

  "Well, since you asked so sweetly..."

  He rubs his thumb over my very soaked bikini until I am right on the edge. And only when he has me completely worked up does he slide his finger under the crotch and tease me mercilessly, setting off a storm of wild sensation inside me.

  "Please," I say, squirming to take off the sarong.

  "No." His hand on mine stops me.

  My brow furrows. "What do you--"

  But I don't get the question out because he covers my mouth with his finger, then unties the sarong with one hand while the other draws down the fly of his shorts. He urges me to lift my hips, then pulls the sarong free. Then slowly, without a word, he slides his hands up my body, leaving a trail of fire in his wake.

  When he gets to my arms, he urges them above my head, then wraps the sarong around my wrists, tying them together. He meets my eyes, and there's no denying the heat, but it's tinged with a bit of humor, too.

  "Mine," he says softly.

  "Forever," I agree, as he keeps one hand on my bound wrists, then starts to kiss his way down my body. He uses his teeth to grab one of the small triangles of material that make up my bikini top, then yanks it aside so that my breast can pop free. I draw in a stuttering breath, then gasp with pleasure as his mouth grazes my breast.

  He bites my nipple, and I arch up as the sweet sting curls through me, all the way to my sex. I squirm beneath him, wanting him there. His mouth on my pussy, his tongue on my clit. But he is taking his time, and I can't deny that even though his slow attention is excruciating, his progress from breast to cleavage and then down to my navel is wreaking havoc with my senses.

  I spread my legs, my hips gyrating. I'm craving his touch--any touch--and even the warmth of the sun against the crotch of my bathing suit is erotic.

  But it's not until his mouth reaches my bikini bottoms that I really lose my mind. Because that's when he takes his tongue and traces it along the soft crease of my thigh between my suit and my leg. I shiver and shake, nearly coming undone just from the fact that his magical tongue is so damn close--and yet not nearly close enough.

  Once again, he uses his mouth to move aside my suit, and his teeth scrape my swollen, sensitive skin. A shiver cuts through me, and when he thrusts his tongue inside me, I cry out, screaming his name and begging him to please, please fuck me.

  He lifts his head long enough to meet my eyes, his full of heat and mischief, and then he dives back down between my legs, licking and sucking and teasing my clit with such wild abandon that I'm certain that I will lose my mind before I orgasm and, finally, get some sweet relief.

  I gyrate my hips. I'm panting. I'm wanting. Hell, I'm lost in the sensation of his tongue and the sun and the incredible pleasure of being taken here under the bright blue sky. And just when I think it will never end--just when I think that I will go mad balancing on this knife edge of pleasure--my body shudders one final time before everything explodes inside me and I shatter.

  Dallas doesn't stop. He's relentless, milking my orgasm until I am quivering as the last electric sparks flutter through me. And that's when he releases my bound wrists. When he uses his fingers to pull aside my bathing suit crotch.

  When he finally enters me hard and fast, I'm so turned on that I lift my hips to meet him, thrusting to match his rhythms, and gasping as pleasure builds and builds, this time deeper, hotter.

  When he explodes inside me, I'm not far behind, and we both collapse, breathing hard beneath a sexual haze that still clings to us, as warm as the sun above and as bright as the clear blue sky.

  And in that moment, in Dallas's embrace, I can't help but think that, at least for this small moment in time, everything is perfect.

  That's an illusion, I know. But I cling to it. Savoring these moments before, inevitably, we have to return to the world.

  Dallas and I hold hands as we wander The Resort at Cortez, going in and out of shops, sipping coffee in the shade, gazing with awe at the stunning paintings of ocean scenes that fill the fine art gallery. This is my first time on the island, and I'm having a wonderful time, despite the circumstances that drove us here.

  After exploring the stores, we kick off our flip-flops and play in the fountain that is the centerpiece of the retail area. Jets of water shoot straight up inside a concrete circle in the middle of the common area, and I am soaked by the time we stop running around like idiots, trying to dodge the vertical spray.

  A few other shoppers are scattered about, and they watch our antics. I think vaguely that I should be a little embarrassed by our silliness, but I'm honestly having too much fun. Besides, I'm engaged now. And that makes today a day to celebrate.

  There's an ice cream stand by the fountain, and we both grab a cone, feeling light and alive, like children out discovering the world.

  "Beach," he says, taking my free hand in his. "We're already soaked. Let's go make a sand castle."

  "Two castles," I counter. "And mine is going to totally blow yours away."

  "You can try," he says. "But you won't succeed."

  I laugh out loud, thrown back suddenly to our childhood days on Barclay Isle, an island in the Outer Banks that has been in the Sykes family since the beginning of time.

  I lick my strawberry ice cream cone and glance sideways at him. He'd opted for chocolate, and I laugh at the little mustache on his upper lip. I tug him to a stop, lean over, and lick the ice cream off. When I pull back, my pulse has kicked up a notch. "Tasty," I say.

  "Very," he agrees, though I don't think he's actually talking about the ice cream.

  "Did you plan to make this the perfect day, or did it just work out that way?"

  "How could it be anything but perfect if we're together?"

  His words are as soft as his expression, and I feel as melty as my ice cream. "Dallas," I begin, but I don't finish, because he's pulled me to him, and his lips brush mine, a sweet kiss made all the sweeter by the lingering taste of chocolate and strawberry.

  "Oh, my gosh!"

  I hear the words at the same time as I hear the clicking of cameras, and I pull back sharply.

  Off to the side two twenty-something girls wearing island day passes are taking picture after picture.

  I feel the heat rise to my cheeks--this isn't good.

  I start to turn and walk away, but Dallas tugs me back so hard I drop my cone. It lands with a splat on the concrete at the same moment his lips crush mine. This time, there's nothing sweet about the kiss. It's hot and hard and demanding, and I feel the fire of his touch coursing through me. I want to lose myself in his arms, his kiss, his touch.

  But then I remember where we are, and I jerk back with a start. "Dallas, no."

  "Yes," he counters. "Goddammit, yes."

  I search his face, so hard and determined. So full of need. And not just for me, but for something I don't recognize. Respect? Acc
eptance?

  I'm not sure, but it doesn't matter, because I want him, too. I want to kiss him here by the fountain with the sun shining down on us and my heart full of him. So I do. I start to lean in again, but he anticipates me, grins wolfishly, and dives in to devour me.

  And oh, dear lord, it's wonderful. The knowledge that he loves me. The freedom to show it in public, to say screw you to the world. This is how I want to live. Openly. Honestly.

  Right in this moment, I feel as though I could soar.

  And then those bitches go and ruin it all. "Too fucking hot, right?" one of them says in the kind of whisper that's meant to be heard. "Dallas, for sure, but together? I mean, I've never fucked a brother and a sister, but I'd give them a whirl."

  "I've already had him once," the other says. "I met him at a wrap party for that movie I did two years ago. His tongue is magical, and his cock is huge. I sucked him off twice, you know. Wonder if she realizes she's getting my sloppy seconds. Not to mention half the female population's."

  They both start to laugh--no, to cackle--and the sound rips through me like a goddamn chainsaw. I don't plan it--I really don't--but somehow I am out of Dallas's arms and across the short distance, and my palm is stinging because--holy shit--I just slapped the taller one hard across the cheek.

  "You obnoxious little bitch," I snarl, even as the other one raises her camera and starts snapping away, capturing my fury, my stinging hand, and the shocked face of the bitch who'd supposedly been in Dallas's bed, with her hand against her cheek and her eyes wide with shock.

  I really don't know how Dallas got us out of there. I was roiling too deep in shock and mortification, but somehow he managed, and when I stop seething, I realize that we're back in the bungalow and I'm breathing hard, still so furious that all I can think of is how much my hand still stings and how much I desperately want to smack her again.

  I look at Dallas, expecting him to be the one to step in and calm me. I assume he's in a rational headspace because he so deftly led me home. But one look at his face and I realize that he's just as messed up as I am. Just as angry. Just as horrified.

  Just as afraid we are never, ever going to be able to make this work.

  I feel my body sag, defeat washing through me. It's hot and horrible, and I hate that two random women on the beach can erase all the pleasure I've gotten out of this day. Can make me second-guess my resolve to make what Dallas and I have together work despite all the odds stacked against us.