"He said it was bad, and that if anyone found out it would be worse. He said he'd disinherit us. Disown us." He turned his head to face her. "He said it was a sin."
"How do you look at me?"
He shifted on the bed feeling too exposed. And his skin felt tingly like it did when he jacked off to the thought of her, right before he exploded. He wanted to answer, but how the hell was he supposed to tell her that?
"Dallas?"
"Like I want you," he blurted.
"Oh." She licked her lips. "Do you?"
Oh, god, she was killing him. He sucked in a breath for courage. "Yeah. You know I do."
She turned so that she was looking right at him. "Me, too," she said, and he thought those were the most magical words in the world.
"Do you believe him?" she asked. "That it's a sin, I mean?"
"No. And even if it is, I don't care."
She nodded, as if considering that. "Is he here?"
Dallas shook his head. "In Chicago for the night."
"Can I stay with you, then?"
He wanted to just scream yes. But instead he reminded her about the staff. "If anyone sees you..."
"We can set an alarm. I'll go back to my room early. But you're leaving tomorrow for good."
He almost laughed at that. "I'm not moving to the moon."
She made a face. "You might as well be. And it's not like we're gonna do anything."
He really shouldn't feel disappointed. "No. 'Course not."
"But maybe--I mean, do you think--I just--Oh, crap. Dallas, would you kiss me goodbye?"
He didn't answer, at least not in words. But he turned to her and leaned in, his nerves jangling because he didn't know what he was doing. But he knew he wanted this. Her. And when he brushed his lips against hers, it all made sense. It all felt real.
It all felt right.
And as he tasted her--as he explored her wide mouth and soft lips--he thought their dad was crazy. Because this was too good to ever, ever, ever be bad.
"We're starting our descent, Mr. Sykes."
Dallas winced as the captain's voice crackled over the intercom, just a little too loud for comfort considering the alcohol and Jane-induced headache he was nursing.
He'd been in the damn jet for almost ten hours now, and she still filled his head. The way she'd melted against him, so soft at first and then so demanding. Christ, the way she'd taken charge of that kiss had made him practically lose his mind. The knowledge that she wanted him--that she was willing to cross all those invisible lines to have him.
He'd known he should resist, but she'd filled him up, made him hard. And he'd been a total and complete goner. And when those soft little sounds she made filled his head, he'd snapped. He'd had to have her again. Had to touch her, claim her.
Oh, dear lord, she had felt so good. Her skin so smooth. Her nipples so damn hard. He rubbed his thumb against his fingertips, remembering the way her skin had moved with each stuttering breath, her desire so open, so evident, it's a wonder he didn't fucking come just from the sight of her.
He'd wanted to strip her bare and spread her wide. He'd imagined her on her knees, her back arched so that her breasts were high and her pussy was wide open for him. He could imagine the taste of her as he teased her with his tongue, and the feel of his palm against her ass when he punished her for coming too early.
He wanted to possess her. To have her. To stroke and cherish her.
And at the same time he wanted to run from each and every one of those desires. Because they came from the dark. From the things the Woman had done to him. The way she'd hurt him, then pleasured him.