“A lost soul doesn’t have to wander forever.” ~Johnny Outlaw
Weeks later, Tracy and I repeat our brunch date, vodka and mimosas and all. She hasn’t made up with Adam and he hasn’t stopped begging for forgiveness.
Unlike what I thought would happen in my own relationship, I’m not missing Dalton less, but more. Things between us are good, really good, and mostly effortless. A simple phone call to say hi usually turns into a two-hour conversation, but weeks of touring Europe is wearing on him. I can tell by how rundown he’s starting to sound. We miss a few calls when he’s too exhausted after a show. It doesn’t bother me, not like I thought it would. Despite the newness of our relationship and the distance separating us, I trust him. I don’t know when I developed this new found comfort and faith, but I like it. I like me better because of it too. The stresses that past relationships caused don’t seem to exist between Dalton and me. I wonder if I should I be worried?
I slow down as I approach my place, my bike coming to a stop on the sidewalk out front. When I look up, I see I have a visitor sitting on my stoop and my heart momentarily stops. Sight for sore eyes doesn’t define how happy I am to see him.
Dalton stands, shifts his weight and smiles. “I had an unexpected wanderlust.”
Putting the kickstand down with a flirty smile on my face, I say, “You have the heart of a poet, Mr. Dalton. So were you just in the neighborhood?”
“I was nowhere near your neighborhood.”
I walk up the steps and he walks down a few and we meet in the middle. Our lips and bodies coming together. I roam over his shoulders and back up again, testing to make sure he’s real and I’m not dreaming. “I like your surprises.” Taking him by the hand, I invite him in. As soon as the door closes, he presses me to the wall, showing me how much he missed me, a feeling I’m becoming all too familiar with.
“I missed you, too.” I lean against his chest and listen to his racing heart as it syncs with mine. “Stopping in for the day or do I get you longer this time?”
His chest move as he chuckles. “Only one day.”
“That’s why you’re traveling so light,” I say, referencing the backpack.
“I sent my luggage to Mexico City. I’ve got a free day. Wanna spend it with me?”
Tilting my head in confusion, I ask, “No meetings?”
“No meetings.”
“Just a random free day?”
“Just a random free day I’d rather spend with you then cooped up in a hotel in Mexico.” He shrugs like this isn’t the most romantic gesture ever.
I sigh, pretending to be exasperated. “I had a feeling you were going to say that.”
“Did I screw up?”
“No,” I say, tugging on his belt loops. “I just had this whole list of things I needed to get done today and now that’s all shot to hell.” I slide my hand under his shirt, his jacket still on. While feeling the muscles of his stomach, his leg slides between mine, adding pressure. I don’t mean to gyrate, but he does this to me, makes me lose control. I also like to get a rise out of him, and selfishly, it feels good.
He grabs a hold of my waist, pushing up the side of my shirt he knows my tattoo is on, and rubs his hand over it. His voice is strained, when he says, “I can go.”
With a deep breath, tingles take over and I close my eyes. Slipping away, I try to collect myself. He watches me as I get a glass of water from the kitchen and drink, keeping my eyes on him. I set the glass down and lean against the counter. “Nope,” I tease, “the damage is already done, but we should go ahead and have sex because you’re here and I missed you. Truth is, I won’t be able to think about anything else, so we should just get it out of the way now.”
With a grin on his face, he teases right back. “You’re a horny girl and I like it.”
I say, “Damn straight,” and walk past him up the stairs.
A “Fuck,” is muttered before he says, “A woman who knows what she likes. Be careful, I might fall in love.” Inside the bedroom, he kisses me, leaving me breathless, then he does it again and adds, “I missed you.”
Reaching up, I touch his cheek, feeling warm inside. Such sweet words, that this time, I lift up and kiss him before turning and starting to undress. With only my bra and panties on, I wiggle my ass to tempt him to follow me to the bed. He’s fast, rushing in and taking me down onto the mattress in an embracing tackle. Hovering over me, he says, “I missed you, but I really fucking missed that freckle on the inside of your left thigh. Mind if I visit it?”
Everything about him feels amazing. He makes me feel amazing. “The freckle would be disappointed if you didn’t.”
Taking his phone from his pocket, he scrolls through his music. I’m used to the routine now. His song will dictate his sexual appetite.
Nine Inch Nails’ “Closer”–Oh fuck me. It’s like he’s speaking straight to my libido.
After setting the phone on the nightstand, he slides back down. His erection is against my body until his feet touch the ground again. Standing at the end of the bed, he takes my knees and pulls them apart, not gently, but like he can’t wait any longer. I know the feeling.
Dalton’s mouth covers the spot where I can only assume a freckle resides, and I close my eyes in ecstasy. He sucks, leaving a physical reminder of his presence, and I let him, wanting it.
Lifting up, I unhook my bra and toss it aside. He looks up and uses both hands to grab my breasts, squeezing them, forcing a heavy breath out of me. He suffers from the same lack of control I do when it comes to him.
“I wanna fuck you so hard,” he says, climbing back on top of me. “I want to devour you. I want to fucking own your body. I want all of you, all of you—body and soul.” He pushes me back on the bed, then strips my underwear off before he focuses on my pussy. “You’re mine, Holliday Hughes. Are we clear?”
“Yes.” I gulp. Reaching for a condom in the nightstand, I hand it to him. Right when he’s about to take it, I pull it back. Using it as leverage. “The same goes for you, Jack Dalton. You’re mine. Are we clear?”
A hard stare is shared—testing me by the way he narrows his. When I don’t relent, he replies, “Yes.” With that verbal agreement, I hand him the condom.
I watch as he drops down again, his arms landing on either side of my head. He licks his lips just as I do, then aligns himself, pushing forward. His head drops down, his forehead landing on the bed next to me. My breaths stagger and heave, uneven and shattered like my thoughts. Nothing makes sense but the urge to give and take more.
I do. He does too.
He starts thrusting harder and I groan, the pleasure too encompassing to hide a natural reaction. My back arches, my head falling back. My nails scale his body and then slide down his back, digging in, taking possession. He moans and jolts in response, my body reacting to the sound of him, pleasure bordering on pain.
“My angel,” he murmurs.
My skin is set on fire, my face feeling flushed and he smiles, cocky written in that wry grin as he fucks me. I arch my back again, exhaling his name with every thrust, “Dalton.” Everything about this moment feels too great as prickly sensations cover me from head to toe and I give into it.
“Get on your knees,” he demands, no time to soak in the afterglow of my orgasm.
I roll over, getting on my hands and knees, and he’s in me. Fingers dig into my hips, as he takes me over and over how he wants—rough and hard. The sounds of him taking me from behind fill my room, his groans penetrating my body and turning me on.
He quickens, slamming into me four times in fast succession then holding me against him as he comes.
“Lay down,” he says, his voice much raspier than before. We both fall to the mattress and I close my eyes, loving the feeling of what we shared. He looks exhausted next to me and I run my fingers through his hair.
Rolling onto my side, I drape my thigh over his leg and get closer, my bare chest against his. I kiss him, then prop my head up as our lips part. Never loving nakedness more than in these moments with him, our bodies ebb and flow together in dips and curves. Two sides of the puzzle come together to form a union that seems protected in perfection and unscathed by life. Here, together, we don’t have pasts that scar us or baggage that weighs us down with burdens and regrets. Here, together, our flawed souls find solace in each other.
Here, together, we make sense.