Page 55 of Hart of Darkness
18
Maggie
Isat crossed-legged next to Dillon, wanting nothing more than to curl up in his lap. The game room, as he called it, was cozy, and with him in it, it was even more relaxing. I’d debated whether to come over or not. After the exchange we’d had in his kitchen, I didn’t know if our friendship would go anywhere because maybe he’d been cold or hurt. I couldn’t tell. I was finding that Dillon didn’t wear his emotions on his sleeve, although when he’d brought up Kelton, I knew he was jealous.
Despite Dillon’s feelings, his place was a one-hundred-eighty-degree difference from my apartment. The couch my butt was planted on was covered in a suede fabric, and the springs weren’t poking my bum like the one I owned. Not only that, the large-screen TV gave me the sense I was living like a queen. Foster homes barely had a TV the size of a small cardboard box, and I didn’t own a television.
Dillon tucked one leg underneath him, while the other dangled over the edge of the cushion. I was learning that Dillon liked to be barefoot, or so it seemed.
I relaxed back, cocked my elbow against the couch, and rested my head in my hands. “I wanted to ask you something else.”
He flicked hair from his forehead. His hair was always so disheveled, and that made him more appealing to me.
I gripped my braid with my free hand, mainly to prevent me from touching him. “I’m working on a story about Nadine. Her funeral is tomorrow up in Charlestown at eight a.m. Do you want to go with me?”
He scratched his beard. “I’m supposed to see Denim. If I can get on the road no later than eleven, then sure. Want to tag along?”
Denim was doing some investigative work for me, and Ted hadn’t given me anything to print, even though I knew who the leader of the Black Knights was now. What I didn’t know was if Cory was part of that gang. Regardless, Denim might have found out something interesting, and even if he hadn’t, I would get to hang out with Dillon, and that excited me.
I nodded.
He reached out and tugged on the end of my braid. “Do you always wear your hair in a braid?” His hand lingered close to my breast.
When I glanced down, he removed his hand quickly, as though he’d done something wrong.
I wouldn’t say it was wrong. It wasn’t a chaste gesture, but at that moment, friendly signs or motions went out the window, especially when the tip of his tongue touched his lip ring. I wanted his tongue to touch places that were hidden and private and throbbing with need.
I leaned in to touch his hair, only to pull back. We’d agreed to keep things nonsexual.Stupid me.We should’ve agreed to be friends with benefits.
A predatory grin lit up his face as his eyes became hooded, dark, and sultry.
My pulse quickened. I reached out again, and this time I laced my fingers through his unkempt hair. It was silky, thick, and shiny. He closed his eyes and let me play. I scooted the tiny distance closer to him, my knee grazing his denim-clad thigh.
“Aren’t we doing the friend thing?” he asked on a sigh.
“I want to play.” Boy, did I ever. I knew he would ruin me for any other guy from there on out. I knew he would break the lock on my heart.
I also knew I had to release the pressure that was mounting between my legs. I’d used my vibrator the night before, thinking of Dillon as I played with myself. My climax had been great, but the real living being, who was allowing me to play much like he had when he’d had me pinned against his kitchen counter, was icing on the cake. I wanted to scream his name while I was going over that edge to the best orgasm in the world, and I was so darn sure he could give me one to remember.
He didn’t move as my fingers danced along his scalp. I was breathing heavy, but he was calm, reserved, and studying me intently. The gold flecks in his brown eyes looked like fire spitting out of a pit. He reminded me of a lion stalking its prey, wild, noiseless, and deadly, waiting for the right moment to pounce.
I abandoned his hair, working my way south, stopping to feel every hill and valley of his chest.
Desire swirled in my belly, a cyclone of heat, warming every nerve ending. As I played, I sank my teeth into my lower lip, my pulse soaring like an eagle over the treetops.
I dared not lower my gaze to his crotch. I was afraid that if he had an erection like the one I’d felt the other day, then I would have my clothes off in a second. That wouldn’t be a bad thing, but he wasn’t giving me any indication he would reciprocate, and I wanted to savor the anticipation of what I prayed would happen next.
Nevertheless, successful people in the world never reached their goals without taking risks. So I rubbed my way down his abdomen then back up then down a little farther than before. I brought up the image of him shirtless, remembering how that happy trail of his disappeared below his waistline.
I locked eyes with him when my fingers rested on his belt. His eyelids were hooded, almost sleepy with lust. But something else resided in the depths between the brown and gold specks of his irises that I couldn’t pinpoint until my fingers slipped in the waistband of his jeans. Then a dragon emerged, breathing fire out of his eyes, and he flipped me onto my back before I could protest.
I squealed and huffed at the same time.
He straddled me, his knees on either side of me, but didn’t put his weight on me. “Once we go down this road, Maggie, there’s no going back.”
“I know.” He’d been on my mind when I woke up yesterday and today, during a down moment at work, and while playing with myself.
His hair fell forward, curtaining our faces. “Then we need to get something straight.” His tone was raspy and somewhat pained. “We leave our feelings at the door. Like you, I don’t want anything serious. My life is too fucked up for a long-term relationship. Deal?”
