I know I should run away. Slap him. Mention our parents. Do something to shut him down.
But I don't.
Instead I just look him in the eyes and say, very slowly and very evenly, "What's to stop you from taking more?"
"You are," he says, as he cups my cheek and I close my eyes, fighting the urge to tilt my head sideways into his palm. "I hope to hell you are. Because I don't have the strength to fight it anymore."
"What if I don't have the strength, either?"
"Then God help us both."
I open my eyes as he leans in. As his lips brush mine.
The kiss is soft. Gentle.
But there's nothing gentle about my reaction. It's as if he has slammed me back against the wall. As if his entire body is pressed against mine. As if his hands are all over me, and I'm opening to him like a flower. Despite everything, I want him. Need him.
He's addictive, this man.
He's dangerous.
And he's right when he says this will destroy us both.
But, damn me, I don't care. It's not a taste of him that I want. Instead, I want to devour him.
I reach up and slide my fingers into his hair as I cup the back of his head and open my mouth, wanting to taste him. To consume him. I don't care if it's wrong. I don't care if it's shameful. Right now, I just want this. I'm like a woman lost in the desert who is suddenly given water, but still can't quell my thirst even though I drink and drink and drink.
But it's only me drinking. Dallas hasn't released me, but he hasn't claimed me, either. He is letting me take, but he has yet to truly taste me.
He is hard against me, and I can feel the timpani of his heart, the beat thrumming through both of us. I shift my hips and brush against his cock, now straining inside the denim of his jeans. The pressure there at the juncture of my thighs sends pleasure spiraling through me, and I grind against him, releasing a little moan right on the heels of his name.
"Dallas."
I don't know if it was his name or my moan of pleasure or the insistence of his cock, but his indecision disappears as he pulls me tighter against him. As he devours my mouth in a kiss so wild I go light-headed. For a moment, I even think that I am flying, but I realize that I am falling backward onto the bed.
He straddles me at the waist, his arms at either side with his hands twined in mine. He bends forward and captures my mouth, then starts to kiss his way down my neck. I'm breathing too hard, my pulse is beating too fast. My skin is on fire and my jeans are far too constricting.
I can manage only one word--please. But even then, I'm not sure that I have spoken, especially since he doesn't react, but instead continues his trail of kisses down to the swell of my breast.
He licks the skin that is exposed at the bodice of my tank top, and I gasp and squirm from the wild impact of the sparks that are now ricocheting through me, all zinging between my legs to make me wet and needy and terribly, wonderfully desperate.
Even as the pressure builds, some buried part of me knows that this is wrong--that it's a mistake. I should sit up. I should push him away. I should stop this.
But all it takes to erase those thoughts is for Dallas to straighten up just a bit. For him to slide one hand along my arm and then over my breast. He finds my nipple through the material and teases it, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger, squeezing so tight that it skirts the line between pain and pleasure, and lands somewhere close to exquisite.
I hear myself make little gasping noises and don't even recognize that it's me. I'm not sure who I am anymore, and all I can think when he violently yanks down the top so that my breasts pop free is that I want to be taken. I want it to be wild.
And, dammit, I want it to be now.
But now that we are doing this--now that I am half naked and throbbing--he is in no hurry. His eyes meet mine as he dips his head to my breast, and I recognize the heat from our youth. It's the light of exploration. Of conquest.
He knows that he has conquered me, all right. And he is enjoying the spoils of his victory.
As if in punctuation of my thought, his mouth closes over one breast while his hand closes over the other, fingers teasing one nipple as his tongue teases the other.
His other hand is still holding mine, but he releases his grip, and slowly trails his fingers along the sensitive skin on the back of my wrist, and then follows the path to my torso. He eases my tank up from the bottom, until the entire thing is like a band beneath my breasts.
I can barely wrap my head around any one sensation as he sucks and bites lightly on my nipple even as his fingers drift lower and lower, along the bare skin of my belly.