Chapter Eight
Dalton's Magic Rule #9: Tie someone up and use a little mood music.
After her bold declaration, Melina heard nothing but the gentle lapping of the water. Unable to stand it, she looked down, straining her eyesight as if she could see one of the fish that had brushed against her. Maybe she'd been too bold? Crossed the line? Hadn't he said they'd play by his methods or not at all?
“Look at me.” Shivering at his hoarse command, she reluctantly raised her head. She gasped at the intense desire reflected in his hooded eyes, which blazed at her like ice-hot gems, but she didn't miss the edge of temper surrounding them either. “It depends what's driving you. Are you scared of me? Because if that's it, then this whole thing—”
“I'm not scared,” she rushed out. “I told you I trust you, and I do. It's just something I've never done before. All my other lovers, I would've felt silly asking them. But with you—” She shook her head. “Never mind. It was another stupid idea—”
“Come here, Melina.”
The way he said it, with more than a hint of a dare, made her heart leap out of control. To counter it, she cocked a brow, but she didn't move any closer to him. “Why?”
In response, he glided slowly toward her until they were treading water next to each other, his legs occasionally bumping against hers. What had he said about seeing her wet? Because if he touched her in the right place—she almost whimpered at the thought—he'd feel she was far wetter than mere water could make her. She was also so hot she was surprised the water around them hadn't started to boil.
Reaching out, he cupped her cheek, soothing his thumb across her brow in a tender gesture that still managed to make her think of that big bed in his bedroom and him tied down and spread out for pleasure. His and hers. He smirked as if he could read her mind. “Because I'm going to kiss you. And then we're going to get out of this lake, pack up my stuff, drive back to my house, hopefully without crashing, and you're going to tie me up. But on one condition.”
He floated closer, until her nipples brushed against his chest in a teasing dance choreographed by the water surrounding them. Desire coursed through her, a heavy ache that made her want to wrap her arms around him and sink into the liquid depths below, like a siren whisking her sailor away from his duties in favor of decadent sensation.
Unable to help herself, she reached out and placed her hands on his shoulders, cupping the balls of muscle there even as she reestablished her position with her legs around his waist. “What's that?”
Anticipation, an exhilarating mix of fear and lust, clawed at her. With sure hands, Rhys cupped the cheeks of her bottom and arched into her, indicating loud and clear that playtime was over. He waited until her low moan faded before answering her. “I get to return the favor.”
* * *
They didn't crash on the drive back to Rhys's house, but it was touch and go—literally—the entire time. Mainly, she did the touching, teasing Rhys from the passenger seat, her hands smoothing across his chest, stroking his thighs, cupping the spectacular package in between while he gritted his teeth and tried to focus on the road, his white knuckles gripping the steering wheel for dear life. During that wild five-minute ride, she savored the now-familiar intoxicating rush of power, the sure knowledge that she was the reason he was barely holding on to his control. The power shifted, however, when she began to kiss him.
She started at his neck, at the corners of his mouth, and was working her way downward when he suddenly braked and tugged her head away. With his ragged breaths filling the small confines of her car, he subdued her attempts to pull away from him, shaking his head warningly. “We're almost there.” The rough tenor of his voice slid across her skin like nubby silk, rich and smooth but with enough texture to tease rather than satisfy.
“Then why'd you stop?” she whispered even as she craned her neck in a desperate bid to kiss his lips.
The hand on her hair tightened, and the bite of pleasure-pain made her eyes widen. The deep clench of need between her thighs made it more than clear that she just might like things rougher than she'd ever imagined.
“Because your hands on me are one thing, but if your lips get any closer to my dick, then we're not going to make it to my bed. I'm going to pull over and take you right here, and that's not what you asked for—”
“I changed my mind,” she breathed, silently cursing her stupidity. She forgot why she'd ever come up with the idea of tying him down. If he was tied down, he couldn't use his hands on her, and she wanted his hands on her. So much that she was about to beg for it, but he gave a sharp shake of his head.
“Kiss me. One kiss. And then sit back like a good little girl until we get there.”
She dug her nails into his shoulders, giving him a taste of the hunger rolling through her. “But I don't want to be a good little girl. Not anymore.”
He growled and took the kiss he'd asked for. His lips surrounded hers, his tongue sank deep, and the whole time he kept his hands on her skull, in her hair, guiding her mouth, tilting it this way and that, demanding that she give him what he wanted. Then he pushed her away.
“Don't move,” he said as he released her and then turned back to the road, starting to drive with a jerky lurch. It was a hard order to obey, but she dug her fingernails into her palms, consoling herself that they'd be there soon. As she stared at him, however, a devilish urge to push him even closer to the edge took control of her. She'd always been reluctant to talk dirty in bed, but now the urge was driving her hard.
“The first thing I'm going to do when you're tied down is take you in my mouth,” she said softly.
He jerked in surprise and looked at her, then clenched his jaw as he focused on the road again.
“I-I haven't had a lot of experience with it,” she confessed, “because I've never really liked it. But with you, I want to taste every inch of you. Lock you in my mouth. In my throat, so you can never get away.”
He flinched. Groaned. Lowered his hand to cup himself. But just for a second. When he had both hands on the wheel again, he glared at her, the glint in his eyes promising retribution. “And when I'm in your throat and can't get away, what are you going to do?”
“I-I—” She struggled for something clever to say. Something nasty and hot and depraved. But all she could manage was the truth. “I'm going to suck you until you come.”
He hissed out a breath and took a sharp turn. “Unless you come first.”
“What do you mean?” she asked dumbly.
The car stopped. She barely noticed that they'd made it back to the house. “I mean I don't just lay back when a woman is pleasuring me with her mouth, Melina. I give it right back to her.”
Stunned, she could do no more than gape at him while he rounded the car, pulled open her door, then swept her into his arms, carrying her up the steps into the house with a rushed agility that took her breath away. Maneuvering into his bedroom, he deposited her gently on the bed. He gave her another one of those intense, dominating kisses and started to strip her. Her hands raced to follow his lead, but somehow he managed to get her naked before she could do more than push his shirt from his shoulders.
He pinned her hands next to her head, his cheeks flushed, his breathing rough, and a decidedly dazed look in his eyes. “I can't do it.”
She jerked in surprise and shame filled her fast. “What?” This is it, she thought. I was wrong before. This is where he hurts me.
“I can't wait. I'm sorry, Melina, I thought I could but—” He closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against hers, just as he had at the lake. With his touch, she realized he was shaking. “If I can't have you now, I think I'm going to die.”
His blatant honesty stunned her. He was as wet as she, their hair damp, his trunks hiked up the muscled thigh that pressed between her legs so that her bare flesh met his. Instead of being embarrassed by the wetness there, as she normally would have been, she reveled in it. Instinctively, she pressed herself toward him, wanting more pressure on the tiny bundle of nerves that was swelling for his touch. It wasn't close enough, so she struggled to get her hands free. When he wouldn't release her wrists, she leaned up and kissed him gently, then followed the tender touch with a nip to his bottom lip. “It's okay, Rhys. I don't want to wait either.”
“But you said you wanted to play—”
“Playing can wait.” She swallowed and forced herself to say it. “I've wanted you for so long. On top of me. Inside me. If that's what you want—”
He took one of her hands and slid it inside his trunks, covering her fingers with his until she was grasping him tightly. Moving her hand, he started a smooth, steady friction that made his eyes close and his head fall back. “I want.”
“Then take me,” she whispered.
With a rough groan, he stood, pushed down his swimsuit, and lunged for the bedside table where he removed a small square packet. Ripping it open, he slipped the condom over himself and then came on top of her. She welcomed him, arms and thighs opened wide, and he sank onto her.
Sinking into her wasn't quite as easy.
He pushed the head of his penis against her, groaning as her tight muscles slowly allowed him inside. Inch by inch he took her, eyes open now, staring into her soul and refusing to let her look away. When he gave a final heavy push, sinking into her all the way, her mewl of pleasure mixed melodically with his deep-throated groan.
Immediately, he started a shallow thrusting that steadily increased in speed and impact.
“Rhys?” she gasped when he hit a spot inside her she'd never known existed. Apparently, Rhys didn't need any help finding her G-spot.
He kissed her lightly, a teasing brush of his lips that had her arching to get closer to him. “You feel so good. Just as I've always imagined.”
The idea that he might have imagined this before brought tears to her eyes. She gripped his shoulders tighter even as her internal muscles clenched around the thick rod inside her. The drag of his cock against her sensitive nerves pushed her so high so fast it left her stunned. She marveled at this man's ability to destroy her at the same time he renewed, replenished, and recharged her. “I'm going to come, Rhys,” she wailed, not wanting to leave him behind again.
His thrusts came even faster now. “Come, baby. I'll be right there with you.”
And he was. Together, they groaned and shuddered, muscles tightening and clenching, breath heaving, fingers grasping as they took each other over the edge. And just like before, when she came down from the pinnacle, she was in Rhys's arms, shivering and whispering his name. This time, however, her mind didn't form her favorite fantasy.
It didn't have to.
Her fantasy was in her arms, pushing back her hair and whispering the sweetest words she'd ever thought to hear. Feeling her heart expanding with love for him, she tried to pull back. To protect herself while she still could.
“So does this count as something you told me you liked?” she gasped, taking a deep breath before she could continue. “Or something I came up with on my own?”
“I don't know and I don't care,” he whispered. “All I know is I want to do it again. And again—” He kissed her ear and worked his way down to her shoulder, continuing the kisses as he repeated the words over and over. “And again.”
* * *
For the rest of the evening, “again” and “more” became Rhys's personal mantra. Melina engraved the words in her memory, cherishing them but also taking them as a challenge. Part of her never wanted him to stop saying those words, so she pushed herself to do things she'd never been comfortable with.
First, remembering a scene from Sex and the City, she straddled him. With her back arched and her hands raised above her head, she rode him so fast and so hard that her breasts bounced. Well, not quite. Samantha's breasts had bounced on the show. In real life, Melina's breasts just jiggled. Still, given Rhys's response, jiggling definitely worked for him.
Next, she resumed their alphabet game, breathing out a new word in time to his deep, languid strokes, and eventually cursing him when he refused to let her orgasm until she finished. He laughed and pressed her hips down, controlling her movements, and she almost panicked when she got to “X.” Somehow, she came up with “xenerotica,” the act of getting turned on by strangers. Then, when she got to “Z,” he reached down and touched her where they were joined. She came apart, screaming “zelophilia” so loud she barely heard his own groans of pleasure. He collapsed next to her, struggling for breath.
“Zelophilia?” he asked skeptically.
“Sexual arousal from jealousy,” she breathed back.
“How—”
Turning on her side, she rested her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes, smoothing her fingers over his muscular chest. “My friend Lucy is a Scrabble fanatic.”
They took a break for dinner, munching on more of the savories that Rhys had packed for lunch before he started a fire. Now they sat on the couch, Melina practically in his lap and Rhys playing with her hair. Enveloped in a soft blanket, she stared at the fire, wondering what part of the day would become her favorite fantasy once the weekend was over.
“You went somewhere,” he said. “What's wrong?”
She jolted, stunned that he would pick up on her change of mood so quickly. Forcing herself to smile, she shook her head. “Nothing. I just realized I never got to tie you up. Or down, for that matter.”
His hand stilled. “So what's stopping you?”
She kissed his shoulder. “I'm not sure I have that kind of energy right now. Can we try tomorrow, maybe?”
Blowing out a beleaguered sigh, he shrugged. When he spoke, his voice was tight. “I can't make any promises about that.”
Fear had her heartbeat racing. Pulling away, she sat up, searching his face. “I'm sorry. If you want to, we can do it now. I just thought we could—”
He shook his head and cupped her face in his hands. “I was kidding, Melina.”
Closing her eyes in relief, she slapped his shoulder. “I knew that.”
“You did, huh?” He pulled her back into his arms so that her back rested against his chest and his chin nudged the top of her head. He took a deep breath. “You still use the shampoo your mom made for you.”
“Mmm. I guess I'm just a creature of habit.” She peered up at him. “Although you're certainly changing that.”
“I haven't changed anything,” he said seriously. “You're still the same person you were. You're just giving yourself permission to be who you really are.”
“Hmm. Well, one thing's for sure. I never thought I'd get here.”
“Here?”
“In your…I mean, one of the Dalton twins’ arms,” she clarified in a panic.
Rhys stiffened.
She cringed.
Holy moly. Had she actually said that? Not only did she almost reveal how she felt about Rhys, but she'd pretty much implied he and Max were interchangeable. Remembering what he'd said about the woman in the trench coat and lipstick wanting him for his stage persona, rather than himself, she shook her head and wrenched around to face him. “I mean—”
Rhys released her and stood. The frown on his face confirmed that he'd taken her words in the worst way possible.
“So were you thinking of me or Max the whole time?” he said.
“Rhys, I'm sorry. That's not—”
“Maybe you switched back and forth depending on what we were doing? Tell me, was it me you were riding like a wild bronco, or was it my brother?”
She stood, pulling the blanket around her when his hard gaze swept down her naked body. For the first time, she saw disgust in his eyes. She reached out, cringing when he pulled away. “That's not what I meant, Rhys. Honest. Please don't think that.”
“I don't know why I'm surprised,” he said. Raking his hands through his hair, he laughed, a bitter, rancorous sound. “You've always preferred Max's company to mine. Hell, you asked him for a sexual favor. Was it really because of what your boyfriends said, or had it just been a long time for you? Need an itch scratched? Call Max. And, heck, if he can't do it, there's always Rhys.”
Feeling like she was suddenly traversing a minefield, Melina said, “No, that's not—”
Rhys snorted. “No? Come on, Melina, you just said it yourself. Either one of us would have done the trick. Apparently, nothing's changed in twelve years.” He turned away, stalking toward his bedroom.
Stunned, Melina stared at his broad back and tight behind, not sure what had just happened. When his reference to that night twelve years ago registered, however, she narrowed her eyes. “You-you big jerk!” she cried.
Rhys froze and slowly turned toward her. “You big jerk?” he taunted. “You pulled out ‘xenerotica’ and ‘zenophilia,’ but that's the best thing you can come up with?” He strode toward her, the look on his face making her back up in spite of herself. “Come on, Melina. You can do better than that. You're a master with words, right?”
“Stop,” she whispered, torn apart by the nastiness in his tone.
He took hold of her arms then released them, his touch hovering as if he wanted to shake her but was fighting not to. “You used the words 'cock' and 'dick' before. How about 'a*shole’? That's always a good one.”
“Why are you so angry?” she said. “I know what I said sounded bad, but you know I've always loved you.”
“You know what? I don't need that kind of love. At least the women who want to f*ck me for my fame are honest about their motives. You had to pull the pity card to get one of us in your bed.”
She jerked back, too shocked to form a comeback.
By the look on his face, he'd managed to stun himself.
He reached out for her. “Oh, shit. I'm sorry, Melina. I didn't mean—”
She shoved him away with both hands, managing to knock him back a step. “You…you prick!” Blinded by tears, she whirled and tried to run, but her legs got caught up in the blanket and she tripped, falling to the floor. Stunned more than hurt, she flopped around, trying to free her arms and legs so she could get away.
He crouched down next to her, trying to help her. She slapped his hands away. “Don't touch me,” she screamed.
“I'm sorry I said that, Melina. I'm sorry I blew up at all. Will you please listen to me? Please?”
Since he was crowding her and she was shaking so hard that she couldn't get to her feet, she sat up and wrapped her arms around her knees, squeezing them to her chest. In the back of her mind, she remembered she'd started all this with her poor choice of words. Somehow, however, his anger and hostility—something she'd never faced before—wouldn't allow her to soften.
“Fine. But the minute you're done, I'm leaving.” She focused her gaze on the corner of the blanket. Idiot, she thought. She'd known if she ever let herself believe in him that things would end badly. And now she had to live the rest of her life knowing exactly what she was missing.
He nodded. “Okay. If that's what you want, I'll drive you back.”
“I'll drive myself back,” she snapped. “You can figure out how to get to…to wherever you're going next on your own.”
“Okay.” He held out his hands. “Okay, fine.” Slowly, he lowered himself to the floor, sitting in front of her. He dipped his head, trying to get her to look at him. “First, I apologize for what I said. I swore I'd never deliberately hurt you, and I did. Will you accept my apology?”
Still refusing to look at him, she shrugged, refusing to say more.
“What you said about wanting to be with a Dalton twin, it obviously pressed a big button of mine.”
She traced the grain on a plank of hardwood. “I didn't mean it the way it sounded,” she said grudgingly.
“Okay, but you can see how I mistook your meaning, can't you? And why it might bother me that you just saw me as a sexual substitute for my brother?”
Forcing herself to look up, she nodded. “Yes. I can see that, and I tried to apologize right away and explain.”
“I know you did. I accept your apology. Will you explain now?”
She saw the genuine regret on his face and felt it herself. She hated the idea of hurting Rhys or of him being mad at her, but she couldn't cave either. Not without some sort of explanation. “First, I want to know what you meant about me not having changed in twelve years.”
He hesitated briefly. “I meant the way you kissed Max in the gazebo, when I'd asked you to meet me there. I know it was a one-time thing, but I've always viewed that as you exchanging one Dalton twin for the other.”
Amazed, she straightened. “And how do you think I felt about Trisha? There I was, waiting for you for over an hour, thinking you were going to finally…and you were making out with her the whole time. I didn't exchange Max for you. He was just trying to make me feel better. That's why he kissed me. And I'm sorry if that bothers you, but given what you'd done, I don't think you have a right to point fingers at anyone.”
Rhys shook his head, confusion creasing his forehead. “What do you mean, I was making out with Trisha the whole time? I never made out with her.”
Abruptly hiking the blanket to her thighs, Melina jumped to her feet. “Why are you lying?”
Getting to his feet more slowly, Rhys strode past her and into his bedroom.
She watched him in disbelief. “Where are you—”
Before she could finish the question, he was back, pulling on a pair of shorts with stiff, jerky movements. “Did Max tell you I was making out with Trisha?”
She hugged her arms to her chest, not knowing what to think. “Yes. Are you telling me you weren't?”
“That's exactly what I'm telling you.”
She pulled the blanket tighter around her. “But why would Max lie?”
“I've got a pretty good idea.” Rhys threw his hands up in the air and began pacing. “No wonder he felt so bad afterward. Telling me it was nothing. That he'd initiated it. That I shouldn't let it stop me from telling you how I feel.” Coming to a stop, he pointed his finger at her for emphasis. “I sent Max out to tell you why I was late. I caught Trisha throwing up in the bathroom. Caught her making herself throw up. You know how obsessed she was with staying thin. Well, she freaked when I caught her. Thought I would tell her parents, and I sat down with her, telling her that's exactly what she should do. When she'd calmed down and finally agreed, I was walking her out when I saw you kissing Max. Then you just left. When I tried to talk to you, you—”
Shaking, Melina lowered herself to the couch. “I froze you out. I was so crushed, I didn't want to talk to you. Never wanted to talk about that night.”
Rhys dropped down next to her, his elbows on his knees, staring at the floor between his feet.
“You said you had something you wanted to tell me that night. What was it?”
Rhys pressed his lips together. “I was going to ask you out.”
It was what she'd hoped, but to hear him verify it after all these years was almost too good to be true. “Out, out?”
A slow smile curved Rhys's lips. “Yes. Out, out.”
“So you liked me, liked me?” Melina knew she sounded like an idiot, but the ways things were going, she wanted things to be crystal clear.
“Yes,” Rhys said simply.
“I liked you, too. I still do,” she whispered.
Reaching out, he took her hand and squeezed. “Like me, like me?”
She laughed. “Yes.”
“Do you still like me enough to give me a hug?”
She practically leaped into his arms, knocking him over so he fell back with her on top of him. Their mouths met for several long, deep kisses before she pulled back. “I want to ask you something,” she confessed, “but I'm afraid you'll get mad again.”
He hugged her closer. “I might, but I promise to stay calm and let you say what you need to.”
Reaching out, she traced his lips with a finger. Teasingly, he caught the tip of her finger in his teeth, making her giggle. Since the topic was obviously so important to him, however, she forced herself to be serious. “Do you really think people view you and Max as interchangeable? Anyone who knows you sees the differences between you.”
Smoothing his hands up and down her back, he said, “Yeah? And what differences do you see?”
“Max is less certain of himself, and he disguises it by acting cocky. It's why he sleeps with so many women, and why he jokes around so much. You're more introspective, more serious. You put the weight of the world on your shoulders because you care about people so much. Like what you told me about Trisha. You interrupted your own plans to talk with her. Max wouldn't have. Not that Max doesn't care, but he wouldn't have felt comfortable getting that close to someone's scars. He'd have helped her, but by grabbing one of us or your mother to talk to her.”
For a moment, Rhys couldn't respond. He was so choked up by how she saw him that he almost wanted to duck his head and hide for fear that she'd see just how much. Max was more comfortable with people, but she was right: It was mostly on a superficial level. Rhys, their parents, Melina—they were the only ones Max had ever really trusted enough to let inside. Rhys's circle wasn't that much bigger, so he knew Melina was exaggerating to a degree. He still liked how she saw him.
“There's another difference between you, but I'm not sure if I should tell you. It might give you a big head,” she whispered.
He grinned and arched his hips into her, making her gasp. “Too late for that.”
She stretched up so she could whisper in his ear, deliberately dragging her nipples against his chest. “You promise you won't tell anyone?”
Dropping his hands to her lush hips and pulling her in tighter, Rhys groaned, “I promise.”
Raising herself up slightly, Melina looked directly into Rhys's eyes. “You're way better looking than Max,” she deadpanned.
Rhys's eyes widened, then narrowed. “You little—” Digging his fingers into Melina's sides, he tickled her, making her screech and laugh with delight even as she struggled to get away.
He ceased tickling her almost immediately and instead wrapped his arms around her, hugging her tight. The last thing he wanted, he realized, was for her to get away.