Once all six gifts are safely in my hand she opens the bag for me to pour them back in. Before I do, I take the ‘Touch Me’ one. I shake the other five in the bag.
Grinning and stretching my legs out, I lift my h*ps off the seat and stick that one in my front pocket as she looks at me quizzically.
“What? I’m saving it for later. You know, in case I want to cash it in.”
“They’re guitar picks silly. They’re not sexual favor chips!”
“I know what they are!” I say, sitting back in my seat and putting the car in the drive. Then glancing over at her I ask, “Did you give these to me as a present?”
Her lips purse in that adorable way she has when she’s trying to explain something. “Yessss”
“Well then, they can be whatever I want them to be.”
She just shakes her head at me. “Okay, Loverboy.”
We’re driving down the highway listening to music when The Mighty Storm’s Through it All comes on the radio. Dahlia is quiet as she listens to the lyrics. It’s like she’s absorbing the great sound, almost as if trying to memorize it. Once the song finishes, I turn down the volume and look over at her. “Did I ever tell you we opened for Jake Wethers a couple of years ago?”
“Before Johnny died? No f**king way! You knew both of them?” she responds immediately, practically jumping out of her seat.
“Yes f**king way,” I direct right back, but without any of her enthusiasm. I don’t apologize for using the F-word since I consciously decided to use it to make my point.
“Wow, you really met Jake Wethers? That’s amazing! I would love to meet him. I think he’s a musical genius. I am so sad to hear about his problems now, but I’m sure he’ll pull through it.”
“Yeah, the whole situation sucks. He had it together when we met him and his band and I’m sure he’ll pull it together again.” I stop to think how hard it would be if I lost someone.
Shaking my head to rid those thoughts I go on. “We even hung out after the show. All of the guys were pretty cool. We actually learned a lot from them just playing with them the one time.”
“I’m impressed. Jake Wethers. Hmm . . . Who else have you met? Any of the guys from One Direction?”
“No,” I laugh. “Their music isn’t exactly my type of music, but do you like the D-bags?” I ask her, knowing what I’m about to tell her will definitely freak her out if she does.
“Of course I do! I love Kellan Kyle! You know him too?”
I nod my head. “I met him once before we went on our first tour. He was in LA with his friend Evan, you know the drummer in his band?”
“Of course I know who Evan is! Kellan met him on his way to LA while passing through Oregon.”
“Oh I have no idea how he met Evan. Anyway, they came to Smitten's to jam with us, but that was the last I saw of them. They met a few guys here in LA and I think that’s when they formed the D-Bags. I never heard of them again until they went on tour last year.” I look over at her again as I tell her, “Bell met Kellan too. She spent most of the night he jammed with us talking to him in between sets and then met up with him later after we were done.”
“Your sister went on a date with Kellan Kyle?”
“I wouldn’t call it a date, and please don’t ask me for the details because I never did.”
“See, you are famous,” she says, smiling over at me and finally sitting back down.
“No, I’m really not. I’ve told you this,” I tell her again. I’m not jealous, of course. I think it’s cute actually that she loves music so much, and certain artists get her so excited. The excitement dies down, and we talk about other artists I’ve met and she’s met.
As I pass the exit that leads to our house, she points to the sign as I zoom by it. “Wait a minute, where are we going?”
Looking over at her, I say, “It’s a surprise. You’ll see, but we’re not sleeping at home tonight.”
“So, where are we sleeping on Valentine’s Day? Please don’t tell me we’re sleeping on an air mattress.
Laughing as I turn the music up, I answer, “In a bed.”
She pouts her lips and reaches her long slender arm to turn the volume back down. “In a bed—where?
I love when she pouts her lips like that. She looks so hot.
Using the word she always uses on me, I say, “Yesss . . .”
“Where are we going?” she huffs out.
I have to laugh because I think she might be having a fit in the seat of my car. “You’re not going to stomp your feet and cross your arms, are you? Because if you are, I’m going to have to pull over to watch this.”
She sticks her tongue out at me, and I try to grab it, but she moves away to quickly.
I turn the music back up and sing along, waiting for her next question, but she’s good at playing any game I throw her way. She doesn’t say anything as she shifts in her seat and hikes her dress up just a little higher. I give her a quick glance and look back at the road. I can play too. She stretches and her top slips down slightly. Damn she’s good. I keep singing and humming, thumping my fingers to the beat on the steering wheel, trying to ignore her provocative moves.
Then, she breaks and starts to speak.
I grin over at her.
“So, are you going to tell me where we’re going?” she asks again.
“Nope.”
“Well, that’s too bad because I have a secret I want to share. And I was thinking a trade was in order. You know one for one,” she says, twisting a little, leaning her elbow on the console, and placing her chin in the palm of her hand.
“Not interested.”
“Oh I think you might be, especially since it has something to do with what I’m
wearing . . .Oh, I mean, not wearing.”
I whip my head around and glance her way. “You’re lying.”
Sitting up straight, she runs her fingers from the top of her boots to beneath her skirt where I can’t see them anymore. “Tell me where we’re going and find out for yourself.”
Instantly reaching my hand over to her lap, I blurt out, “The Beverly Wilshire.” I drive faster so I can just get there already.
Okay, so she’s good.
“Oh my God. I’ve heard it’s amazing there! How’d you manage to get a reservation so quickly and for Valentine’s Day? I thought they book out almost a year in advance.”
I have to laugh because she thinks she knows me so well already, and actually she does.
Tapping my fingers on her leg, I answer, “I’ll never tell.”
“Fine, be that way.”
“Providing details wasn’t part of the trade. But a deal’s a deal.”
My fingers start to creep up her thigh. I can feel her soft skin and get hard instantly. Actually, I feel like I’ve had a raging hard-on since she put those boots on. I don’t give a shit about hearts and flowers anymore. I want her. I need to taste her. I want to be inside her. So I drive even faster.
I run my fingers all the way up the inside of her legs. Fuck, she wasn’t lying. She’s not wearing panties. I start to move my fingers and I can feel how wet she is. She’s just so f**king hot. Then suddenly she presses her hand on top of mine and pushes it away.
Grinning mischievously, she says, “That’s enough for now.” Shocked, I look over at her, and she seems to be the perfect picture of calmness.
On the other hand, my pulse is racing, and I feel like I’m the one who’s going to have the tantrum. “What? Why?” I mutter.
She takes my hand and holds it in hers as she crosses her legs. “Because, providing details wasn’t part of the trade.”
I’m horny as hell as I pull up to the hotel, and I hope the evidence in my jeans isn’t too noticeable as I hand the valet my keys. I’ve already checked us in, and I have the room key in my pocket, so we head straight to the elevators.
We’re finally alone in the elevator. My heart is beating about seven times too fast as I reach out and grab her. Pressing her body against the wall, I pull her mouth to mine and enjoy the taste of her. This is not a loving romantic kiss. That time has passed.
“I want you, now,” I manage between my wet and tongue-filled kisses.
“I want you too.”
Staggering out of the elevator, not wanting to unlock my lips from hers, I try to pull the key out of my back pocket, but she’s distracting me. Her fingers are in the waistband of my boxers, and she’s sliding them around to the front trying to unbutton my fly as I try to blindly reach behind and pull the keycard out.
We make our way to the room, and I somehow manage to open the door. As we enter, I shove her dress down, and it immediately falls to the ground. Fuck, she isn’t wearing a bra either. Inhaling deeply, I step back to just look at her. She’s standing in front of me in her fuck-me boots and pearls only. I really want to take a picture of her. I know I’ll never forget her image like this, right now, but I want to be able to see her whenever she’s not with me.
She stands there watching me watch her. I see her breath picking up as she runs her fingers through her hair.
I take another step back and glance around the room. “Champagne? I ask pointing to the bottle chilling on the table near the window and the bowl of strawberries next to it.
“Absolutely,” she says, standing there biting her lip.
Walking over to where the bottle is, I pop the cork and pour us a glass, adding two strawberries to hers. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure, anything,” she answers, and I love that she feels completely comfortable with her body around me.
“Can I take your picture?” I’m a little nervous asking because I really have no idea what she will say, other than calling me a pervert probably.
She slowly walks over to me and takes the glass of champagne I put the two strawberries in. She takes the berry I pushed onto the rim, dips it in the liquid, and bites it. “Maybe we can barter?”
Swallowing at the sight of her, all of my nervousness is gone instantly.
I take another berry from the bowl, dip it into her glass, and press it to her lips. “Oh yeah. What did you have in mind?”
“I want a picture too.”
Furrowing my brow, I ask, “You want a na**d picture of me in pearls and boots?”
Giggling, she says, “No, silly. I want a picture of you . . .” She sets her glass down and quickly unbuttons my shirt, tossing it aside. “Wearing only your jeans and . . .”
Moving my mouth to hers, I lick the champagne off her lips. “And?”
“Your picture first,” she says, sucking on my bottom lip before moving back.
Shrugging my shoulders, I reach into my front pocket and pull out my phone. The ‘Touch Me’ pick is in there as well. I smile as I pull it out. “I’ll save this for later,” I say, raising the tab before placing it on the table.
She starts to make all sorts of absurd poses, and I pretend to be a fashion photographer telling her what to do. We do this for at least five minutes as her poses go from nice to naughty, and my horny meter rises off the charts from the site of her in just those boots and her beautiful pearls.
“Okay play time is over. Time for the real picture.”
“Okay, bossy pants,” she says with her hands on her hips. “Where do you want me?”
“Right there,” I point to where she’s standing as I lean over and gently kiss her. “Thank you.”
She gives me a soft smile, and I hit the camera button three times to ensure one of the pictures is good. I scroll to the camera roll and look. “You really are so beautiful Dahlia,” I say, handing her my phone to look.
“I don’t want to see myself na**d you pervert,” she quips, and I start full out laughing. I grab our glasses and handing her one, I toast, “Happy Valentine’s Day, beautiful girl.”
“Happy Valentine’s Day, River. I love you.”
We both take a sip and I grab another berry from the bowl and dip it in her glass but his time I don’t run it over lips, I trail it down her chest. Then with the tip of my tongue I follow the path I made with the champagne. Her ni**les harden instantly as I circle one then the other before sliding my tongue back up her chest, her neck, and to her ear where I whisper, “I want you now.”
“Ah ah ah,” she says, waving her finger at me.
Walking over to the bed where she threw her purse, she pulls out a tube of lipstick and smears it on her lips.
“You don’t need that, you know. It’s not like we’re going anywhere,” I tell her, confused as to why she’d put that stuff on now.
“I know. It’s for my picture.”
“I already took your picture, Dahlia.”
“No silly, the one I’m taking of you.”
“Oh no, I’m not wearing lipstick,” I warn. “That wasn’t part of the deal.”
Walking back over to me with that tube in her hand she says, “Oh you’re wearing it, just not on your lips.”
Standing in front of me, she starts firmly pressing her lips all over my shoulders, chest, and stomach. When she finishes, she pushes me over to the bed. “Lie down.”
“Who’s the bossy one?” I laugh.
She ignores me and grabs for her phone. If I’m lucky, she would have forgot to charge it again. Shit. I guess not. She starts snapping pictures of me.
“I’m not posing,” I say as I just lay on the bed with my hands behind my head.
“Suit yourself.”
I love how easy going she is.
Grinning and stretching my legs out, I lift my h*ps off the seat and stick that one in my front pocket as she looks at me quizzically.
“What? I’m saving it for later. You know, in case I want to cash it in.”
“They’re guitar picks silly. They’re not sexual favor chips!”
“I know what they are!” I say, sitting back in my seat and putting the car in the drive. Then glancing over at her I ask, “Did you give these to me as a present?”
Her lips purse in that adorable way she has when she’s trying to explain something. “Yessss”
“Well then, they can be whatever I want them to be.”
She just shakes her head at me. “Okay, Loverboy.”
We’re driving down the highway listening to music when The Mighty Storm’s Through it All comes on the radio. Dahlia is quiet as she listens to the lyrics. It’s like she’s absorbing the great sound, almost as if trying to memorize it. Once the song finishes, I turn down the volume and look over at her. “Did I ever tell you we opened for Jake Wethers a couple of years ago?”
“Before Johnny died? No f**king way! You knew both of them?” she responds immediately, practically jumping out of her seat.
“Yes f**king way,” I direct right back, but without any of her enthusiasm. I don’t apologize for using the F-word since I consciously decided to use it to make my point.
“Wow, you really met Jake Wethers? That’s amazing! I would love to meet him. I think he’s a musical genius. I am so sad to hear about his problems now, but I’m sure he’ll pull through it.”
“Yeah, the whole situation sucks. He had it together when we met him and his band and I’m sure he’ll pull it together again.” I stop to think how hard it would be if I lost someone.
Shaking my head to rid those thoughts I go on. “We even hung out after the show. All of the guys were pretty cool. We actually learned a lot from them just playing with them the one time.”
“I’m impressed. Jake Wethers. Hmm . . . Who else have you met? Any of the guys from One Direction?”
“No,” I laugh. “Their music isn’t exactly my type of music, but do you like the D-bags?” I ask her, knowing what I’m about to tell her will definitely freak her out if she does.
“Of course I do! I love Kellan Kyle! You know him too?”
I nod my head. “I met him once before we went on our first tour. He was in LA with his friend Evan, you know the drummer in his band?”
“Of course I know who Evan is! Kellan met him on his way to LA while passing through Oregon.”
“Oh I have no idea how he met Evan. Anyway, they came to Smitten's to jam with us, but that was the last I saw of them. They met a few guys here in LA and I think that’s when they formed the D-Bags. I never heard of them again until they went on tour last year.” I look over at her again as I tell her, “Bell met Kellan too. She spent most of the night he jammed with us talking to him in between sets and then met up with him later after we were done.”
“Your sister went on a date with Kellan Kyle?”
“I wouldn’t call it a date, and please don’t ask me for the details because I never did.”
“See, you are famous,” she says, smiling over at me and finally sitting back down.
“No, I’m really not. I’ve told you this,” I tell her again. I’m not jealous, of course. I think it’s cute actually that she loves music so much, and certain artists get her so excited. The excitement dies down, and we talk about other artists I’ve met and she’s met.
As I pass the exit that leads to our house, she points to the sign as I zoom by it. “Wait a minute, where are we going?”
Looking over at her, I say, “It’s a surprise. You’ll see, but we’re not sleeping at home tonight.”
“So, where are we sleeping on Valentine’s Day? Please don’t tell me we’re sleeping on an air mattress.
Laughing as I turn the music up, I answer, “In a bed.”
She pouts her lips and reaches her long slender arm to turn the volume back down. “In a bed—where?
I love when she pouts her lips like that. She looks so hot.
Using the word she always uses on me, I say, “Yesss . . .”
“Where are we going?” she huffs out.
I have to laugh because I think she might be having a fit in the seat of my car. “You’re not going to stomp your feet and cross your arms, are you? Because if you are, I’m going to have to pull over to watch this.”
She sticks her tongue out at me, and I try to grab it, but she moves away to quickly.
I turn the music back up and sing along, waiting for her next question, but she’s good at playing any game I throw her way. She doesn’t say anything as she shifts in her seat and hikes her dress up just a little higher. I give her a quick glance and look back at the road. I can play too. She stretches and her top slips down slightly. Damn she’s good. I keep singing and humming, thumping my fingers to the beat on the steering wheel, trying to ignore her provocative moves.
Then, she breaks and starts to speak.
I grin over at her.
“So, are you going to tell me where we’re going?” she asks again.
“Nope.”
“Well, that’s too bad because I have a secret I want to share. And I was thinking a trade was in order. You know one for one,” she says, twisting a little, leaning her elbow on the console, and placing her chin in the palm of her hand.
“Not interested.”
“Oh I think you might be, especially since it has something to do with what I’m
wearing . . .Oh, I mean, not wearing.”
I whip my head around and glance her way. “You’re lying.”
Sitting up straight, she runs her fingers from the top of her boots to beneath her skirt where I can’t see them anymore. “Tell me where we’re going and find out for yourself.”
Instantly reaching my hand over to her lap, I blurt out, “The Beverly Wilshire.” I drive faster so I can just get there already.
Okay, so she’s good.
“Oh my God. I’ve heard it’s amazing there! How’d you manage to get a reservation so quickly and for Valentine’s Day? I thought they book out almost a year in advance.”
I have to laugh because she thinks she knows me so well already, and actually she does.
Tapping my fingers on her leg, I answer, “I’ll never tell.”
“Fine, be that way.”
“Providing details wasn’t part of the trade. But a deal’s a deal.”
My fingers start to creep up her thigh. I can feel her soft skin and get hard instantly. Actually, I feel like I’ve had a raging hard-on since she put those boots on. I don’t give a shit about hearts and flowers anymore. I want her. I need to taste her. I want to be inside her. So I drive even faster.
I run my fingers all the way up the inside of her legs. Fuck, she wasn’t lying. She’s not wearing panties. I start to move my fingers and I can feel how wet she is. She’s just so f**king hot. Then suddenly she presses her hand on top of mine and pushes it away.
Grinning mischievously, she says, “That’s enough for now.” Shocked, I look over at her, and she seems to be the perfect picture of calmness.
On the other hand, my pulse is racing, and I feel like I’m the one who’s going to have the tantrum. “What? Why?” I mutter.
She takes my hand and holds it in hers as she crosses her legs. “Because, providing details wasn’t part of the trade.”
I’m horny as hell as I pull up to the hotel, and I hope the evidence in my jeans isn’t too noticeable as I hand the valet my keys. I’ve already checked us in, and I have the room key in my pocket, so we head straight to the elevators.
We’re finally alone in the elevator. My heart is beating about seven times too fast as I reach out and grab her. Pressing her body against the wall, I pull her mouth to mine and enjoy the taste of her. This is not a loving romantic kiss. That time has passed.
“I want you, now,” I manage between my wet and tongue-filled kisses.
“I want you too.”
Staggering out of the elevator, not wanting to unlock my lips from hers, I try to pull the key out of my back pocket, but she’s distracting me. Her fingers are in the waistband of my boxers, and she’s sliding them around to the front trying to unbutton my fly as I try to blindly reach behind and pull the keycard out.
We make our way to the room, and I somehow manage to open the door. As we enter, I shove her dress down, and it immediately falls to the ground. Fuck, she isn’t wearing a bra either. Inhaling deeply, I step back to just look at her. She’s standing in front of me in her fuck-me boots and pearls only. I really want to take a picture of her. I know I’ll never forget her image like this, right now, but I want to be able to see her whenever she’s not with me.
She stands there watching me watch her. I see her breath picking up as she runs her fingers through her hair.
I take another step back and glance around the room. “Champagne? I ask pointing to the bottle chilling on the table near the window and the bowl of strawberries next to it.
“Absolutely,” she says, standing there biting her lip.
Walking over to where the bottle is, I pop the cork and pour us a glass, adding two strawberries to hers. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure, anything,” she answers, and I love that she feels completely comfortable with her body around me.
“Can I take your picture?” I’m a little nervous asking because I really have no idea what she will say, other than calling me a pervert probably.
She slowly walks over to me and takes the glass of champagne I put the two strawberries in. She takes the berry I pushed onto the rim, dips it in the liquid, and bites it. “Maybe we can barter?”
Swallowing at the sight of her, all of my nervousness is gone instantly.
I take another berry from the bowl, dip it into her glass, and press it to her lips. “Oh yeah. What did you have in mind?”
“I want a picture too.”
Furrowing my brow, I ask, “You want a na**d picture of me in pearls and boots?”
Giggling, she says, “No, silly. I want a picture of you . . .” She sets her glass down and quickly unbuttons my shirt, tossing it aside. “Wearing only your jeans and . . .”
Moving my mouth to hers, I lick the champagne off her lips. “And?”
“Your picture first,” she says, sucking on my bottom lip before moving back.
Shrugging my shoulders, I reach into my front pocket and pull out my phone. The ‘Touch Me’ pick is in there as well. I smile as I pull it out. “I’ll save this for later,” I say, raising the tab before placing it on the table.
She starts to make all sorts of absurd poses, and I pretend to be a fashion photographer telling her what to do. We do this for at least five minutes as her poses go from nice to naughty, and my horny meter rises off the charts from the site of her in just those boots and her beautiful pearls.
“Okay play time is over. Time for the real picture.”
“Okay, bossy pants,” she says with her hands on her hips. “Where do you want me?”
“Right there,” I point to where she’s standing as I lean over and gently kiss her. “Thank you.”
She gives me a soft smile, and I hit the camera button three times to ensure one of the pictures is good. I scroll to the camera roll and look. “You really are so beautiful Dahlia,” I say, handing her my phone to look.
“I don’t want to see myself na**d you pervert,” she quips, and I start full out laughing. I grab our glasses and handing her one, I toast, “Happy Valentine’s Day, beautiful girl.”
“Happy Valentine’s Day, River. I love you.”
We both take a sip and I grab another berry from the bowl and dip it in her glass but his time I don’t run it over lips, I trail it down her chest. Then with the tip of my tongue I follow the path I made with the champagne. Her ni**les harden instantly as I circle one then the other before sliding my tongue back up her chest, her neck, and to her ear where I whisper, “I want you now.”
“Ah ah ah,” she says, waving her finger at me.
Walking over to the bed where she threw her purse, she pulls out a tube of lipstick and smears it on her lips.
“You don’t need that, you know. It’s not like we’re going anywhere,” I tell her, confused as to why she’d put that stuff on now.
“I know. It’s for my picture.”
“I already took your picture, Dahlia.”
“No silly, the one I’m taking of you.”
“Oh no, I’m not wearing lipstick,” I warn. “That wasn’t part of the deal.”
Walking back over to me with that tube in her hand she says, “Oh you’re wearing it, just not on your lips.”
Standing in front of me, she starts firmly pressing her lips all over my shoulders, chest, and stomach. When she finishes, she pushes me over to the bed. “Lie down.”
“Who’s the bossy one?” I laugh.
She ignores me and grabs for her phone. If I’m lucky, she would have forgot to charge it again. Shit. I guess not. She starts snapping pictures of me.
“I’m not posing,” I say as I just lay on the bed with my hands behind my head.
“Suit yourself.”
I love how easy going she is.
