READ AN EXCERPT BELOW
To the world, Dash Black is famous and good-looking. To say that he came into my life and upended my world is an understatement. He looked into my eyes and our souls connected. He told me I belonged with him. But sometimes we discover that what is right is more terrifying than what is wrong.
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“You’re always one push from being out the door. We just did that. Are we going to do it again?”
“You’re pushing now,” I say. “That’s the point. You know you’re pushing me. Is that what you want? Because we both know whatever this is, doesn’t fit into your rule book for women.”
“The rule book was gone the minute I met you, Allie. And damn straight I’m pushing you, but not away. To be safe.”
“It feels like more.”
“Because you want it to.”
“Because it is,” I insist.
“No. You’re looking for a reason to run.”
“Oh my God, stop saying that to me, Dash. Because I’m angry at you does not mean I’m going to run or stop lo—” I catch myself before I confess way too much, before I confess my love for him. What am I doing? I try to deflect from my slip up. “Stop saying that to me.”
He reaches around me and opens the door. Before I know his intent, we’re inside the tiny bathroom meant for one, and he’s locking the door.
“We can’t be in here, Dash,” I whisper urgently. “Adrianna will be looking for us.”
“And yet, we are,” he says, his fingers tangling in my hair, tilting my gaze to his as he says, “I’m just making sure you know there’s nowhere to run. I’ll follow. That’s what you’ve done to me, Allie. That’s how much you’ve taken from me.”
“Taken?” I demand. “That’s what I’m doing?”
“Yeah, baby, but it had to be that way. And I like it. Say what you were going to say. You’re not going to stop what?”
His lips curve, his breath a warm tease on my lips. “Well just know this, Allie, I won’t stop wanting you either.”
My God, did we just tell each other we love each other in a public bathroom? “Dash,” I whisper. “Dash, what are we doing?”
“This,” he says, and his mouth closes down on mine again. And just like that, he’s kissing me with such intensity, such passion, I can only moan. I have a vague moment when I realize this is still about control. His control, not my control. The problem is I like it when he’s in control. I like his kisses. I like the way his hands feel on my body and when my skirt is at my waist, and only when my skirt is at my waist, do I jolt back to reality. I catch his wrists. “We can’t.”
“Until we do,” he says, cupping my face, kissing me again, Lord help me, his hand is between my legs, pressing under the silk of my panties.