Filed to story: My Dark Romeo (Dallas & Romeo) Drama Story
It was on the tip of my tongue to tell Dallas to learn about the pleasures of sex through Tumblr and a dildo. Then Zach’s words drifted into my memory.
Try to make an effort.
There was no reason to butt horns with this delectable, strong-headed, simple creature before me. Our short time spent together would be more pleasant if I humored her every once in a while.
“Please.” The word tasted foreign. I pulled both corners of my lips up, trying my hand at a smile.
“Ugh, stop making that face. It looks like you’re planning to eat me.”
I was planning to eat her, though not in the way her innocent head thought.
She peeked around, disoriented, completely missing the fact that there was a stewardess behind her.
“Oh, whatever. Life’s too short, and if anyone ever asks, I’ll deny ever getting close to you.” She stood and made her way to me. Shortbread draped herself across my lap, blinking up at me expectantly. “What now?”
There were a few options, all of them filthy and depraved, but I figured the safest route to take would be to leave her begging for more.
And that meant postponing my own release and prepping her for the future. She would have to adhere to my certain tastes and rules, some of them I had yet to explore myself.
My eyes dropped to the MIT hoodie. “Did I give you permission to wear my sweatshirt?”
“Well, no, but-“
“Take it off. Now.”
She opened her mouth, about to argue. I tipped an eyebrow up, daring her to.
“Right. Right.” She pursed her lips, catching the hem of my sweatshirt and pulling it off, remaining only in her bra. “I guess that’s…sexy talk, right?”
I couldn’t decide if she was adorable or pitiful. More than likely, she was both.
But as her magnificent breasts stared back at me, barely contained by her strapless bra and begging for attention, I forgot whom they were attached to altogether.
Seizing her by the ass, I pulled her to grind against my cock. She jerked forward, her face an inch from mine.
“This is what you do to me.” I lifted her up by the ass, then slammed her back down on my cock. She gasped, her eyes flaring. “I’ve run beyond the scope of disliking you, Shortbread. In fact, I should invent a new word altogether for what I feel for you. And still, I cannot, for the life of me, resist your temptation.”
Instead of quarreling, Shortbread seemed to get the hang of it and shut me up with a dirty, wet kiss.
It was all tongue and teeth. An amateur kiss, like a fawn trying its luck on its legs for the first time. Clumsy, yet magical.
She didn’t even draw back to take a single breath. Her tongue found mine, and she was no longer timid and unsure.
She wanted this.
Trembling, her hands roamed everywhere. My face, my hair, my shoulders, my pecs, my scars. They lingered over the jagged, pronounced skin, and I knew she wanted to know what happened.
My mouth moved south from her lips to her chin, then down to her throat and collarbone, leaving hot, wet kisses everywhere it landed.
She tipped her head back and groaned. Her fingers gripped my hair, tugging too hard, too desperately. I yanked her bra down to her waist, popping her tits free.
“We’re not alone.” She panted, gyrating on my cock.
I knew I would regret it when we landed and my balls turned the color of blueberries, but I couldn’t stop myself.
“She won’t breathe a word. She’s under contract.” I groaned into her skin, catching her nipple between my teeth and tugging at it until she held her breath.
I felt the airplane lower and knew we must have neared Paris. However, neither the stewardess nor the pilots were dumb enough to approach me while I was busy devouring Dallas’s tits like they were my very last meal.
I licked and sucked and tugged and scraped at her pale-pink nipples, cupping her tits and giving them a tender slap every now and then.
My dick pulsated between her legs. I could tell her clit was pressing over my strained zipper because the friction was driving her crazy.
Her head lolled from side to side. “Oh, Lord. This is so…so…”
But she couldn’t find the right word, and I was in no hurry to encourage her to talk.
“Sir…” A voice drifted from the background. It was distinctively male, which meant the stewardess didn’t want to deal with me herself. She’d sent a pilot. “We’re fast approaching Le Bourget. In fact, we’re scheduled to land in fifteen minutes and already got the green light from the-“
“No,” I said with conviction, my mouth enclosed around Dallas’s entire tit. I covered most of her innocence with my arms, but I still didn’t like that he hovered next to us like a creep. “Leave.”
“Sir, we have to prepare for landi-“
“No, we don’t.” I lifted my head from between Shortbread’s chest, shooting daggers at him with my eyes. “My plane, my rules. We have enough fuel to circle around for another hour.”
“An hour? That’s a waste of-“
“Your entire being is a waste. Can’t you see I’m pleasuring my wife? Either you find your way back into the cockpit and circle around Paris until we’re done, or I’ll kick you out of here myself.”
He bolted back into the cockpit, where, I assumed, the stewardess also hid for the remainder of the flight while I showered Dallas’s tits with kisses, licks, and sucks.
She giggled as soon as he left and thrust her breasts in my face, basking in the attention. “You’re so awful.”
“I don’t remember you standing up for dear Paddy when I told him to turn the plane around.”
I dove right back to doing what appeared to be working best for me and my wife-me driving her to the edge of orgasm without actually taking her to her destination point, and her giggling and pulling at my hair until I went bald.
When the plane landed an hour later, Dallas’s chest was red, raw, and full of marks. It was also covered by my MIT hoodie and a coat I threw on her, just in case.
Overall, not the best flight I’d had by a long mile.
But at least, unlike the one we’d shared from Georgia, I didn’t nearly kill anyone.
Which reminded me…
I hoped, wherever Scott was, he remembered his new life motto.
Never touch what belonged to Romeo Costa Jr.
Dallas’s POV
I didn’t have many expectations for my Parisian honeymoon.
And still, my husband managed to disappoint me.
After we landed in Paris, the most romantic city in the world, Romeo and I checked in to the extravagant honeymoon suite at Le Bristol Paris.
What I should’ve done was tear off his hoodie and rinse away the flush from our earlier encounter on the plane.
Instead, I twirled my suitcase by its handle, admiring Montmartre through the open terrace doors. “Do you want to do brunch, then hit some tourist spots?”
Already, Romeo stripped off his tux jacket, laying another crisp suit on our bed. “I have back-to-back meetings with some clients and an old university friend.”
He was leaving me to fend for myself on our honeymoon?
Since trying to appeal to his MIA conscience proved futile, I settled on another approach. The whipped cream tactic.
“Sounds good.” I shrugged, unzipping my suitcase by the foot of the bed. Cara had packed me enough lingerie to seduce the entire French nation. “I’ll see you around when I see you around, I guess.”
He stalled in front of the bathroom, scars peeking past his unbuttoned dress shirt, and produced his phone, tossing it into my hands.
“Put your number in here. The last thing I need is for you to get lost.”
With any luck, I’d be kidnapped for ransom à la Taken. Surely, the kidnappers would be better company.
I punched in my number, volleying his phone back.
He pressed dial and killed the call when my ringtone pierced the air.
Such trust issues.
“Good girl.”
“Bad husband.”
“Stop pretending you want to spend time with me any more than I want to spend time with you.”
Pathetically, I did want to spend time with him.