Page 93 of Parentmoon

I’m not an expert, but wall sex doesn’t seem like a possibility. I’m too heavy for Dallas to hike up, and I’m not being self-deprecating. Also, there’s the whole height difference between us and . . . “Dallas, I’ve got that underwear on again.”

He freezes. “What underwear?”

“That special pair.” I can’t meet his eyes. That form-fitting underwear again, which goes up to my breasts and holds everything tight.

Not understanding, he stares at me. “Are you on your period?”

Cheeks flaming hot, I bite my lower lip and shake my head. “Uhm. No. The pair that holds it all in.”

“Holds what all in?” With my wrists still pinned above my head, he pulls his upper body away from mine. “Let me see.”

“No,” I chortle, rough and defiant. “Absolutely not.”

“Why not?” His head flinches back like I’ve actually hurt him by denying him a glance at my granny panties.

“Because some things are just private.” I wiggle my arms and Dallas releases me. Immediately, I reach for the lower portion of my dress and press it downward. Dallas lets go of the material as well.

“Darlin’?” A question sits in his bright eyes. “I don’t want secrets between us.”

“This isn’t a secret,” I bitterly laugh. “It’s just . . .” Intimate. Humiliating. Maybe I’m overly sensitive. Sharing something like this comes from years of knowing someone and their acceptance of who you are—size, age, change. Like a married couple might share information about hemorrhoids and menopause. Topics typically delicate and difficult but after years of synchronous living, not so much. I don’t know Dallas well-enough to show him how I look wearing this thing.

“I’ve seen you naked.” He stares at me long and hard. “You don’t need anything to ‘hold it all in’.” He purses his lips, then twists them, evidence he still isn’t clearly understanding why this is embarrassing for me.

“That’s sweet but this is different.” I smooth a hand over my lower belly, drawing further attention to the undergarment beneath my dress.

“I want to understand.” He tilts his head.

“And I can’t explain it.”

His eyes pierce mine before he slowly lowers to his knees before me.

“Dallas,” I groan as he lifts my dress again, smoothing his hands beneath the material, climbing over my hips and up to the top of these damn Spanx. He isn’t holding up the skirt to see the material underneath but smoothing his hands over the lycra to explore. He kisses my upper thigh as his fingers curl into the thick banded underwear and rolls the tight fabric downward. His head disappears beneath my dress, and while I want to protest, his mouth meets my skin again, along the indent I’m certain the suction-like band made into my flesh.

As Dallas continues to roll the underwear downward, his lips suck beneath my breasts and over my belly, right down the center. His teeth scrape over my hip until he bites a fleshy patch. Realistically, I can breathe better without the damn body slimmer, but at the same time, I’m breathless under the homage this man pays my body.

His kisses intensify. Teeth nipping deeper, embracing all the thick spots. Lips sucking harder, loving all the curves.

My underwear is tugged down to my ankles where Dallas taps one, so I step out of them. Once removed, he dramatically tosses them over his shoulder without giving them a glance.

Then his phone buzzes.

He’s quick to reach for it. Somehow, the device is on the floor. He checks the messages and stands, one knee cracking then echoed by the other, as he climbs to his full height again.

“They’re going to be late and want us to meet them at the dock.” Mischief fills his eyes. He predicted the newlyweds would take their time in the first hour of being husband and wife.

And in the next hour, I learn that Dallas Cole is very capable of wall sex.

Chapter 23

The catamaran is large enough to hold twenty people. With a net over the water between the glides and a covered lounge area complete with tables and a bar, it’s an intimate space.

As soon as people learn that Michael and Keli are newlyweds, effective only an hour or so ago, sixteen strangers and the crew become their new best friends, constantly congratulating them. Beer bottles are tapped like champagne glasses during a reception, encouraging Michael and Keli to kiss. Champagne is found and poured, and rum punch flows like the blood in our veins.

Dallas and I have a few awkward moments trying to explain who we are in relation to the newly married couple.

“So, you’re the father of the bride?” someone asks.

“Yes,” Dallas says, rubbing a hand up my back.