Page 87 of Big Dick Energy

Silence.

The limo pulled away from the restaurant, leaving the camera flashes behind, and Dallas stared out the window.

I lasted approximately forty-five seconds.

“Okay, what's going on?”

He didn't turn from the window. “Nothing.”

“That's a lie.” I twisted in my seat to face him fully. “You've been weird since I brought up the dating advice thing. Did I say something wrong?”

“No.”

“Then why are you being weird?”

“I'm not being weird.”

“Dallas.” I reached over and grabbed his arm, forcing him to look at me. “You've said maybe twelve words in the last twenty minutes. That's some kind of record for you. What's wrong?”

His eyes met mine. “The advice,” he said finally. “I can't give it to you.”

I blinked. “Why not?”

He was quiet for a long moment, his jaw working like he was chewing on words he didn't want to say.

“Because there's nothing to fix,” he said at last.

“What?”

“Your big dick energy.” He turned to face me fully. “There's nothing wrong with it. There's nothing wrong with you.”

“But you said…”

“I know what I said,” he cut me off, “I was wrong. You don't need to tone anything down, Davina. You don't need to be less intimidating or less successful or less anything. You're...” He trailed off, shaking his head.

“I'm what?”

“Perfect.” The word came out rough, almost angry. “You're fucking perfect the way you are, and any man who can't handle that doesn't deserve you.”

The air between us felt suddenly charged, like the moment before a storm breaks.

“Then why did you agree to help me change?”

“Because I'm an idiot.” He huffed out a humorless laugh. “Because I thought if I was coaching you to date other people, I'd have an excuse to spend time with you.”

My brain struggled to keep up. “What are you saying?”

“I'm saying...” He exhaled hard, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I'm saying I sat across from you tonight, watching you laugh and eat tiramisu and be the most brilliant, maddening, beautiful person I've ever met, and then you asked me to help you find someone else, and I wanted to flip the table.”

“Dallas…”

“The thought of you going on dates with other men makes me want to commit actual crimes, Davina. Not metaphorical crimes. Actual, prosecutable offenses. So no. I can't help you date other people. I won't. The very concept makes me want to put my fist through a wall.”

The limo rolled to a stop at a red light, and we didn’t move. The silence was so thick I could hear my own heartbeat thundering in my ears.

The light turned green, the car lurched forward, and Dallas moved. One moment, he was across the seat, the next, his hands were framing my face, his mouth crashing down on mine in a kiss. It was nothing like the soft, public kisses from the restaurant. This was all heat and hunger and desperate, clawing need that stole the air from my lungs.

I gasped against his mouth, my hands flying up to grip his shoulders. He didn't ease up. He deepened the kiss, his tongue sweeping past my lips, demanding a response I gave without thought. A low groan vibrated from his chest into mine.