Dare to Submit by Carly Phillips Page A

need. She didn’t care that she was still dressed, only that he could fill her and ease the empty ache he’d created.
    “Now say it again.”
    She wrinkled her nose though he couldn’t see. “Say what?” she asked, wriggling her behind, wanting him so badly she could barely speak.
    “My name. Say my name,” he muttered, sliding his fingers through her weeping sex.
    “Decklan, please,” she said without hesitation.
    And was rewarded with the glide of his cock between her thighs. As a tease, it worked. More moisture pooled and inner walls clenched desperately.
    “Is this what you want?” he asked, his entire body covering hers, his cock lined up at her entrance.
    She arched back toward him in response. That’s all it took for his control to snap. He thrust so deep she felt him everywhere. He gave her no time to prepare or catch her breath. One hand on her hip, he picked up a rough rhythm she needed as much as he did. With every drive forward, his hips hit hers and forced her forward on the bed. Only his grip held her in place. The sounds of their heavy breathing and groans mixed together. He filled her in ways she hadn’t known she was empty, made her feel things she hadn’t thought she was capable of feeling. He took, yes, but he gave so much more.
    He’d found that spot inside her, and with every thrust and glide, she reached higher, stars, rainbows, and all sorts of fireworks building inside her, ready to go off any moment. As if he knew, he reached around and slid his fingers over her clit, adding even more stimulation to her already sensitized, ready-to-blow body.
    She cried out, reaching for everything he offered.
    “Come, baby, because I sure as hell am.” He pulled out and plunged deep, his finger bit into her sex, and she exploded around him, her orgasm taking her higher than she’d ever been before. And even as she came, she was aware of him following her over, spilling himself inside her in the most intimate, sensual way.
    She wasn’t sure how much time had passed when she became aware of her breathing again or his heaviness holding her into the mattress.
    In tune with her, he rolled over with a groan. “That was spectacular.”
    An unfamiliar feeling of warmth and pride crept over her. “Yeah?”
    He gripped her face between his hands and kissed her hard on the lips. “Absolutely.”
    She grinned. “Well, good. And I happen to agree.”
    He laughed and flopped back onto the bed.
    When they could both finally move, they took a shared shower, which led to her soaping him up and learning his body in ways she’d never before experienced with another man. And visa versa. He cleaned her up, helped her wash her hair, and wrapped her up in her favorite fluffy towel before wrapping one around his waist too.
    Her stomach chose that moment to growl unattractively. “Sorry.”
    He shook his head and laughed. “No worries. I’m starving too.”
    “There’s a great Italian place downstairs. I thought maybe we could eat there? If you want me to cook, I can do that tomorrow.”
    “I came here to be with you. It doesn’t matter where we go or what we do.”
    She shook her head, grateful he was so easygoing—at least outside of the bedroom. And she was glad they could spend time together in her world too. She felt safe taking Decklan out here. She’d only recently moved to this apartment complex, and nobody knew her well enough to question whom she went to dinner with. It was only within the D.C. political world where Brad’s father’s people paid attention.

TWELVE
    T he restaurant Amanda had chosen was a quiet one on the corner near her apartment complex. The walls were painted a pale blue, the lighting low, most of the patrons their age, people who looked like they’d just come from work and others who were dressed even more casually. Decklan felt comfortable here, with her.
    They ate in easy silence. He tried the chicken piccata special; she chose the Marsala. The food was great, the company