Gypsy king

It was impossible to keep the smile off my face as I drove to the newspaper. Even with only a few hours of sleep, I was rested and fresh.

Dash and I had fallen into my bed last night, emotionally exhausted and full. He hadn’t made a move for sex. Neither of us had. He’d slept in his boxers. I’d pulled on a tank top and shorts. Then, with his hand slipped underneath the hem of my shirt, we’d fallen asleep.

His palm had stayed warm on my skin all night.

He’d probably be gone when I returned home. Dash had been hit by an emotional steamroller last night and needed time to work it all out. I only hoped he knew he could turn to me if he needed a sympathetic ear.

Last night, things had moved way past my story. This wasn’t about me anymore. Or Amina Daylee. Or Genevieve. Or even Draven. This was about Dash.

My feelings for him could no longer be ignored. When Dad asked me for a story on the Tin Gypsies, I’d tell him a lie. There wasn’t one worth printing.

A story wasn’t worth breaking Dash’s heart. He’d had enough of that in his life. He wouldn’t get more from me.

Coming through the rear entrance to the pressroom, I found Dad standing by the Goss. “Hi, Dad.”

“How’s my girl?” he asked as I kissed his cheek.

“Good. How’s it looking?”

He handed over the sample paper in his hands. “We’re about done. I’ve got one last run here. BK is working on the bundles.”

Sca

“It couldn’t have turned out better,” I told Dad. “I’ll go help out BK.”

After an hour of bundling papers and organizing them into stacks, we greeted the delivery drivers in the loading dock. Five parents with their five kids pulled into the parking lot about the same time. They’d be driving papers through town and the surrounding areas this morning.

Most of our subscribers would have their news before seven.

“What are you up to for the rest of the day?” Dad asked as he shut off a row of lights in the pressroom. BK had left already, making a few of his own deliveries before going home.

“Not much. I need to do laundry,” I grumbled. “What about you?”

“A nap. Then your mom wants to go out to Stockyard’s for di

“Thanks. We’ll see.” Which we both knew meant no.

I was cheeseburgered out. The thought of another made my stomach roll. The coffee I’d guzzled while bundling papers wasn’t sitting well either, probably from all the heavy food right before bed.

When I got home, I was going to make myself a piece of dry toast and hoped that it would soak up some of the residual grease.

“I have a couple new story ideas I want to run by you. Will you be in tomorrow?”

“Of course. By eight at the latest. We can talk about them then.” He hugged me and I waved as I walked for the door. “Bryce.”

“Yeah?” I turned.

“You’ve been quiet about the Tin Gypsies. Did you really give that up?”

“Turns out, there isn’t much to tell.” It was a relief. Dad wouldn’t pressure me to write the story, but by telling him I was letting it go, it gave me permission to do just that.

“All right. And the murder investigation? Has Marcus released anything new?”

“Not lately. I doubt there will be much until the trial. I’d like to do a memorial piece about Amina Daylee, but I think it’s too soon after the murder.” Too much was up in the air. “I’d like to give it some time.”

“Okay. Then I guess we’ll print happy news for a while. Not a bad thing.”

I smiled. “No, it’s not.”

“See you tomorrow.”

“Bye, Dad.” I waved again, then emerged outside, savoring the heat from the morning sun on my face. It was a strange time for a nap, but as I drove home, a wave of exhaustion crashed into me hard and I knew the second I made it home, I was going back to bed.

Toast would have to wait until I was fully awake.

With my car parked in the garage, I walked into the house, half asleep.

“Ahh!” I screamed. I clutched my heart, hoping it would stop trying to break free. “What are you doing?”

Dash dropped the towel he’d folded on top of the stack of others. “Laundry.”

“I thought you’d be gone.”

“Took a shower but couldn’t find a towel in the bathroom. So I went searching and got one from a laundry basket. Decided to fold that one. Then I found another. And another.”

“What can I say. I loathe folding laundry.”

He gri

I walked deeper into the room, plopping down on the arm of the couch as Dash folded another towel. “What are you really doing here? Because it’s not folding my laundry.”

“Hiding.”

“Hiding,” I repeated.

“Yeah.” He picked up the basket, now full of folded clothes, and set it aside. “Can I hide here?”

The vulnerability in his voice twisted my heart. “Of course.”

“Thanks.” Dash came to stand in front of me, his feet bare on the rug, and lifted his hands to frame my face. “Kiss.”

“You’re demanding today.”

He dropped his lips to mine. “You like it.”

As his tongue swept across my lips, the swell of heat in my core proved his point. I opened my mouth, letting him sweep inside. His taste consumed my mouth and my hands reached for his hips, pulling him closer.

He stepped between my legs, using his own to push them wide. Then he leaned down and forced me back on my perch, keeping his grip firm on my face.

Our mouths twisted and turned, battling one another for more. The temperature in the room spiked and I ached to feel my bare skin against his. The weeks since I’d had him inside me had been far too long, and the need to feel him was overwhelming. Panting and searching for more to stoke the fire burning, I gripped at his T-shirt and pulled him on top of me.

He ripped his lips away, grabbing me by the hips and spi

“Off.” I yanked at his shirt, dragging it up his body as he worked the button and zipper free on my jeans.

“Are you wet for me?” He slipped his hand into my panties, finding my slippery folds with his middle finger. A grin spread across his face as I gasped at that finger curving inside.

“Yes,” I moaned, closing my eyes and letting my head lull sideways. “I missed you.”

I’d missed more than just his body, but I kept that thought to myself.

Dash’s lips sucked at my neck, kissing and licking as his free hand tugged at the collar of my tee. “Missed you too.”

He was most definitely talking about sex. But in the corners of my heart, I pretended it was something more.

His hand between my legs tormented, teased, until I was nearly breathless. But I didn’t want to come around his fingers. Digging for the strength in my wobbling knees to stand, I climbed off his lap, shoving my jeans and panties to the floor.

I whipped off my shirt and by the time I looked back at Dash, he’d pulled his own jeans down his hips and his shirt was off. Those ripped abs were bunched and his hand was fisted around his pulsing shaft, a condom in place.

I straddled his waist, taking his face in my hands. “Damn, you’re sexy.”

“I know.” He gri

That arrogance should have been a turnoff, but the man had a mirror. And he knew what he did to me.

Dash positioned himself beneath my entrance, and as I slowly sank down, I sheathed him. The stretch, that incredible fill, sent a shudder down my spine and I nearly orgasmed right then.