by Sierra Hill
The rancid smell of vomit reached her olfactory receptors within seconds, and her gag reflex immediately went into hyper-overdrive. Whatever this girl drank tonight, it was a killer combo. She’d have to give Donnie a piece of her mind for serving a girl that wasted.
Dylan went to work immediately, as if he were working in a room full of sweet smelling roses, seemingly unaffected by the putrid smell and scattered remnants of the poor woman’s dinner. Standing in front of the closed door, Sloane looking on helplessly, feet remaining glued to the floor, unable to move.
She watched, as if in a dreamlike trance, as Dylan knelt down next to the passed-out woman, lifting her head off the cold and dirty tile floor and shifting her into a sitting position against the stall.
“Hey sweetheart. Can you hear me? What’s your name, angel?”
A pained groan escaped from the woman’s parched lips, her head flopping to the side like a ragdoll. Dylan’s hand came up to her face and lightly tapped her cheeks in an effort to keep her conscious.
Dylan glanced up at Sloane, her eyes focused on the scene in front of her.
“Hey babe, can you get that dishrag you brought with you damp and bring it over to me?”
She blinked, seeing his lips move but not fully comprehending what he was saying. What was her deal? Something about the situation had her fight-or-flight instincts going haywire. Apparently she did not deal with crisis well.
His voice was louder, more commanding this time. “Sloane? Come on, babe. Help a brother out here. We need to get her conscious before we can get her out of here. I need your help now.”
Whether it was the pleading in his tone or the fact that he called her babe, it was enough to prompt her into action. She moved in the direction of the sink, setting down the bottle of water she also carried, and turned on the cold water tap, dipping the rag underneath the stream of water.
Shutting off the faucet, she rung it out, glancing at her reflection in the mirror. Dark circles were present under her eyes, her sockets larger than normal, and the pale pallor of her skin an unfamiliar sight. Good grief, she looked haggard and worn.
Sloane turned her attention back to Dylan, bent down and placed the wet rag against the woman’s sticky forehead. The girl lurched forward in Dylan’s hold, her head jerking up unexpectedly, sending Sloane’s arm flying in the opposite direction, the rag still in her hand.
Another pained moan escaped the woman’s mouth, this time followed by a few expletives. At least she was awake and not sick with alcohol poisoning. That was one positive outcome that night.
“Wh-Where the fuck am I?” Certain it probably made sense in the woman’s head, it instead sounded something like, “Woothefupem I?”
In a million years, Sloane had never dreamed she’d be sitting on the grimy floor of a dingy bar bathroom, trying to coax a drunk, belligerent patron back to consciousness. But here she was. And honestly, it wasn’t all that bad. It wasn’t all unicorns and rainbows, either, but at least the gorgeous, able-bodied man beside her helped in making it a whole lot more tolerable.
Dylan leaned over the girl, his fingertips brushing away the matted hair that was plastered across her face, caked with dried sweat and puke. He was so compassionate and caring – even with this girl that he’d never met before, who was probably going to vomit all over him at any moment.
His gentle actions made Sloane’s heart ache. When she left California, her heart was tattered and broken. Mangled and butchered. Her faith in men completely destroyed. Yet this man in front of her, spending his Tuesday night being a good Samaritan, coming to the aid of a woman in need, had a part of Sloane’s bruised heart beating again. And her body strum with a twitter of excitement. As if it was acknowledging something deep within her that she had shut down the moment she was so callously fucked over by the one man she’d trusted.
His soft voice cleared her mind of those memories. “Shhh. It’s okay, angel. We’ve got you. What’s your name, sweetheart?”
The woman looked up at Dylan in confusion. “Andrea...” she rasped, taking a small sip of the water Sloane put in front of her mouth. “Andi Larson.”
As if the fog had lifted from her brain and everything became clear once again, Sloane slipped into action, realizing the liability and responsibility she had to this woman. She owed it to this woman to help get her home safe. Andrea was young and vulnerable, and seeing her small, limp frame helpless on the bathroom floor sent a surge of protectiveness blasting through Sloane’s veins.
“Okay, Andrea. We’re going to help get you home tonight. Did you come here with your friends? Is someone here that you can trust to take you home?”
Sloane continued mopping the girl’s brow with the wet washcloth, brushing the loose dirty blond hair out of her face, and wiping the corners of her mouth.
“Danielle. But she leff wiff a guy.” Her speech was still heavily slurred, but at least she was conscious enough to give them some information.
Dylan gave Sloane a worried glance before turning back to Andrea.
“Andrea, if we get you in a cab, do you think you’ll be able to get home by yourself?”
She groaned, holding her stomach, her face turning a Mr. Ick shade of green before she stumbled over to the toilet, as a wave of dry heaves took over.
Dylan let out a sigh, thrusting his hand in his hair. “I’ll take that as a no.” He shifted his weight from his knees to his heels, reaching to pull Andrea’s stringy hair back and out of the bowl.
Once her vomiting stopped, and her color had returned slightly, Dylan slid his hands underneath the girl’s armpits and lifted her to her feet. She wobbled slightly but seemed to regain her balance as Dylan swung an arm around her waist to keep her steady. Upright, not so much. She slumped over, Dylan holding her back before she fell to the floor.
“Okay, here’s what we’re going to do. I’ll drive her home and make sure she gets there safe.”
Sloane eyed him wearily, uncertain if that was the right approach, but too tired to try to talk him out of it.
Sloane adjusted the straps of the girl’s dress back onto her shoulders and smoothed the too-tight skirt so that it covered the girl’s gangly legs. Opening the door, she watched from behind as Dylan led the girl down the hallway toward the main bar area. Before he reached the open room, he turned his head back to Sloane.
“Take a break, Sloane. You could use it. I’ll be back soon.” He winked and left her field of vision.
Yeah, a break was definitely something she needed at the moment. But first, she had to clean-up the mess Andrea so generously left for her in the restroom.
God, this part of the job sucked. And it wasn’t even midnight yet.
Chapter Thirteen
Dylan smiled at the scene in front of him. He’d been gone less than forty-five minutes and returned to find Sloane crashed out on the worn checkered sofa in the back office. Her hair was disheveled, part of it covering her face, her hands tucked under her chin as if she had been saying her nightly prayers before falling asleep.
The bar was still half-full, with Donnie and some other bartender he didn’t know, handling business. Deciding that there was no way Sloane was going back to work tonight, Dylan picked her up from her curled-up position and carried her upstairs to her apartment. At least there she could rest without being interrupted by the noise and chaos that was sure to continue until the wee hours of the night.
Gently placing her down on the bed covers, his heart felt an unexpected jolt when she let out a sweet sigh, his name just a whisper from her lips. He slid off both her shoes and dropped them to the side of her bed. He didn’t dare remove her jeans, knowing the sight and feel of her smooth legs would give him a raging hard-on that he wouldn’t be able to do anything about tonight.
Watching her sleep, though, the soft features of her beautiful face, the gentle slope of her nose, the perfect lips parted in resting peace gave him an unfamiliar need to lay down by her side and wrap her in his arms. Had he ever wanted to cuddle wi
th a woman before, without the expectations of sex? Hell, no. But right now, that’s exactly what he wanted to do.
Before he could talk himself out of it, he removed his own boots and pulled off his jeans, leaving his T-shirt and boxers on, and slid in under the covers next to her, wrapping his arms around her warm body. His nose was buried in her hair, nuzzling against her, breathing in her intoxicating scent. Wildflowers and honey. God, she smelled like heaven.
The next thing he knew he was ensconced in the most vividly erotic dream he’d ever had. So potent. So incredible.
It felt so fucking real.
He groaned at the sound of Sloane’s throaty moans, as if he could feel the actual vibration across his shaft. His cock was buried deep in something wet and warm, and he was being sucked off like no one’s business.
Oh yeah, just like that. So good.
His breathing became raspy, his balls tightening in the sweet agony of the anticipation of release.
A low purring noise broke through his consciousness and his eyes slowly peeled open, taking in the dark shadows in a room and bed he was wholly unfamiliar with. His cock jerked when he felt the very real sensation of teeth being lightly scraped against the head of his shaft.
A warm hand pumped up and down, grasping him tightly at the base, while the sounds of her sucking filled the quiet room. As his eyes adjusted to the dark, he could barely make out the top of a golden-haired beauty moving between his parted legs.
Sometimes real-life was better than his dreams. As the haze of sleep began to disappear, he realized his body had already been getting it on before his mind even knew what was happening.
The sound that escaped his chest was a cross between a shout and a growl.
“Oh fuck…just like that. Keep sucking, baby...”
Sloane’s head continued to bob up and down, her mouth wrapped securely around him, tongue swirling and licking, her hand slipping down to massage his balls, rolling them in her palm. The top of his cock hit the back of her throat, causing her to gag a little, and he nearly lost it. As her throat muscles relaxed and contracted, he was certain he was about to have the motherlode of all orgasms.
He didn’t know how much longer he could last if he didn’t stop the insane and wonderful torture she was exacting on him. Clenching his teeth, he let out a long hiss and pulled out of her mouth. Her head jerked up in confusion but he didn’t give her time to formulate a response before he made his intentions clear.
“Get on your hands and knees. Face the mirror.”
She let out a little squeak, but didn’t protest. At some point in the night Sloane must have woken and removed her jeans, because now she wore only her panties and a tank top.
She turned around on the bed and faced the mirrored closet doors, as instructed. There was definitely something to be said about the nineteen-seventies inspired house decor, which was perfect for couples getting it on. Dylan leaned over to the nightstand and turned on the small table light, illuminating the room with a soft glow. Before returning to her pristine body, he jumped off the bed and pulled out the condom from his pants pocket. Yanking his T-shirt over his head and pulling down his boxers, Dylan came to stand in front of Sloane who was now eye level with his rock-hard erection.
She reached a hand out to encircle him, but he pulled out of her reach.
“Eh, eh, eh…I didn’t say you could move, did I?” His voice was gruff and commanding.
This was him. This was who he was when he was pulled as tight as a rubber band. When he was pushed to his limits. Dylan was wound tight and ready to get satisfaction. And Sloane was willing to give it to him.
“Open your mouth again,” he instructed, as she followed his direction. “Yeah. Now suck. Hard.”
He took his dick in his hand and led it to her mouth, watching as she opened her lips and took him in. Their groans infused in a sexual harmony. He had to be careful not to blow his load; afraid he’d be too quickly consumed by her intoxicating ministrations and come down her throat. Sloane’s tongue darted out and licked the head, wicking away a bead of moisture, and then sucked him down to the root.
Goddammit, she was going to kill him.
Stepping back again, his fingertip grazed her lips, swollen and pink from him. She looked up, disappointment etched in her furrowed brows. Dylan cupped her cheeks with his hands, bringing her head up to look at him.
“At some point I’ll have you finish that for me. But not now.”
He let go of her face and tore open the condom wrapper, sliding it over his distended erection. Climbing on the bed and positioning himself behind her, he dragged her panties down and off before digging his fingertips into the curve of her hips.
Sloane’s perfectly heart-shaped ass faced him, taunting him; she ground against him, her heated flesh tempting him to push in to take them both to the brink. Instead, he slid his index finger down the center of her ass cheeks until he found her wet entrance.
Bending his head down, he pressed into her backside and slid his tongue up the slit, the violence in her body’s reaction making him grin wildly. Her scream was loud enough to wake the dead.
Sloane moaned for more and pleaded him not to stop, vacillating between the two so fast that it gave him whiplash. Realizing the effort to support herself on her hands was futile, Sloane dropped to her elbows, her face pressed to the side against the bed.
“Dylan…that’s…oh my God,” she panted, as he continued to stroke her clit with his tongue from behind.
Never a selfish lover, he wanted to make sure she was good and satisfied before he took his own pleasure. Wanting to up the ante, Dylan added a finger inside her wet core for good measure. She gave a purr of relief. Then he added another, pumping in and out in a measured rhythm. Her breaths became increasingly choppy, her sounds growing more and more exaggerated.
Dylan glanced up toward the mirror, wanting to see the expression on Sloane’s face as she came. What he saw was the most erotic and beautiful sight of his life. Her sweet, full lips were slightly parted, and her eyes closed to drown out everything but the feelings of ecstasy. The creamy tops of her heavy breasts peeked out from under her tank, jiggling between her arms. Her back arched, causing her ass to jut out high in the air.
“Sloane, open your eyes and look. You are so goddamn beautiful. I want you to watch yourself when you come.”
He continued stroking her and pumping his fingers inside her tight sheath as she slowly raised her head, their eyes locking in the mirror in front of them. He felt the first contraction of her orgasm as she clenched his fingers, the spasm sending his own need to feel her wrapped around his cock skyrocketing.
“Wait for me. Don’t come yet,” he growled, swiftly pulling out his fingers and replacing it with his erection, slamming into her. He started pumping furiously, as she quivered and screamed out in pleasured agony.
“I can’t…I’m coming…ommigodommigod…” she panted.
The climax that raced through him was the hardest one he’d ever had, and he started to come as soon as his cock thrust deep once…twice…three times – until he let loose inside her tight heat. His fingers dug into her hips as he shouted curses, his hot release firing into the protective sleeve of the condom. This woman sent him spiraling out of control like an asteroid careening toward Earth.
Gasping for air, Dylan bent forward over Sloane’s back, now slick with sweat, their flesh melding together as they took their time finding their bearings. Her body sagged underneath his arm, which was now wrapped around her trim waist to pin her securely against him.
The heavy pull of sleep, and the need to wash up, had him bringing them down to the bed on their sides, his breath against her ear as he slowly pulled out of her warmth. He nibbled on her earlobe and she let out a heavy sigh, but didn’t say anything more.
“I’ll be right back,” he whispered, brushing his hand against the smooth skin of her arm before turning in the opposite direction to push off the bed.
He glanced back to see her pu
ll the covers up over her shoulder and his brows furrowed at the fact that he couldn’t see her face. Was she wearing a smile? Was she happy? Satisfied? Or maybe second-guessing what they were doing together?
It was highly irregular for him to ever doubt what a woman felt toward him. It wasn’t as if he were that big of a prick or stud to assume women wanted to be with him more than he wanted them, but in this case, he did want to be with Sloane. More than a lot. She’d somehow managed to crash through the security gate around the decisions he’d made about letting a woman in.
The hard and fast rule of his romantic life was no more than three times with the same woman. Breaking that rule was like breaking the law of Dylan. It could create anarchy in his well-guarded emotional state if he continued to pursue things with Sloane. She was fucking leaving in a few weeks. What could possibly happen between them anyway?
Yet just the mere thought of her leaving and not being able to see her every day made him cringe. Had it been anyone else, it wouldn’t matter. They could leave and he’d barely spare a backward glance. But Sloane? Shit, she was beginning to infiltrate his thoughts. He thought about her every moment of every day. When they were together, he was consumed with a fever and the need to be with her. To touch her. To be inside her. To hold her.
What the hell was happening to him? Pull it the fuck together, man.
He walked back into the bedroom, which was still lit with the light from the bedside lamp. Sloane was curled up on her side, looking beautiful, sweet and serene. The sound of her long exhales made it clear to Dylan that she’d already fallen back asleep.
Dylan knew what he had to do now. His intentions were solidified as he took in her peacefully sleeping form. Although the yearning side of him told him to lay back down next to her and not let go of her until morning light, the realistic and clearly more logical side of him, told him to get dressed and go the hell home.