by Stella Noir
“We weren’t so close, sorry to say,” Dylan shrugs, taking my silent message. “I just decided to come over on behalf of my sister. She was Lola’s best friend and couldn’t make it herself.” I have to stifle my laughter when he comes up with that one – his sister is five years older and always treated me like scum.
“Ah, I see,” Matt smiles politely. “Well, a pleasure to meet you, Dylan!”
“All mine,” Dylan says politely, offering a flashy smile and abruptly walking off as I stay after him in wonder. What just happened?
“Ready, darling?” Matt asks me impatiently and I find myself walking to the car, sitting down and listening to Matt go on and on about something, even though my mind is somewhere very different.
Dylan Rawlings. Never thought I’d see you again.
I remember the last words Dylan said to me before we parted ways for years.
“I’ll find you,” he whispered in my ear. “You’re mine, Lola Lexington. I’ll come and claim you when the time is right.”
Simultaneously, I pray him to be gone soon and wish he’d just take me with him.
Chapter 3
7 years ago
I’m restless the whole drive, fidgeting and jumping around until my parents tell me for the umpteenth time I have to stop or they’ll leave me on the side of the road. I’m just too happy to settle down though.
It’s June and we’re heading out to our summerhouse in the Hamptons. I’m a spoiled rich kid, I know – but I don’t care what anyone thinks of me, because summer means holidays means him. Dylan, my Dylan.
He’s my best friend and I’ve been in love with him since the moment I met him, and that was when I was just a baby. We’re inseparable, always. Well, when we can be together at least …
The sea looms in the horizon and I jump up and down again, too happy for words.
My parents sigh but smile at each other, and I know they are excited for me as well.
It’s the same every summer; because that is the only time of the year we see each other. For two months every year, Dylan Rawlings is mine – all mine.
We agreed when we started going steady two years ago we would stay in touch, but we live so far apart we couldn’t really see each other any other time than the summer. Our families were accepting, and even though they doubted our relationship, they saw it bloom from a playground crush to a beautiful love story.
Dylan is British, and he lives in the English countryside. I love it about him, even when it keeps him away from me for such long periods of time. As long as I get my two months every year, I’ll be okay.
And soon, but never soon enough, our car rolls into the driveway of the Hamptons’ house. Our summerhouse is no less impressive than the one I call home.
Before the car stops, I’ve opened the door, my bare feet hitting the tiny pebbles, then the grass, and, the scorching hot sand as I run for the Rawlings’s house.
I’m ecstatic. It’s going to be the best summer yet.
I reach the house in record time and I’m pressing the doorbell like a mad woman.
Soon, I hear commotion on the other side and someone opens the door. I look up expectantly.
He looks so much like Dylan, yet he isn’t him. He’s taller, broader, and older. I would give him about 30, 35 years. The similarity is striking, yet he couldn’t be farther away from my love.
“Who are you?” I ask rudely before I can think, and he smirks at me, taking me in with his eyes.
Suddenly, my choice of clothes feels childish, stupid. I’m wearing a white eyelet sundress, my long blonde hair flowing around my shoulders. I’m barefoot, because summer means no shoes to me – I’m a summer child, a wild girl, like Dylan calls me.
“You’ll find out soon enough,” the man who looks like Dylan but at the same time, nothing like him, says.
And then I’m swept up in my boy’s arms and I’m shrieking with pleasure as he scoops me up. And I forget all about the bad things, forget we spend more time apart then together. Nothing matters, because Dylan is here and he will make it better, just like he always does.
“Missed you,” he whispers in my hair and I inhale his scent, salt from the sea, musk and something green, fresh, juicy. I love it, can’t get enough of it.
“Missed you,” I repeat mindlessly, my mouth trembling against his neck.
Dylan grips my hips and moves me a few inches away, grinning widely as he takes me in and I laugh shyly.
“Pathetic,” the unknown man declares and disappears inside their house. Our spell broken, I look at Dylan in confusion.
“What was that all about?” I wonder out loud.
His expression darkens visibly and I want to ask more questions, but in the next few seconds, I’m enveloped in bear hugs by his parents and even a reluctant hello from his older sister – it means a lot that she even bothered to look up from her cellphone, which she’s glued to apparently.
I have lunch with them, stealing glances at Dylan any moment I can, playing with his feet under the table. The man who was at the door doesn’t join us for lunch, but he does call a goodbye when he walks out the door. Finally, my mind focuses on my many questions.
“Who on Earth is that?” I ask.
Everyone looks down uncomfortably, but Dylan’s father clears his throat, refusing to look me in the eye when he speaks. “He’s a … relative. He’ll be staying with us for the summer.”
Swiftly, the conversation is changed as I try to connect my gaze with Dylan’s unsuccessfully. I shrug mentally and slip back into my happy state, gazing at the boy I love adoringly, my mind on one thing only …
I’m sixteen. I just turned sixteen before the summer started.
And that means … we don’t have to wait any longer. Because Dylan Rawlings promised me he would take me, have me, love me, as soon as I turned sixteen.
And as my gaze connects with his and he smiles at me softly, I let myself hope, let myself dream, let myself wait for that moment …
The moment when he claims me as his.
Chapter 4
Matthew takes me home and carries me to bed like a perfect gentleman, because at that point, my feet hurt too badly to even try to stand up. He sets me down on our too-expensive-to-believe-the-price Egyptian sheets, having carried me through the whole house, including the staircase.
He slips the heels off my feet gently, caressing them as he does so. Tiredly, I prop my head up with a pillow as I look at him.
This is the man I love.
The man who took care of me, now and always.
The only one I have.
The only one that stayed.
“You need a hot bath and a massage,” he tells me with a sweet smile and I can’t help but agree. I’ve got a taste for pampering now and I’m not about to give it up, so I just nod.
Matt slips my dress off, gently pulling down my black lace panties. I’m not wearing a bra. He scoops me up in his arms and carries me in the bathroom, placing me in the enormous bath and starting the water. I mercifully relax as the hot water starts pouring in, calming my raw nerves.
“I love you,” I whisper at Matthew, my eyes closed. I flutter them open just fast enough to see his smile, and I realize it’s true.
I love him despite his crazy mom, despite the fact he’s filthy rich, not because of it. I love his flaws, and I love his attributes. I love it all, because he’s saved me more times than I dare count, and I know he’d do it all over again.
“I love you, doll,” he promises me, stripping his clothes off and standing at the side of the tub. My eyes glaze at the sight of his naked body, his muscled abs and the hardness between his legs, ready for me like he always is. “Mind if I come in?” he asks, always the gentleman.
I shake my head no, and in seconds, he joins me in the tub.
He scoops me up in his arms and I let him. He pulls me against him and I rest my weary head against his chest, his hands exploring my body ever so gently.
He whispers sweet nothings in my ear, tic
kling the delicate skin of my neck with his warm breath. I giggle tiredly, feeling goose bumps rise along my collarbone as he kisses it.
The water is hot and soapy and does wonders for my skin. In twenty minutes, I feel rejuvenated, albeit still beat and ready for bed. I let Matt wash my hair, his fingers gently massaging in the shampoo, even bothering to do my conditioner. He takes perfect care of me, always has.
I thank him with my eyes; hoping it’s enough, like I always do.
And he assures me with his gaze it is, it’s always enough for him, because I’m all there is for him.
He dries me off with an impossibly soft towel and slips on a silky camisole over my nourished, milky skin. He walks me over to the bed and tucks me in; the silk sheets caressing me like a lover’s hug.
And soon, my lover joins me, wrapping me up in his arms, the only place where I feel safe. His lips touch the crown of my head, kissing it all better, and I let myself relax against him.
“Thank you,” I whisper and he kisses my sudden tears away, not saying a thing. Never judging, never calling me out on it. He just takes care of me, no questions asked.
And in that moment, I feel so much gratitude, so much love for my fiancé, I have to have more. My fingers find his naked body, caressing his hardness carefully, gently. He feels like velvet, not rough, not dark, and not wrong.
It’s all goodness and light with Matthew Roberts.
“I want you,” I tell him and he looks into my eyes, searching for the doubt, searching for the truth. There’s no hesitation in my eyes though, and his eyes sparkle as he sees I’m serious. With a throaty groan he positions me on top of him and I lean down, my curtain of silky, still wet hair obscuring us from everyone else.
It’s just you and me, Matt, just us, always us. Make it right Matt, make it all better again.
He kisses me softly at first, but my mouth demands more. I lean in deep, taking what I want, drinking him in. And soon he groans, his hands finding my hips, spreading my legs until I’m sitting on top of him.
I can feel him pressing between my legs and it makes me go crazy. I grind on him and he moans, his hands running through his wet, tousled hair.
I look at my man, taking him in with my eyes.
He is perfection, like a Greek sculpture, all muscle, light sandy hair, light blue eyes, and tanned skin. He’s my sun, my light, and my savior.
I carefully lift myself just for a second while Matt begs for more. Then, ever so slowly, I position my entrance over his tip, sliding it in, mercifully doing what we both want as Matthew moans with pleasure.
“Take me,” I whisper in his ear as he moves inside of me.
“Yes, baby,” he promises. “I’ll make you mine.”
“Make it better,” I ask softly.
“I always do,” he groans gripping my behind as he pushes inside me, soft, hard, hot and cold at the same time. It’s so good with Matt. We just fit.
I ride my man as the waves of pleasure take over, feeling him moving inside of me, the motion driving me crazy. I beg for more and he delivers, groaning as he repositions us so he’s on top, never slipping out of me.
He grabs my cheeks, his hands gripping tight, and his mouth hot on my neck.
“Please, Matt,” I ask, my voice throaty.
He goes harder, pumps more fiercely. He claims me and we come together, me sighing his name and him, filling me up until I can’t take any more.
“Mine,” he says in my ear. “You’re mine.” His voice isn’t threatening, but instead matter-of-fact. And I know he’s right. Know it to be true.
He falls asleep entwined in my arms, but my insomnia keeps me up, just like it does most nights. I look at my man as he sleeps peacefully; his seed dripping out of me, making me feel whole again.
His eyelashes are incredibly long but blond, sweeping across his cheeks. There’s a light smattering of freckles across his aquiline nose, a strong jaw shadowed by the first sign of his beard. I love him like this. Careless, loving, strong.
My Matthew.
My love.
But not the only one.
Guiltily, I try to get rid of the traitorous thought, but it has invaded my brain like a virus. And, after hours have passed, I think of Dylan Rawlings.
The boy who loved me.
The boy who left me.
And I think of him today, as a man. A beautiful, broken, damaged man – a man I did that to. A man, who used to be an innocent boy, but broke himself for me. And took me down in the process.
My heart aches for him and because of him. He broke it, and made it whole.
What am I going to do? I ask myself helplessly.
Because as much as I love Matt, there’s no denying it.
Dylan Rawlings was the love of my life.
Chapter 5
If I want to become Matthew’s bride, I would have to change many things about myself. This is something I’ve known since we started dating, but the reality is only becoming devastatingly clear now.
No more public appearances without looking picture perfect.
No more skeletons in my closet.
And most of all, no more working.
This was a rule his mother’s stood by relentlessly, despite my fighting and protesting. And so it is today that I have to hand in my notice at the art gallery where I work. I thought it a perfectly respectable job for a woman like me – I had graduated college with a major in Art History, and an art gallery was the perfect workplace for me. The work was dynamic, fun, and most of all, filled the hours of my time when Matthew was away.
I walk to my workplace, my heart breaking over what I have to do. I stay for the full day after handing in my notice, despite my boss assuring me I can head home. I work just like I always do, pretending this isn’t my last day on the job.
Finally, when five o’clock strikes, I get up with a resigned sigh. I gather my things, of which there aren’t many. I say goodbye to my nonchalant co-workers, wondering why there’s no goodbye party. I blame it on the fact they’re all artsy types who don’t like to make a fuss over anything to mask the fact they probably just don’t care that much about me.
Finally, I head out, my pathetic box of belongings on my shoulders, like a girl whose boyfriend just kicked her out of their apartment.
A car is already waiting for me and I purse my lips.
The driver rushes out, opening the door for me.
“No,” I say.
“Miss Lexington, please,” he begs.
He is a nice man, and always wants to take care of me. But I’m sick and tired of being my mother in law’s puppet, and even if this is a small act of defiance, I won’t let her win.
“You can take the box home, but I’m walking,” I say with gritted teeth.
“Long walk,” the driver says with a small smile curling his lips. I like this man, and it pains me to think I never even bothered to ask for his name.
He takes the box out of my hands, tipping his hat at me. Then, he drives off in the fancy car, which I’m assuming is a symbol of my future.
Still, my small act of defiance feels good as I begin the walk home, the wind playing with my hair.
I feel free for once in my life – even though I’ll soon be nothing but a caged bird.
I close my trench coat in front of me when the wind picks up, my heels clattering on the concrete below me. I take my time, enjoying the beautiful spring weather.
“Not in a hurry, I can see,” a familiar voice disrupts my thought and I look up to see Dylan Rawlings catching up with me.
“I’m going home,” I say in a clipped tone.
“Okay,” he says with a somber nod, which is spoiled by his mischievous smile. “You want some company?”
I know he won’t take no for an answer, so I just sigh, walking on silently as he joins me. I keep sneaking glances at him out of the corner of my eye, knowing all the while I shouldn’t – knowing this is one skeleton from my closet I should keep shut and buried.
“Nice day,” Dy
lan comments, giving me a smirk when I look at him incredulously.
“I’m really not in the mood for chit-chat,” I mutter under my breath.
“I’ll take it over not speaking to you,” Dylan admits and my heart hurts with his confession, because I will, too – always. As long as he’s near.
I think of Matt instantly, the way he held me last night, the way he’s made it better all these years. He made me forget, and Dylan wants me to remember. The question is – what do I want?
We walk in silence as I contemplate this question, but then Dylan steps in front of me, gripping my shoulders. I’m afraid to look up, because I know he’s about to say something important, so I keep my gaze on the concrete, refusing to give him the satisfaction. Whether it’s because I want to rebel or because I’m too scared remains up for debate.
“Please, Lola,” he asks softly. “I’ve come a long way.”
Finally, I look up into those all-so familiar steel eyes. I remember what happened between us, every detail – be it bad or good. This man was my savior, and my tormentor. And I’ve moved on, for good.
“Dylan, I’m glad you came here,” I start hesitantly, picking up on determination as I talk.
“You’re welcome to stay until the wedding of course. But please,” I look at him pleadingly.
“I can’t talk to you. Can’t see you. I have a life of my own now.” My tone is getting desperate.
“Can’t you see that?” I whisper.
He just looks at me, his eyes boring into mine, searching for answers and solutions I’ve never been able to give. “You don’t want me to go,” he says.
And I know he’s right, so I shake my head. “But we can’t spend time together, either,” I admit. “If my mother-in-law finds out, all hell will break loose. And the truth will come out sooner or later. It’s best … it’s best if you stay in the shadows.”
“You know I work well in darkness,” he says with a strained tone and I have to look away from his pained eyes, because it’s all just too much.
It’s too hard pretending like I don’t care, too hard to ignore him. I can’t say he doesn’t mean anything to me, because he used to be my everything. Yet I can’t give him anything, because I belong to Matthew Roberts now. And that’s how it’s supposed to be.