by L.H. Cosway
“Ev, you can head home now. Your shift’s over,” said Ger, the other bartender on duty.
I blinked several times and turned to him. “Right. Thanks.”
He frowned. “Are you okay?”
“Perfectly fine,” I said and stepped by him. Dylan sat at the bar. His eyes followed me as I went into the staffroom to collect my things. His voice echoed in my head, his romantic words warming all the parts of me that were cold. The way he looked at me was all-consuming. Most people could only dream of being looked at in such a way. And there he was right in front of me, his eyes telling me I could have him if only I was brave enough to reach out and take.
He made me weak. He made me want. Every part of me fizzled with the need to feel his touch, to touch him in return. It was so much I could hardly stand it any longer.
I walked out, and he was still there. His eyes asked a question. I came closer, swallowing several times as I gathered my nerve, then said, “Take me home.”
Dylan didn’t breathe a word, only nodded and stood to offer me his hand. We didn’t have too much trouble hailing a taxi, but it was a quiet journey. Pent-up emotions clogged the enclosed space.
“You left your top at my apartment,” Dylan said, stroking a hand through my hair.
“I know,” I replied, not looking at him. “And I still have your T-shirt.”
“Keep it,” he offered and I smiled.
“I did always love it on you.”
The taxi stopped then, and Dylan paid the driver. He got out first and came around to open my side. I didn’t know what I was doing bringing him home with me, but after our conversation at the bar, I wasn’t ready to say goodnight.
When it came to Dylan, I’d never been ready to say goodnight.
I couldn’t believe how quickly I’d fallen back under his spell. Sure, in the time we’d been apart I’d thought about him almost every day, but that didn’t mean I ever expected to see him again. Especially not after that night we spent together in his tiny, cheap hotel room. I fled before he woke up, and left nothing but a hasty, sentimental note written on the back of an envelope.
I led him upstairs to the apartment, placing my finger to my lips for him to be quiet. “Yvonne’s asleep,” I said and slotted my key in the door.
We stepped inside, and Dylan silently helped me off with my coat. His eyes traced my features, focusing on my lips. I turned and dropped my keys into the bowl on the coffee table.
“Want some tea?” I whispered.
“Sure,” he replied and took a seat on the couch.
“Okay, I’ll be right back,” I said, going to turn the electric heater on in my bedroom. The building didn’t have a great boiler, so my room was really cold some nights. I was almost to my door when two arms wrapped around me from behind. I shuddered when he dipped his mouth to my neck and gave a kiss.
“I don’t really want tea,” he murmured.
“What do you want?” I asked shakily.
“You,” he replied, then walked me forward until my chest met the wall. He held me there, captive. His erection pushed into my lower back, while his mouth licked and sucked at my neck. I was so aroused I couldn’t think straight.
“Be with me tonight,” he whispered, hand groping down the front of my body, over my breasts and stomach before dipping between my legs. I arched my back when he cupped me there, and a low rumble emanated from deep in his chest.
His hand gripped the back of my neck and he directed me toward my bedroom. Without the heater on, I knew it must’ve been freezing, but I couldn’t feel the cold. I was too busy burning from Dylan’s touch. Still behind me, he carefully lowered me onto the bed. He reached around my body to massage my breast over the top of my clothes, then lowered his hands to undo my pants. In an abrupt movement he yanked them down, revealing my knickers. He ran his hands over the lace then pulled those down, too.
Seconds later his mouth was on me, and I gasped at the sensation.
Dylan O’Dea, perfumer and businessman extraordinaire, was eating me out from behind.
My mouth gaped as I panted. I wanted to moan but I had to stay quiet in case Yvonne heard. I made a small yelp when his teeth grazed my clit, and he clucked his tongue.
“Not a sound, Evelyn. We can’t be heard,” he chided naughtily. I squeezed my eyes shut and clenched my teeth. His mouth felt way too good for silence.
“This is torture,” I whispered.
“The good kind, I hope,” Dylan teased and pulled my legs farther apart to get a better angle. I gasped. “God, I’ve missed you. Your taste. Your body.” He pushed me higher and higher until I couldn’t hold back anymore.
I came with a shudder and had to bite down on my pillow to keep from screaming. Dylan quickly flipped me on my back and pulled my top up over my head. He did away with my bra and pulled his own shirt off, too. I helped him with his trousers, but his blasted belt was being difficult.
He laughed huskily at my frustration and I finally managed to get it open.
“Eager,” he whispered then caught my mouth in a deep, erotic kiss. We stayed like that for a while. I was less frantic now that I’d come, and I wanted to savour him. Dylan’s cock pressed against my inner thigh and the hot, hard feel of it sent my hormones into a tailspin. My arousal built again, and still kissing him, I reached out to open my bedside table. I fumbled blindly through the bits and pieces until my fingers met the smooth, cool foil I was searching for.
Dylan broke our kiss. “What on earth are you—?”
He stopped when I held up the condom then smirked. “Prepared, are we?”
I grinned. “I was saving it for a special occasion.”
He plucked it from my grasp and tossed it aside. “Were you now?” he murmured, capturing my mouth in his. I got lost in his lips again, and when he slid inside me for a second, I gasped. He grunted and pulled out, feeling around the bed for the condom.
“Better put this on,” he said gruffly.
I watched in horny fascination as he slid the rubber down his length then came closer. He held himself above me, gazed down at me, and breathed, “My muse.”
He didn’t take his eyes off me when he pushed inside, and his entire body shuddered in pleasure.
He made love to me slowly. With every inhale he took, I exhaled. For every inhale I took, he exhaled. Both of us were conscious to avoid making any sound, but somehow that made everything more intense.
Grey light filtered through the window. It was late. So late it was almost early.
Dylan and I made love until the sun started to move above the horizon, the golden rays filtering through the deep blue depths of his irises. We fell asleep, and with his entire body curled around me, it was the most peaceful I’d felt in over a decade.
Chapter 10
“Morning,” Dylan whispered huskily in my ear. My body felt sore but languid, an after effect of the amazing things we’d done last night.
All. The. Things. We’d. Done.
What on earth had possessed me?
Oh right. Now I remembered. Dylan worked his romantic charms, and I simply couldn’t keep my knickers on. He sucked and nuzzled my neck as he pressed his thickening erection into the curve of my lower back. I moaned when his hand dipped between my legs. I was wet already.
His skilled fingers slid down my folds and dipped inside for a second. I arched my spine in invitation for him to keep going.
“I could stay here all day making you come,” he murmured just as I heard movement out in the kitchen. There was the recognisable clink of Yvonne placing her breakfast dishes in the sink. I froze and wondered if she heard my moan. Embarrassment seized my body. I mean, she’d never expect things to progress as quickly with Dylan as they had. She probably thought . . . man, she probably thought I was making use of the vibrator that was buried under a pile of T-shirts at the bottom of my wardrobe.
Not that she knew I had it or anything.
“What’s wrong?” Dylan asked, and I scrambled to cover his mouth.
> “Yvonne’s out there,” I whispered, and his lips formed a smirk behind my hand.
“You’re not a teenager anymore, Ev. You’re allowed to have sex.”
“Yes, I know that. I’m just . . . embarrassed, okay?”
His gaze softened, and I resented how handsome he looked when he did that. “You’re fucking adorable.”
I scowled but didn’t say anything, waiting for Yvonne to leave for work. Glancing at the clock, it was almost eight. She always left the apartment at eight on the dot. I knew because I usually woke up to the slam of the door being shut then would drift back off to sleep until midday.
Regular as clockwork, the door opened and closed with a loud snick. I slumped back into the pillows in relief.
Dylan stroked my hair away from my forehead, staring down at me with affection. “I should be leaving, too,” he said with regret.
I swallowed. “Listen, Dylan, about last night—”
His finger went to my lips to stop me. “Let’s just enjoy this, Ev. I know you’re still not ready, and I’m willing to be patient. We can go at whatever pace you need.”
God, he was too perfect.
I let out a low chuckle. “We just spent the night having sex. Pretty sure my pace is completely out of whack.”
“Well then, for now we can be friends. Really, really close friends,” he said, with a devilish grin.
I shoved him away and rolled my eyes, even though the idea of being friends with Dylan while being able to use his body for sex was dead appealing. I felt like a bit of a scumbag for thinking it, but there it was.
“I’ve been meaning to ask you,” he went on, distracting me from my thoughts. “I have a charity event I’m attending tomorrow night, and I’d love if you’d be my date. It’s to raise money for homelessness.”
“Oh,” I said, taken off guard. “I mean, I’d love to go but I have nothing to wear to something like that.”
“Evelyn, when are you going to realise that I couldn’t care less what you’re wearing? You own a dress, don’t you?”
“Well, yes, but—”
“Then that’s perfect. I’ll pick you up at eight.”
Before I had a chance to respond, he was out of bed and pulling on the clothes he’d shed last night. I admired his naked form before it was covered, then got up, and headed into the kitchen.
“Do you want breakfast before you go?” I called back.
He came out of my room, sliding his tie around his neck. “I’m in a real hurry, love. But maybe next time.”
“That’s okay,” I said and went to put some toast on for myself. My thighs clenched at the idea of a next time. Dylan wrapped his arms around me from behind and pressed his lips to my neck. “I’ll miss you today.”
“Me, too,” I whispered in reply.
He caught my mouth in a quick kiss then hustled to the door, turning back just before he left. “See you tomorrow, Evelyn.”
* * *
Later that day evening, about an hour before I had to go to work, my inbox pinged with a new email.
Tuesday 17:11 [email protected] to [email protected]
I’ve been thinking about you all day . . .
Tuesday 17:13 [email protected] to [email protected]
Me, too.
About you, I mean.
Tuesday 17:15 [email protected] to [email protected]
Can I call you?
I chewed on my lip, wondering what he wanted to talk about, then shot off a simple reply: YES. My phone lit up with a call not long after.
“Hey,” I answered, hesitant. Now that we had a day of distance between us, I felt unsure of myself. I also felt selfish for leading him on, especially when I didn’t know how long it would take for me to be ready for a proper relationship.
I was officially one of those indecisive arseholes who strung people along.
Oh God . . .
I was Kourtney Kardashian.
But then, that would mean Dylan was Scott, and he was absolutely nothing like him.
And yes, having no close friends and no social life these past few years left a lot of room for reality TV.
“Evelyn,” he breathed. He sounded . . . aroused, and my stomach flipped at the mere idea of a turned-on Dylan.
“What did you want to talk about?” I asked tightly, trying to sound normal when I was feeling anything but.
“I can’t stop thinking about last night . . .” A sigh. “The noises you made, your taste.”
My breathing grew choppy, his voice working me up. I really hoped he was someplace private. “I’ve been thinking about it, too.”
“Do you know how much I’ve missed the feel of you?” he went on. “All day I’ve wanted you in my arms.”
I swallowed and closed my eyes. This was on the verge of turning into phone sex, and I was helpless to stop it.
“Where are you right now?”
“In my bedroom,” I whispered. “Getting ready for work.”
He swore under his breath. “I’m at the office.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Come over. I want to fuck you on my desk.”
“Dylan,” I gasped. When we were younger, he’d never been shy, but this grown-up version of him was very forward. He didn’t mince his words. And a part of me liked that very much.
“Come over,” he repeated.
“I can’t. I have a shift.”
“You can call in sick,” he argued, a seductive lilt to his voice.
I lay back on my bed and my hand somehow found its way to my stomach, my palm flat to my skin. “You’ll see me tomorrow,” I whispered.
He groaned softly. “I’m not sure I can wait that long.”
“It’ll be a lesson in delayed gratification,” I said, teasing now.
He swore under his breath. “This entire day has been a lesson in delayed gratification.”
The strained needfulness in his voice caused the spot between my thighs to ache. My hand moved lower. I slipped it under the hem of my knickers and between the folds of my sex. I was wet, so wet, and all from a small amount of time on the phone with Dylan. I must’ve made some sort of noise, because he emitted a low, rumbling groan.
“What are you doing?”
“Just keep talking.”
“Fucking hell, Ev.”
I circled my finger around my clit, my hips arching instinctively. My breathing grew heavy as I felt an orgasm build. Dylan had this magic that was all his own; he could make me come just from talking.
“Remember when I used to go down on you in your bedroom before school? I could taste you on my mouth all day afterwards,” he said, and it drove me higher.
“And that time we made love in the storage cupboard at the back of the chemistry lab? It’s still the best sex I’ve ever had.”
“You pushed me up against the cupboard,” I said past a moan, remembering. “I thought someone would walk in.”
“But they didn’t. You came while I was still inside you. It felt incredible.”
“God . . . Dylan . . .”
“It was so hard to concentrate during lessons, when I knew you were just a few rooms away.”
“You caught me between classes often enough,” I said, panting.
“Couldn’t help it. I’d spend half of my physics lab daydreaming about your body, how you felt when I was inside you. Some days . . . I just couldn’t wait until school ended. And that first time you sucked my cock, Christ, Ev . . .”
“Oh, God, Dylan, I’m gonna . . .”
I was silent when my orgasm hit. It was swift and intense. I clenched my thighs, swallowing as it subsided.
“Jesus,” he muttered down the line. “Do you know how hard I am right now?”
As soon as the pleasure petered out, I was filled with a sense of embarrassment, which was ridiculous given what we did last night.
“Dylan, I—”
“No. Don’t you dare, Ev. There’s no shyness between us, okay?”
My reply was a wh
isper, “Okay.”
“You feel good?”
I flushed. “Yeah.”
“Good. Maybe tomorrow you’ll let me make you feel good in person.”
I couldn’t help my sigh. When we hung up I flopped back in bed, wondering how on earth I was going to get through an entire shift after having phone sex with Dylan, his husky, beguiling voice replaying my head.
The next day, I managed to convince Yvonne to lend me her red dress to wear to the charity event. I was a little bigger than she was, but it still fit me okay. The contoured design meant it clung to every curve. I understood why she was always so hesitant to wear it, because although it went to just below the knee, it still left very little to the imagination.
“Look at you,” she crooned when I stepped out of my bedroom. “Jessica Rabbit.”
I smirked and waved a hand at her. “Oh shush.” Then conspiratorially. “But tell me more.”
“You look gorgeous. Dylan’s going to lose his mind. I can’t believe you two are going on a date. I feel giddy.”
“Well, you can set your giddy pants aside for now. Yes, I’m his date, but it’s not a date.”
Yvonne scrunched her brows. “That doesn’t even make sense.”
“It does in my head.”
The door buzzed, so I grabbed my coat and bag. I didn’t want Yvonne making any more of a song and dance, so I headed downstairs to meet Dylan instead of inviting him up. He stood in the lobby wearing a tux. A TUX. My libido just about died went to heaven.
RIP.
My long coat was buttoned all the way up. I wasn’t ready to show him the dress yet, even though he’d already seen it on Yvonne. It was just so . . . boobsy. And while my aunt was a B-cup, I was a D. Two letters made a world of difference.
Dylan’s brow arched slightly. He could tell I was hiding something. “What’s up with you? Nervous?”
“It’s boobsy,” I blurted and he let out a confused laugh.
“Pardon?”
“My dress. It shows a lot of—”
“Décolletage?”
“Yes.” Damn, that was a good word. Way better than boobsy.
His lips curved as he stepped closer. “Okay, now I have to see.”