His hand brushes my thigh and I feel that rush of endorphins coursing through my body again. How can such a simple, and probably unintentional, gesture turn me on?
I take some time to observe Dylan with his friends. They are obviously close, although for the life of me I can’t figure out how their connection to one another. There is a hippie artist, a clean cut soldier home on leave, a few who have so many piercings and tattoos they could give Holly and her other friends a run for their money and they appear to range in age from barely legal to nearly sixty. It is just…odd.
The empty bench is a revolving door of sorts. People come up, wait for Dylan to invite them to have a seat, and then talk for a few minutes before getting up and moving on. We sit there for nearly four hours, drinking coffee and talking. By the time we leave, I feel more comfortable than I have in years. I don’t understand how or why, but I feel like I belong with this eclectic group.
(Dylan)
I’m not ready for the night to end, but like all good things I know it must. I am far too old to pull all-nighters. Thirty-four isn’t old by any means, but it’s old enough to know that my body will punish me for days if I try to go without sleep. And Tasha doesn’t look like she is in much better shape than I am.
“Come on, Precious. Let’s get you home.” I pull out my wallet to settle our tab and she reaches for her boots. “Don’t worry about those. Grab them and I’ll help you out.”
“You do know I can walk, right?” Even dead tired, she is feisty.
I laugh as she jumps on my back. She might put up a fight, but she’s still letting me take care of her. “Yes, you made that abundantly clear earlier.” I hand her the boots and head to my car. I can’t resist spinning around in the parking lot, making her squeal and laugh as she grips my neck tighter. When she slides lower on my hips, it gives me the perfect excuse to cup the taut globes of her ass. It’s like they were made for my hands and I want to feel more. I wish there wasn’t a denim barrier between my palms and her skin.
She gives me directions to her house and I drive across town. At every stoplight, I glance to my right, watching her smile softly as she drifts in and out of sleep. She lives in a modest home in a middle class neighborhood. It is the type of home that begs for a family, complete with kids and a dog. She’s even closer to the All-American girl than I thought.
It’s a good thing she gave me directions before we pulled out of the parking lot because she is sound asleep by the time I pull into her driveway. If it’s possible, she is even more adorable when she’s sleeping. “Hey, you’re home. Grab your keys and let’s get you inside.”
She stirs in the seat, but makes no move to wake up. Against my better judgment, I decide to find her keys and carry her inside. She is obviously exhausted and I don’t want to wake her. I quickly realize we potentially have a big problem. Her jeans are tight enough I know she doesn’t have anything in her pockets other than her phone and I can’t find her purse anywhere.
“Tasha, you need to wake up.” I shake her gently and she scoots closer to me, resting her head on my chest. When her hand glides softly along my thigh, I realize this girl is going to be my undoing. I need to get her in the house before I do something we’ll both regret in a few hours. “Precious, where’s your purse?”
“Holly,” she mumbles.
“What about Holly?” I ask, wondering if she is answering my question or if she is dreaming. I put my arm around her and start running my hand from her wrist to her shoulder. I’m about ready to cut off the engine and fall asleep right here just so we can stay like this. Her soft body feels amazing against mine.
“Holly has my purse,” she whispers. “I need to call her.”
I stop her as she reaches for her phone. “You can stay at my place tonight. There’s no point in calling her this late, she’s probably already passed out.”
Tasha shakes her head. “Can’t stay with you. We barely know each other.”
“I promise that I won’t touch you without your permission.” I can’t believe I am going to have this precious angel in my bed and I am promising to keep my hands off.
She sighs, nestling deeper against my side. “That’s the problem. I want you to touch me. If I go home with you, I’ll do something I shouldn’t.”
This is bad. Very, very bad. I know she is still sleeping, but she’s telling me what I want to hear. I know in my heart, and other parts of my body, that she is telling me the truth. She isn’t censoring herself to say what she thinks is right. But she’s sleeping. I can’t accept her words as permission to touch her. Lucid and sober, those are two of my hard requirements.
“Fine, Precious…even if I have your permission, I’m not going to touch you tonight.”
If Zeke finds out about this, I will never hear the end of it. What kind of man turns down a willing, sober, and beautiful woman? It’s a first for me, that’s for damn sure.
“Okay,” she sighs, still not moving. I shift her body slightly so her head rests high on my thigh. If I make it through tonight, I deserve a medal or something.
(Tasha)
I rub my eyes as the car lurches to a stop. Seconds later, it’s quiet. I open my eyes, expecting to see my house in front of the car, but there is nothing but a concrete wall. “Where are we now?” I ask.
The sleepless nights I’ve been experiencing since Nick moved out are catching up with me. Even though we rarely touched as we slept for the last seven months of our marriage, I’ve had a hard time getting used to the other half of the bed being cold and empty. Although I wasn’t asleep long, I feel more rested than I have in a long time.
“My place,” Dylan says as he pushes me off his leg. “Do you remember anything after you fell asleep?”
I shake my head. I try to replay the trip home but don’t remember anything after we were about a mile from the diner. “Why are we here?”
Dylan looks at me for a moment before speaking. The lines around his eyes accentuate the concern showing in their dark brown depths. “Wow, you really were sound asleep. Do you always talk when you’re sleeping?”
I feel my face heat in embarrassment. My parents used to tell me the best way to get me to admit to doing anything wrong was to ask me while I was sleeping because I am an open book with the thoughts in my head when I’m out like a light. “Um, yeah. Did I say anything that I shouldn’t have?”
It has been a night of revelations. As I head into this new stage of my life, where I hope that I meet someone I have a connection with, I need to be very careful. Dylan might be that guy, but between my insecure rambling earlier, my unspoken accusations, and whatever I might have said in my sleep, I am lucky he hasn’t run the other direction.
“That depends,” he laughs. “What shouldn’t you have said?”
While it irritates me that he is making this a game, I can’t help but laugh. It was either that or cry, and I don’t need him thinking I am any more messed up than he already does.
“That depends,” I say, mimicking him. “Tell me what I said and I’ll tell you if I should have said it or not.”
“Come on, sleeping beauty. Let’s get you to bed. If you can behave yourself, maybe I’ll tell you what you said.” I glare at him, not liking his conditions. If either of us is going to misbehave, I am sure it will be him.
The underground parking garage gives me no clue as to where he lives. The only reason I know we are underground is the angle of the drive leading down from the closed garage door to where his car is parked. I follow him into the elevator and curl up against his chest as we ride to the top floor.
Everything about my night is about as far from anything I thought I would ever do as possible. The scariest part is that I have also had more fun than I can remember having since before I got married.
And that is all because of Dylan. He saw how uncomfortable I was at the club and got me out of there. He literally gave me the shirt off his back. He carried me when my feet hurt. In one night, he has shown me more kindness than my ex-husband
did in the entire time we were together. Okay, that might be an exaggeration, but Nick had certainly never done so much in such a short period of time.
Dylan’s condo is modern and sleek. Shades of gray and black with pops of purple and white fill the living room with color. The open floor plan allows me to see the professional-grade stainless steel appliances in the kitchen. I look to my left and the amazing view of the Capitol mesmerizes me. The beauty of downtown Madison is one of the many things I love about living in this area, but I have never seen a view like the one through Dylan’s floor-to-ceiling windows. It’s as if we’re so close that I could reach out and touch the illuminated dome.
“Nice place,” I mutter as I try to hide the fact that I am in absolute awe. Earlier in the night, I imagined him living in an affordable, somewhat rundown apartment. I picture successful doctors and lawyers living in a place like this. Then again, for all I know he could be either of those. We haven’t exactly gotten to know one another all that well in the few hours since we met.
“Thanks. Follow me.” We walk down the hall, decorated with black and white prints of area landmarks, and he opens the door directly in front of us, revealing a magnificent bedroom. The focal point in the room is an ebony four-poster bed, king-size of course. More windows reveal yet another stunning view of the Capitol dome.
“I’m not having sex with you,” I state bluntly.
What in the world did I tell him while I was sleeping? Did I agree to have sex with him? Oh heck, this is not good.
Dylan laughs, tossing me a fresh t-shirt out of his dresser. University of Wisconsin marching band alumni. Interesting.
“Yes, we established that. Actually, I told you I wasn’t going to touch you tonight, no matter how much you begged.”
Holy crap, did I beg him to have sex with me? “What did I say?” I plead, desperate for him to tell me. I don’t want to play his silly little game where he decides what to tell me and when.
He turns down the sheets on the bed, turning his back to me while I change. The cardinal red t-shirt is soft, the way only a well-loved shirt could be. The shirt sagging off my shoulder and hanging almost to my knees once again emphasizes the size difference between us. Dylan is one of very few people I have met who has the ability to make me feel small. It’s a foreign but not unwelcome feeling.
“Don’t worry, Precious,” he chuckles, obviously amused by the horrified look on my face. “It wasn’t that bad.” He walks over to me, wrapping his arms around my waist. I feel vulnerable standing in front of him wearing nothing but one of his shirts and my panties. I also find myself incredibly turned on. “I told you I wouldn’t touch you without your permission and you told me you wanted me to touch you. That’s all.”
Oh. My. Gosh. I actually admitted that to him? Sure, I’ve been thinking about having his hands on my bare skin since before we got to the diner. I want to feel his plump lips clamped onto my nipple as he sucks and bites on it. His strong hands traveling down my stomach until his fingers fill me. Okay, so I officially need to get laid. Maybe being here with him is a good thing. I can have sex, get it out of my system, and quit thinking like a horny teenager. But when I told him I wanted him to touch me, then he said he wouldn’t? Okay, that’s a bit of a blow to the ego. Most men would love to have a woman throwing herself at him.
“So you’re not going to touch me even though I said I wanted you to?” There is no hiding the hurt in my voice.
He crooked a finger under my chin, lifting my eyes to his. “Hey, it’s not like that.” He reaches for my hand and places it against his zipper. “You feel that? I’ve been one big walking hard-on since the first time I saw you tonight. Literally. But I’m not going to do anything you don’t want to do. And you telling me what you want while you’re sleeping doesn’t count as permission.”
I gulp at the feel him under my hand. Nick wasn’t small by any means, but he was also nothing like this. I let my hand rest there, searing this moment into my mind. “And if I tell you now?” I ask summoning courage I didn’t know I possessed until this moment. “Dylan, I want you to touch me.” I hold my gaze to his, not blinking, wanting him to know I am dead serious.
And I am. I want him more than I’ve wanted anything before. As much as his girth scares me, the thought of him filling and stretching me makes my muscles clench at the mere notion of being able to milk every drop of come from his body. If I could choose any man to be my first in this new phase of my life, I would choose Dylan. I want to know what the pressure of his body leaning in for a kiss as he thrusts into me will feel like. I want to drag my fingernails down his back as he makes me scream.
His hands travel over the soft cotton, down to the hem of my shirt. I suck in a deep breath when the heat of his palms meets my cold legs. He picks me up, holding tight to my legs and moves me to his bed.
Am I really going to do this? Am I prepared to have sex with a man I’ve known less than eight hours?
He lays me on the bed with gentleness I didn’t think he was capable of. His handling of me is reverent, making me feel cherished. “I want you so much it hurts,” Dylan sighs as he brushes the hair away from my face. “But we both need to sleep now.”
Watching Dylan undress is nearly as exciting as opening the package you know contains the toy you have been coveting on Christmas morning. I get my first real glimpse of his chest as he reaches behind his head to pull off his t-shirt. As the white cotton lifts over his head, I imagine running my tongue through the deep valleys created by his well-defined abs. While his stomach is a clean, bare canvas, amazing tattoos in shades of black cover both sides and his arms. I want to explore the artwork and trace my fingers around the outlines. I can’t remember the last time I was this turned on yet he has made it abundantly clear that no matter how much I want to throw my morals out the window, he won’t allow that to happen.
After stripping down to his striped boxer briefs, Dylan crawls into bed next to me, cocooning my body with his. While I appreciate his apparent respect for my virtue, I’d be lying if I said it doesn’t bother me. How many men would turn down the opportunity to have sex with a willing woman in their bed?
(Dylan)
I only sleep for a few hours when the feeling of Tasha’s thigh rubbing against my groin wakes me and I am ready to go. But I don’t want to fuck her. No, that’s a lie. I want to feel her body sheathing mine more than I care to admit but I could tell from the moment I saw her standing in line at the club that the very last thing she needs is a horny man taking advantage of her.
When I brought her back to my condo, I’m not sure which of us the gesture surprised more I don’t bring women home, ever. It’s something I just don’t do. Not something I don’t do often, something I don’t ever do. The unexpected angel lying next to me is turning my world upside down for reasons even I can’t figure out. It goes deeper than the intense sexual attraction I feel for her. Being protective is part of my nature, but never before have I felt such a visceral need to ensure the safety of a woman I barely know.
I trace circles across her back as I try to figure out what to do. Lying on her side with both hands resting between the pillow and her cheek, she looks even more innocent than she did when I first met her. What in the hell possessed her friends to think it was okay to bring her into such a den of debauchery? And furthermore, how did someone like Tasha come to be friends with a woman as messed up as Holly Richards? She says they have been friends since they were little kids, but I can’t reconcile their bond as adults given everything I know and even more that I have only heard about the woman who had the balls to warn me to make sure I didn’t hurt Tasha. Little does she know the lengths I would go to keep that promise, not to her, but to myself.
(Tasha)
My heart starts racing as I jolt out of the best sleep I have had in months. Sunlight floods the room and I feel like I have been sleeping on a cloud. This is not my bedroom. I peek under the covers to see that I am wearing a UW t-shirt, and my panties are still in place, so tha
t’s a good sign.
Slowly, memories of my bizarre evening return to me. I lightly run my fingers down the side of my nose, noting that getting my first piercing wasn’t a dream. My aching feet remind me of the ridiculous outfit Holly insisted I wear to Leather & Lace night. I can only assume the other images flooding my mind actually happened as well. The diner. Locked out of my house. Dylan being the consummate gentleman. Dylan refusing my advances.
Mortified that I put myself out there like that, I lean against the headboard and bury my face in my hands. What in the world does he think of me? Between the way my friends hovered over me as if I am an incompetent charity case, my incessant rambling, and then throwing myself at him like a desperate whore, I can’t imagine it is anything good.
“Good morning, Precious,” Dylan says softly as he pads into the room. I risk a glance through my splayed fingers and see him standing in front of me wearing nothing but a pair of jeans hanging low on his hips. Last night, I could have blamed the alcohol for my nether regions coming to life at the sight of him, but I don’t have that excuse this morning. No, it’s him. Just the sight of him that brings parts of me to life I had long ago forgotten existed.
I slide down in the bed, yanking the white down comforter over my head. I know what I look like first thing in the morning and it’s not pretty. When I feel the edge of the bed dip, I resist the urge to look, not wanting to see that I am once again in the same bed as a man who doesn’t want me.
Dylan laughs as he pulls back the top of the bedding. “Come on, lazy bones. It’s almost noon. Time to get up and enjoy the day.” I barely have time to react as he leans over to give me a peck on the cheek. While I am glad he doesn’t try to kiss me on the lips with the morning breath I know I must have, I can’t help feeling rejected yet again when he doesn’t even try.
Unexpected Angel Page 5