By the time we got home, Dylan was all over Amber. Barely even got her to his bedroom by the time he had her naked.
I moved in behind her, smoothing my hands up her sides, her slender curves, freaked the fuck out that they were gonna forget I was even here. But Amber moaned and tipped her head as I kissed the back of her neck, where she didn’t have any latex or makeup and I could taste her sweet, flowers-and-candy-smelling skin… and relief swept through me. Clearly, she wanted me here.
I turned her toward me as Dylan started taking off his costume. Amber undressed me as we kissed, awkwardly, trying not to eat the zombie crap off each other’s faces.
Then the three of us ended up in the bathroom, fucking laughing as we peeled latex and goop off of each other, then showered.
Afterwards, when we were finally clean—it took a while—I took Amber to the bed first, before Dylan could get his hands on her again and she forgot about me.
I needed her tonight. Fuck Dylan being greedy.
I sat back against the headboard and took her with me, pulling her onto my lap. She straddled me, grabbing my dick and easing me up inside her pussy, warm and eager.
Dylan slid into bed beside us and I closed my eyes, letting the sensations sweep through me… Amber’s tight pussy, devouring my cock.
As she rode me, I looked up at her. Dylan put his hand on her neck and pulled her over to him, so he could kiss her. When they pulled apart, I tracked her hand, smoothing over his cock and starting to stroke him. I didn’t want to stare at him, but what she was doing was kinda giving me permission.
So I fucking stared.
I stared at Dylan’s cock in her slender hand. Fucking huge. Thick. Swollen. The head bright-red as she squeezed and pulled, and he melted onto the bed with a groan of pleasure.
I started to feel my own rush building; watching what was happening right next to me was getting me there, fucking fast.
“Yeah. Come, Ashley…” Amber whispered, as her pussy squeezed me, and I realized I was giving her all the signs that I was about to blow. My hands gripping her hips, fingers digging into her ass. My breathing heavy, erratic, my chest heaving. The low, guttural groans.
My dick, hard as fucking granite as she rode me, up and down.
I looked at her pretty face, her soft lips parted, her hair tumbling over her cheeks. Her hard little nipples as her tits bounced in front of me.
And I looked at her hand on Dylan’s cock.
I heard her soft panting and his low moans, and I fucking blew.
My hips lifted up off the bed and I ground my teeth together, stifling the growl.
My mind shattered into a million fucking pieces as I collapsed, shuddering.
When I’d scraped my shit together again, I rolled and threw Amber down, in-between us.
I crawled over her, kissing her soft skin. Sucking and biting at her nipples. Lapping her clit with my pierced tongue.
Dylan joined in, sucking on her tits while I was down south. When I moved up and kissed her sweet mouth, he ate her out with a fucking passion.
He ate her out, when I’d just come inside her.
Amber’s soft cries filled the room. She had one hand in my hair and one in Dylan’s, and it made me feel intensely connected to him. Working in tune with him, working her body with him… It made me feel connected to them both. Like I was a part of something so fucking incredible, I couldn’t even fathom how I’d gotten here or how I’d ever deserved it, or what the fuck I was gonna do to keep it.
When I looked in Amber’s eyes, I could see a flash of that same vulnerable, scared-as-fuck feeling in her.
Then Dylan lifted himself over her, spreading her legs, and drove into her. The sounds they made together had the blood raging to my dick all over again. I slipped my hand over her thigh, wanting to touch her, wanting to touch them, wanting to keep that connection.
Then I shifted closer to them and slid my hand up.
I couldn’t even say why I did it, exactly. I knew I shouldn’t have. But as my hand slid from Amber’s thigh and up over Dylan’s, then up over the curve of his ass, all I wanted to do was touch him.
I really, really shouldn’t have.
I knew there was an implied trust when we were together with a girl, a trust that went into effect, every time, without need of words. We’d never talked about it outright, but we didn’t need to. I knew Dylan wasn’t into dudes. He didn’t want some guy’s hand on his ass while he fucked a girl. Even mine.
But I did it anyway.
My heart was fucking slamming in my chest at the feel of his smooth skin under my hand, his muscles tensing.
Somehow, I just knew that he wasn’t gonna stop in the middle of fucking Amber to deal with me and my hand, especially when he was so close to making her come.
And he didn’t.
He went right on fucking her like my hand wasn’t there. He drove her there, and Amber came with a scream and a shudder. Her nails dug into his back; there was no mistaking where both of her hands were on his body, no matter how caught up he was.
Then he came, with a low groan that made my dick harden, his muscles flexing beneath my hand.
I closed my eyes, and I could feel what he was feeling as he blew into her.
Then I pulled my hand away, before he could come down.
I rolled away and got out of bed, before either of them could say anything. I went into the bathroom to get a moment alone.
I breathed deep and slow and threw some cold water on my face, and willed my dick to snap out of it.
Then I looked at my face in the mirror, at my eyes, my pupils blown wide.
And I thought about what happened between us, that one time.
That one time when Dylan came… in my face.
By accident.
For a while, it had become a bit of a running joke between us. Because fucking seriously. He came. In my face.
It happened when we were in bed with Kitty. It was dark, Dylan had explained afterward, and he got “confused.”
It was dark. We were all drunk.
Maybe it was inevitable, in a way. We’d been in bed together, with a woman, so many times, we were bound to cross some kind of line, at some point. Even accidentally.
Maybe the only strange thing about it was that it never happened sooner.
I knew it didn’t mean anything.
But it had always left those nagging questions in my heart.
Was it really that dark? Was he really confused?
So we’d made a joke about it, kinda feeling each other out. Me, trying to figure out if it meant something more. Dylan, trying to figure out if I wanted it to mean more. Both of us feigning total innocence in the matter.
Him: It was dark. I got confused.
Me: I was drunk. I barely noticed.
Right. Like a dude blowing his load on your face was no big event. Who would notice that?
Then the joke, somewhere along the line, had died, and it became just one of those things that got filed away under the category of my sexual attraction to men, and we never talked about it again.
Of course, to me, it was never a fucking joke.
And just like then, I was allowing myself to wonder, right now, if what just happened might mean more than it actually did.
For just a minute, I wanted to let myself live in a world where that could be a possibility.
But then reality hit, like it always did.
I walked back into the bedroom to find Dylan up and getting dressed, saying something about needing some air. He often went out on the back deck at night to look at the water and soak up the fresh air and just be alone for a while, but still. He didn’t look at me. He was looking at Amber, and as soon as she darted into the bathroom to clean up, I went on the offensive.
Maybe so he couldn’t bring up the fact that I’d just violated him first.
“I told you. I knew you were gonna do this.”
He looked at me. “Do what?”
“Fall for her.” I yanked
my jeans on.
He didn’t respond to that right away, but he had guilt written all over his face. “How did you know that?”
“How did I know? Let’s see. From day one? Because she’s exactly your type.”
“My type?” He looked at me kinda blankly.
“You know, the au naturel girl-next-door hippie type who happens to be gorgeous, with a head full of dreams and ideals. You’ve got a type, man.”
He raised an eyebrow. “I do?”
Christ. Seriously?
“You’re kidding me, right? Remember Vickie? Remember Lolabella, or whatever the fuck that chick’s name was from Coachella? Fucking Annie?”
“Shit. I do have a type.” I couldn’t even tell if this was news to him or if he was putting me on. Fucker just pulled on his shirt, unfazed.
“Yeah. Well, unfortunately for those girls, they either turned out to be too much drama, or too much dumb.”
“Dumb?”
“Hello. Annie?”
“Annie wasn’t dumb. She was just—”
“She was dumb as fuck. You can say it. She’s not here.” I took a step away from the bathroom, but I could hear the water running. I was pretty sure Amber couldn’t hear us. “The thing is, Amber’s amazing. And she just gets better the more you know her. Peeling all those layers back… She’s real. She’s complex and smart and sensitive and strong and sexy as fuck, and she’s everything you ever wanted in a girl.”
Dylan scoffed a bit. “Don’t think I even knew everything I wanted in a girl.”
“Yeah. Well, I did.”
He stared at me. “What are you so pissed off about?”
“You’re falling in love with her.”
Silence. He just stood there, staring at me, so fucking calm as I inwardly raged, my chest heaving.
Then: “So?”
“So?” I grabbed my shirt and yanked it on. “You’re gonna fucking leave me.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” he said. “Leave you? I’m not going anywhere. However I feel about Amber doesn’t change anything.”
“If you really believe that,” I said, “you’re fucking kidding yourself.”
Then I stormed out before he could bring up the whole my-hand-on-his-ass thing, wanting to punch something, like some fucking drama queen. But I really couldn’t help it. I was fucking pissed.
Mostly at myself.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Amber
I spent the morning in Dylan’s house, alone, looking through some unsorted photos from my South America trip. The guys had gone into the city, on separate boats, Ashley to do whatever Ashley did when he went into the city—which would likely include getting groceries, to feed the bottomless pit that was Dylan’s stomach—and Dylan to attend a morning meeting with Dirty at a recording studio.
Dirty was going to start recording their new album tomorrow, and Dylan was clearly excited about it.
I was excited that when he got back from his meeting, I was going to have him all to myself; Ashley said he’d be gone for most of the day.
And I was kind of freaking out.
I was planning to drag Dylan to bed as soon as he got home, obviously, which would mean that—other than that fast, frantic limo fuck in L.A.—we’d be having sex alone, just the two of us, for the first time. Which meant I was also kinda nervous.
And I was worried.
I figured I should ask him about what happened last night. Ashley touching him, while the three of us were in bed. I’d seen Ashley put his hand on Dylan’s ass while he was fucking me. Because I had Dylan on top of me at the time, his cock inside me, and I was about to come, it had been kind of exciting. Arousing, if you asked my lady parts.
But in the dim recesses of my rational mind, it was also kind of alarming.
I didn’t know what to do with it. What to think.
But I knew I should ask.
It wasn’t that I felt threatened, exactly. Though maybe that was part of it? But I just really needed to know what it meant. To Dylan.
I was pretty sure I already knew what it meant to Ashley.
Even if you were right there on the bed, watching your buddy fuck a girl, then come with that girl, you didn’t accidentally reach out and put your hand on his bare ass and leave it there.
As for Dylan’s non-reaction, I really couldn’t figure out what that meant.
In a way, maybe I just plain understood Ashley. Clearly, he was hot for Dylan. Well, so was I.
I could hardly fault him for it.
But Dylan? The man was still a bit of an exotic mystery to me.
As I turned it over in my head, my thoughts turned to Johnny and what he’d said to me at the bar in L.A., as we were saying goodbye.
He’d asked me if I was with Dylan Cope.
You really have no right to ask me that, I’d informed him.
I know I don’t, he admitted. Then he’d offered, grudgingly, Dylan’s alright. Which, coming from Johnny, with his huge ego and his eye swelling up from the blow of Dylan’s fist, was pretty high praise.
You like Dylan? I’d asked him, surprised.
You could do worse, he’d said.
Then he made a point of kissing me on the cheek before he left, while throwing Dylan a look that said something like Eat shit and die.
I smiled a little at that memory. Because really, only Dylan Cope could punch a guy in the face and still have his respect moments later. Johnny hadn’t pressed charges against him, and the media hadn’t even attacked. The incident was on the web, thanks to about a million cell phones capturing the chaos of the brief brawl, but Dylan’s involvement in it had been so out of character, no one had seemed to want to dwell on it or make him the bad guy.
So far, I hadn’t met anyone who’d had an unkind word to say about Dylan. I was no longer under any illusion that he was perfect. Ashley had warned me about his stinky feet after concerts; I was pretty fucking sure that confirmed his humanity.
But maybe he was just perfect for me.
A nice guy. No drama. No bullshit.
A nice guy who had so much going for him, was so effortlessly charming and sexy and desirable, it kinda scared the shit out of me.
Made me wonder what he saw in me.
Really, my self-esteem wasn’t that low. I knew my good qualities as well as I knew my not-so-good ones. But still.
Me and Dylan Cope… alone?
It was almost too exciting for me to handle.
I’d just finished eating lunch when I heard the Dirty Deed pulling in, and my chest got all fluttery. My breaths got short. My palms started sweating. My pulse throbbed between my legs, and I felt myself getting wet.
I was about to have Dylan all to myself.
All.
To.
Myself.
When he walked into the house and found me lying on a couch in the living room, he ditched his jacket and headed straight over, his eyes running up and down the length of my body.
I’d worn one of my long, soft, figure-hugging dresses—with absolutely nothing underneath. This one was a soft ivory color, and I usually wore a bikini beneath it on hot days, because it was pretty see-through.
“Are you hungry?” I asked him. “I just had lunch.”
“Already ate,” he said, his gaze settling on my pussy. “But I could eat.” His lips quirked in that slight, crooked smile that made my lady parts ache. “What are you up to, Amber Paige?”
“Just waiting for you,” I said, honestly. “I’m catching the six o’clock into town. I asked Liv to meet me for dinner.” I’d asked her to dinner before I knew I’d have Dylan all to myself this afternoon. Which meant I was now kinda regretting it. But I wasn’t gonna bail on a date with my sister, even for Dylan Cope.
“I’ll drive you,” he said, immediately.
“Okay.” I’d learned by now not to bother trying to fight when he insisted on giving me a ride into the city. “But until then, I was thinking… I mean, if you don’t have other plans…” I s
at up and picked up my camera, which was sitting on the coffee table, and told him, “You should get undressed.” Then I got to my feet, standing in front of him with the camera, turning it on.
By now, I knew how to seduce Dylan Cope. The see-through dress didn’t hurt, but I knew how hard it got him when I took my camera out.
I glanced down now and I could see the firm bulge of his cock, pressing against his jeans. He was already getting hard.
He liked my attention focused on him, through my lens. Liked me taking photos of him. It was foreplay.
Maybe it was also a tease. That the camera was between us and he couldn’t quite see me, couldn’t quite get to me. Couldn’t quite have me, fully, while it was between us.
I fully expected him to start stripping, immediately.
But instead, he reached out and took the camera from my hands, setting it back down on the table.
“I’ll get undressed,” he said, without making any move to do so, and instead, he cocked one of his incredibly sexy eyebrows at me. “But ladies first.”
Okay. Now I was really nervous.
Sure, I’d been naked in front of him. A lot. But there was usually so much going on, between the two hot men who were naked with me, and all the touching and mind-melting arousal that I didn’t have much mental ability to feel self-conscious. Anytime I’d been standing in front of Dylan while my clothes came off, it was because Ashley was taking them off—while doing other things to me that kinda distracted me from the fact.
Now, we were standing in Dylan’s living room, alone, in broad daylight. He was staring at me, and there was nothing at all to distract from the fact that he was about to see me, buck-naked.
“Are you sure?” I asked, stalling. “Having sex with the clothes on can be pretty sexy.”
His eyes, hooded with lust, drifted down my body, slowly and deliberately.
“I want to look at you,” he said, his voice all rough, as he met my eyes again. “I want to see your eyes and your tits and your bare pussy. I want you to show it to me.”
Well okay, then.
Truth was, I really didn’t want him leaving his clothes on, either. So fair was fair.
I gathered my dress in my hands, lifting the soft skirt up my legs… up my thighs… his gaze following all the way. Then I took a breath and in one quick motion peeled it up and over my head. I tossed it on the floor and shook out my hair as his eyes drank me in.
Dirty Like Dylan: A Dirty Rockstar Romance (Dirty, Book 4) Page 31