Carson shot him a confused look.
“She’s like this beautiful disaster, and I mean that in the very best way possible. You know how some people wall themselves off and you get glimpses of who they are but they won’t let you in?”
“You’ve just described Mick to a tee.”
Dylan thought about that for a minute. Their eldest brother definitely fit that bill, at least until his new wife, Amanda, had come along.
“Yeah. Maybe I need to talk to Amanda.”
“They’re on their honeymoon, and besides, no woman is going to give you pointers on getting through to another woman. It’s part of their girl code or something. They like to see us squirm.”
“You never squirm.”
“I never chase either.” Carson bumped Dylan with his elbow and nodded in the direction of two brunettes doing yoga on the grass. Normally Dylan would be all over that view, tracking them for as long as he could, but his only thought was how they didn’t compare to Tiffany.
“You saw her, bro. She’s hot as fuck. She’s bright and smart-mouthed. You know how I love a smart-mouthed woman.”
“I know how much you like women’s mouths,” Carson quipped.
“I do have a thing for a fine, sexy mouth,” Dylan conceded. “But it’s more than fantastic sex. Part of what makes her so hot is her inability to accept being treated like she is. It’s like she works really hard to prove she’s not a gorgeous blonde, and yet when we’re together, she slips, you know? She lets her guard down and there’s this softer side of her that I want to hold on to and get to know better. She’s fascinating and charming in this totally uncharming way.”
“She’s got your briefs in a knot, all right.” Carson laughed under his breath and then his tone, and his expression, went dead serious. “Dyl, not all women need a knight in shining armor, and from what I know about Tiffany, she’s a ballbuster. I think you’re setting yourself up to be either hurt or made a fool of. Neither one sounds like a good outcome.”
Dylan ground his teeth together. His other brothers would come right out and tell him not to waste his time, but not Carson. Carson’s mind worked through a pattern of reasons and best- and worst-case scenarios. It was what made him excellent at his job. He cut right to the heart of the matter. Dylan could make light of that truth and make an off-the-cuff remark, tell his brother all women were needy and he was giving her exactly what she needed, but while that was a response he’d give to the others, with Carson he could bring it down a notch and make it real. And right now he needed real, because he couldn’t get Tiffany out of his fucking mind.
“That’s the thing. I like that she isn’t a pushover who needs me. She’s challenging, and when I finally get her in my arms, it’s…explosive and it’s like she belongs there regardless of whether she says something sharp or if something sweet slips out. I can’t explain it, because it makes no sense. She’s the exact opposite of the type of woman I usually go for. But I like her. And in those brief moments when she lets her guard down? She’s so much more than any woman I’ve ever been with. When I’m with her, whether we’re verbally sparring or making out, it feels real and raw and…” At a loss for words, he shrugged.
Carson didn’t say anything for the longest time as they rounded the North Woods and headed back the way they’d come.
When the silence became too frustrating, Dylan finally said, “That’s it? You’re not going to say anything?”
“I was just thinking about how great it would be to feel that with a woman. Real doesn’t happen very often. Have you noticed that? Women are constantly seeing how we measure up. I swear they have checklists. Is he good-looking? Does he hold the door open for me? Is he successful enough? Six figures or seven?” Carson shook his head. “There are days I wish I were poor and bald so I could tell if a woman liked me for me. I’d give my left nut for real.”
“Yeah,” Dylan agreed. “Good to hear I’m not crazy after all.”
“Hey, I wouldn’t go that far,” Carson teased. “But seriously, worst-case scenario? You fall for a woman who played you like a fiddle and you’re right back in the dating pool tomorrow.”
The only pool Dylan wanted to swim in was probably knee deep in texts and emails at that very moment.
TIFFANY SCANNED THE twenty-page endorsement contract for one of her newest clients as she rode the elevator up to her apartment, wishing one of the six office spaces she’d seen earlier in the day had panned out. How could it be this difficult to find suitable office space in New York City? She’d been looking for weeks and, granted, she might be pickier than most, but she often spent more than twelve hours a day in her office. She needed to feel comfortable there, which meant everything had to be perfect. She liked natural light, primarily in the late afternoon and early evening, and preferred to be no higher than the fifth floor, because business elevators got crowded and there was too much wasted time stopping between floors. She didn’t need a lot of space, which she knew presented an issue in some buildings.
She opened her purse and eyed the note Dylan had left taped to her apartment door that morning. She smiled as she read it for the hundredth time.
Summers, hope you’re ready for our date tonight. I know I am. Contact my friend Phoebe Nice. She’ll hook you up with a great office space. Your 10+, D.B.
His handwriting was bold and masculine, like him. At first she’d rolled her eyes at the smiley face he’d drawn at the bottom of the note beneath Phoebe’s phone number and email address, but now, as she looked at the two dots and crooked smile, it reminded her of him. He had a quirky sense of humor, and nearly everything he said was seductive or playful. Or both. She liked that about him. And she had to admit that his confidence was addicting. She’d had a long, tedious day traipsing through the city and had replayed their conversations in her mind all day and then repeatedly chastised herself for doing it. She probably wasted a good two hours thinking about Dylan instead of focusing on work.
Just like I’m doing right now.
She shoved the note back into her purse. She couldn’t afford to waste a minute, much less two hours, thinking about a man. Well, besides her father. At least he’d passed his kidney stones, and when she’d seen him earlier, he’d been resting comfortably and was glad to be home. Thank goodness for small favors. Although she’d felt a pang of guilt when she’d seen the flowers Dylan had sent her on her father’s dining room table.
The elevator doors opened on her floor, and she scrolled through her messages while she walked down the hall. Thankfully, the client who had threatened the paparazzi hadn’t been called out. One bullet dodged. She glanced up as she approached her apartment.
“Are you kidding me?” She couldn’t stop the smile tugging at her lips as she neared the tower of gold Godiva chocolate boxes wrapped in a beautiful red bow. She needed to put an end to this sweetness. Sweetness? Nonsense, that’s what it was. Flowers? Chocolate? How much more cliché could he get? He was barking up the wrong tree.
Although you do have a deliciously sinful bark.
And he was very good at relieving stress. She’d slept like the dead last night, and woken up sweaty and horny from an erotic dream featuring none other than wickedly hot, filthy-talking Dylan Bad. She should march right upstairs and give him back the chocolates and put an end to this once and for all. She was not one of those shallow girls who fell for ridiculously overpriced gifts. Yes. That was exactly what she needed to do. The sooner she got him out of her head, the better, and if he kept leaving her notes and gifts, she’d never have a clear mind again.
She scooped up the boxes and carried them back to the elevator. Wow. They were shiny and pretty. Four of them, all different sizes. And they were big. Her mind went directly south, to Dylan’s cock, and her mouth went dry.
Stop thinking about his cock.
Her stomach fluttered, and shivers raced down her limbs. He had a beautiful cock. It was thick and long and perfectly straight, like a G-spot-seeking missile. Great. Now her hands were shaking
.
She blew out a loud breath and pushed the button for the elevator. Her heart was going crazy and she couldn’t get the sound of Dylan’s voice out of her mind. Open your eyes. That’s it baby, let go.
Jesus. The man gave hot a whole new meaning.
Summers? You okay?
She clenched her teeth and closed her eyes, willing her pulse to stop quickening. How was she ever going to concentrate again? Between the sexy seduction and his thoughtfulness, she was a lost cause.
She looked at the boxes in her arms and spotted a note dangling from a thin gold ribbon. She turned it over and read it.
Summer girl—Her heart stumbled over that. Why did his nicknames affect her so strongly?—Sweet, sinful, delicious. Just like you. I hope these hit the spot, just like we did several times last night. See you at 12:01. D.B.
She stormed out of the elevator on wobbly legs, too turned on to be angry, and annoyed with herself for falling for another cliché.
She banged on his apartment door, determined to hand over the chocolates, tell him this shameful stalking had to stop, and be done with it. The door opened slowly, and “You Shook Me All Night Long” by AC/DC found her ears before her eyes focused on the man standing before her wearing nothing but a tool belt and a pair of cargo shorts. Are you frigging kidding me? Dylan Bad in a tool belt?
A smile spread across his lips. “Summer girl. You’re early, and you brought dessert.”
Chapter Eight
TIFFANY PLOWED FORWARD, kicking the door shut behind her, and dropped the chocolates and everything else to the floor, freeing up her hands to grab the man who was creating chaos in her normally calm, cool, and controlled body.
“I’m not early,” she snapped, fumbling with Dylan’s tool belt. “We didn’t have a date!” The damn thing was stuck, and he was laughing, and she was too damn horny to care. “Take this thing off!”
He unhooked the belt frustratingly easily, and it fell to the floor with a clunk. “My, my, Summers. I do like this side of you.”
He reached for her shirt and tugged it over her head. She hadn’t worn a bra, and her nipples ached as his rough hands found them, teasing and groping just like she needed. She kissed his chest. It was insane how much she adored the taste of him. His skin was hot and salty, and so delicious she wanted to lick him all over. This was madness, but she couldn’t stop, and when he grabbed her chin a little roughly, with a predatory look in his eyes, and crashed his mouth to hers, she went a little wild, struggling to strip off her jeans as they kissed. He rid himself of his shorts, and his erection sprang free against her belly, hot and tempting. He broke the kiss long enough to leer at her as she stepped out of her thong, and her entire body ignited.
“Our next date, I want to take that thong off with my teeth.” He tugged her against him again, claiming her mouth.
She tore her lips away. “This isn’t a date. I need to get you out of my system.” He grabbed her ass and ground against her, and holy shit. He could call it whatever he wanted as long as he fucked her before she combusted.
“Not going to happen, Summers. We click. Admit it.”
He feasted on her neck, making her so wet she felt it on her thighs.
“God, I hate you,” she said breathlessly.
“Hate. Love,” he said between hot caresses. “It’s all intertwined.”
They stumbled toward the living room in a mass of tangled limbs and hungry kisses.
“Dream on. This is the last time this is happening.”
His mouth and hands were all over her, tasting and groping, and she was right there with him. She wanted to take control of the situation and suck his hot cock to get all of him out of her system in one fell swoop. The back of her knees hit a piece of furniture and she toppled backward. The ceiling came into view, and then he caught her, inches from the floor, with worry written all over his face. A second later that worry morphed to a devilish grin.
“You’re already falling for me, Summers. I’m all yours, baby.”
Before she could say a word, he kissed her long and deep, consuming her inch by inch, until her muscles went lax and all the angst inside her slipped away. She felt every strong stroke of his tongue as if it were between her thighs. The hard press of his insistent, possessive mouth unearthed the girl she’d long ago buried, and this time fear didn’t follow. She didn’t think, didn’t struggle to gain control. Instead, for the first time in years, she let herself go. Her arms circled his neck as he cradled her. His hands splayed hot and strong against her skin as he lowered her to the plush area rug. He didn’t come down over her. He lay beside her, moving his hips against the side of hers, his arousal rubbing deliciously against her as he deepened their magnificent kiss. His tongue searched and took, and the pleasure-filled sounds he made thrummed through her body.
She pushed her hand beneath his hip and tried to wiggle beneath him. His hand moved down her side and he gripped her outer thigh.
“I need to get a condom,” he said softly, then placed a series of kisses along her lower lip.
Condom. Right. How could she have forgotten that?
He moved his hand up to her cheek and hooked his thumb over her teeth as he’d done the other night, holding her jaw open, sending electric currents through her veins. His eyes were so dark, so expressive and filled with desire, she couldn’t look away. He lowered his mouth a breath away from hers, and she closed her eyes.
“Open for me, Summers,” he whispered.
Her eyes opened as his warm breath swam inside her mouth, making her salivate for more. Without touching her lips, his tongue dipped over his thumb, sweeping through her mouth. When she tried to arch up, to meet his lips, he drew back, holding her down with that thumb on her teeth, and shook his head. Without a word, he lowered his mouth again, slicking his tongue over her upper lip, then dipped inside again, teasing over her tongue. She met his efforts lick for luscious lick. The pressure on her jaw felt sinful and naughty. She rocked her hips, needing his touch as her body flooded with heat. The pressure on her jaw eased. His gaze never left hers as he pushed his thumb into her mouth, and her lips closed around it, sucking and swirling her tongue over his rough skin. His cock pressed into her, and his hips moved at the same pace as he moved his thumb in and out of her mouth. She closed her eyes, disappearing into the erotic beat.
His cheek met hers and he whispered, “Touch yourself.”
Too far gone to think, she obeyed, sliding her fingers over her slick, sensitive flesh as he pushed his tongue into her ear, around the shell, then sucked on the lobe. His thumb continued in and out of her mouth, and her fingers found the same rhythm. Her cheek cooled when he lifted his head.
“Open your eyes, sweetheart.” His voice felt like a caress, and she obeyed again, wanting to please him, wanting more of the man who made her forget the rest of the world.
He smiled down at her, his eyes sliding south, turning primal and hungry as he focused on her naughty, naughty hand. “You’re so beautiful.”
His thumb left her mouth, and she whimpered with the loss. He reached down and lifted her left knee, his body still trapping the right one beneath him, and he gently pressed her knee open, blatantly watching her finger herself. He licked his lips, and she closed her eyes again, her entire body throbbing for more. He brought his thumb to her clit, massaging exquisitely, bringing her right up to the edge. She knew just where to touch to fall over that edge, but she was in that mind-numbing space before the peak. Her body vibrated, and pulses of heat radiated outward from her core, reaching for the orgasm she purposely kept at bay. Her nipples tingled with pinpricks, her legs began to shake, and Dylan’s smile turned wicked.
“Don’t. Come,” he demanded, and sealed his lips over her nipple. Her hips shot off the floor, and she cried out. “Don’t. Come,” he repeated with complete control.
She was panting, her entire body trembling. He sucked her nipple against the roof of his mouth, and she moaned. Her hand stilled between her legs, too lost in his talented
mouth to focus on anything else.
“Fuck yourself, baby,” he said against her breast.
And then his hand was on hers, moving her fingers in and out of her swollen sex.
“That’s it, baby. In and out. Just hard enough to want that orgasm, but don’t you dare come, or I won’t fuck you tonight.”
She whimpered again—God, what was he doing to her?—and he lowered his mouth, grazing his teeth over one taut peak. His thumb claimed her most sensitive nerves once again, his palm applying pressure to her hand, forcing her fingers deeper inside her. Heaven and hell collided within her in a fiery storm of need.
“Dylan,” she pleaded.
“Love the sound of my name coming off your lips.”
His mouth crashed roughly over hers. She grabbed his head with her free hand, pinning their mouths together, and felt him smile against her lips.
“Don’t come,” he commanded again, then plunged his tongue in deep.
She moaned in rebellion against his demand, mewling into the kiss as she climbed higher and higher. His thumb moved at a dizzying pace. His mouth mesmerized her, and she couldn’t hold back another second. Her toes curled under and her hips shot off the rug as she exploded into a million fiery sparks. She cried out into their kiss, her sex pulsing tight around her fingers as her climax stormed through her, and he slowed the kiss to a torturously languid pace, until she could barely breathe, and she fell limply back to the floor.
“You are a bad, bad girl, Summers.”
His words blurred in her mind as his mouth trailed south over her sensitive skin and his tongue moved along her oversensitive clit, sending her body into another fierce spasm.
DYLAN SPLAYED HIS hands over Tiffany’s inner thighs, holding her open for his ravenous mouth as he made her come again, and just to be sure he earned the ten, he took her there one more time. She lay before him spread-eagle, one arm lazily covering her eyes, her mouth—her fuckable, gorgeous mouth—swollen and slick from their kisses. God, what she did to him.
Bad Boys After Dark: Dylan (Bad Billionaires After Dark Book 2) Page 7