Bad Boys After Dark: Dylan (Bad Billionaires After Dark Book 2)

by Melissa Foster

  She tried to rise off the mattress but his grip was too tight, and when he spread his hands over her thighs, using his thumb to tease her while his tongue gently massaged her sex, her consciousness reeled. And with one hard lick, she exploded in a sea of pleasure.

  Her body went limp against the mattress, and then Dylan’s mouth was on hers, and she tasted her arousal and his heady, dark, desire. She was shaking all over, and when he unfurled her fingers from the wood, they ached. He gathered her against him, cradling her body as he caressed her back and ran his fingers soothingly through her hair. Then he massaged her arms, her wrists, her fingers.

  “You’re so beautiful, Summers,” he whispered against her cheek.

  “More,” she whispered in a trembling breath.

  He tipped up her chin and kissed her deeply, causing waves of ecstasy to consume her. And then he laid her on her belly with her arms by her sides, and he lavished her with kisses, leaving no speck of skin unloved. When he lifted her hips and ran his tongue along her ass, she let her chest fall to the mattress, succumbing to the pure and explosive pleasures he unleashed. His fingers probed her sex and his tongue probed her ass in a dizzying rhythm, and she wondered if a person could pass out from sheer bliss. He could have used her relinquishing of control for his own gratification, but he was solely focused on her.

  When his hot, hard chest met her back and he whispered, “Still with me, babe?” she’d come so many times she could barely move, but she managed to beg for more.

  He angled his hips and nudged his cock between her cheeks. He could have taken her from behind, and she would have willingly given him every inch of herself. But he continued to be the intense, passionate, caring lover she trusted, and she knew he would never go there without first seeking her approval. When he pushed his arms beneath her, holding her across her chest with one arm, and found her sweet spot with the other, she drowned in a torrent of elicit, blissful sensations. Her senses careened as the orgasm throbbed on and on, and when it finally eased, he cupped her breasts and sucked on the back of her neck. The coarse hair at the base of his cock rubbed against her ass with every thrust of his hips, and when he squeezed her nipple, she detonated again. Only then did he roll her onto her back, take her into his arms, and make love to her as he gazed into her eyes. He took his time, moving slowly and carefully, angling his hips in all the right ways to make her lose herself again and again. She was lost in the love in his eyes, and when she reached up and drew his mouth to hers, she felt, in every inch of their connected bodies, how very right they were together.

  She lay safe and warm in Dylan’s arms, listening to the even cadence of his breathing, and she knew deep in her soul the ghosts of her past were gone. They were no match for the connection they shared.

  “Dylan,” she whispered.

  “Yeah, babe?”

  “I want more of you in my life, too.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  LATER THAT MORNING Tiffany paced the balcony with her phone pressed to her ear. Dylan set down next week’s staff schedule he was working on and admired her curvy figure in her skinny jeans and blousy blue top. Her beautiful blond waves tumbled over her shoulders. He didn’t need to ask to know she was on the phone with the wife or mother of one of her clients. He’d admired her so often he’d memorized her mannerisms, which were softer and more graceful when she spoke with the female members of her clients’ families. She laughed easier, smiled more often, and even her eyes were brighter, whereas when she dealt with clients, male or female, she stood taller, looked shrewder. And when she was with Dylan she was an intoxicating mix of keen and sassy, warm and loving, and her eyes took on a sheen of sensuality that was meant only for him.

  He was a hell of a lucky man.

  She stopped pacing and rested one hand on her hip, allowing him to study her in profile. He loved her delicate features and that adorable dimple in the center of her chin. She was gorgeous, but she clearly worked hard to keep her looks from affecting her business dealings. As Dylan watched her, he thought about how seamlessly she transitioned between sweet, compassionate friend and keen businesswoman. Did that take a toll on her, feeling as though she had to tuck away her beauty in order to succeed in the male-dominated sports industry? That was probably another reason it was so difficult for her to leave those delineations behind and just be herself. And, he realized for the first time, perhaps that also played into why she hadn’t been sure what type of woman she was when they first met. She’d done such a good job of protecting herself from being hurt she’d lost track of the more fragile elements—and together they’d found them. Even with all she’d been through, there was nothing fake about Tiffany Winters—the sports agent or the woman. She cared deeply about her clients, and Dylan knew she cared deeply about him.

  She turned, catching him ogling her, and she lifted a shoulder and smiled. He blew her a kiss, knowing that no matter what happened when they were with his mother, even if they broke down in tears, it would be easier to get through because Tiffany was there with him.

  Two hours later, Dylan drove slowly down the residential street where he’d grown up. Memories popped up like spring blooms as he passed the Arts and Crafts style bungalows intermixed with Queen Anne style homes, like his mother’s. He had fond memories of playing ball in the backyard and carousing at night with his brothers and friends. And, as they always did, as he parked his motorcycle in front of his childhood home, harsher memories came rushing back.

  He was adept at forcing them away, and he did so as he stepped from the bike and reached for Tiffany’s hand, helping her to her feet. Already an old pro, she whipped off her helmet and swung her hair from side to side. Dylan saw her doing this in slow motion, her long blond hair swinging sexily from side to side, then falling down her back in gentle waves.

  She tucked her helmet under her arm and gave him a funny look. “Why do you always look at me like that when I take off my helmet?”

  He smiled and kissed her cheek. “Babe, you don’t want to know.”

  “You’re so weird. So, this is where you grew up?” She shielded her eyes from the sun, gazing up at the three-story home. Her eyes skimmed over the deep, white front porch and double wood doors, to the green shingles on the second story, and finally landed on the circle-head window in the dormer. “Is that a room in the attic, or just for decoration?”

  “It’s a room. It was Carson’s bedroom.”

  They made their way up the sidewalk and mounted the brick steps to the porch. Dylan noticed the columns needed a fresh coat of paint and made a mental note to take care of that before the weather got too cold. They all pitched in to help their mother keep up the place.

  “Are you nervous about me meeting your mom?” Tiffany asked.

  “A little.” He gathered her close, maneuvering around their helmets. “She hasn’t met a girlfriend of mine in years. When I told her I was bringing you, she said she’d wondered when I’d stop—and I quote—‘dinking’ around.”

  Tiffany laughed. “‘Dinking’? Does that mean what I think it means?”

  “No. My mother doesn’t talk dirty. I think it means wasting time.”

  “If you say so. Dinking sounds dirty to me.” She leaned forward, and he met her in a delicious kiss.

  The front door opened and they pulled apart quickly, like teenagers caught making out. His mother’s bright hazel eyes smiled back at them. Her short, dark auburn hair was slightly tousled, like usual, and she wore a pair of jeans and an olive-green sweater with the jade necklace Dylan had given her last Christmas.

  “I thought I heard people out here.” She pushed open the screen door and waved her hands. “Don’t stop on my account. Someone around here should get some smooches.”

  “Hi, Mom.” Dylan hugged her and kissed her cheek. With a hand on Tiffany’s back, he said, “This is Tiffany. Tiffany, this is my mom, Jackie.”

  His mother opened her arms and drew her into a warm embrace. “It’s such a pleasure to meet you.”

/>   “And you as well, thank you.”

  Tiffany was looking at his mother with such a warm and endearing smile, and when it faltered, Dylan wondered if she was thinking about her own mother. He’d been wrapped up in worrying about the emotions seeing the pictures of Lorelei might bring, when he should have thought to ask Tiffany how she felt about this morning’s visit. He held her a little tighter and vowed to be more in tune to her needs.

  “Come inside,” his mother said. “You can tell me what lies my son has been spreading about me.”

  Tiffany smiled at him and mouthed, I love her!

  He winked to keep himself from mouthing, And I love you.

  The house had a small foyer that led to a narrow hallway with a steep wooden staircase. As they passed the stairs, Dylan’s mind reeled back to his younger years. He heard the sounds of him and his brothers racing across the hardwood floors and up the narrow staircase to the landing, then howling as they slid down the banister while their mother chastised them. Looking back, he wondered how she’d kept her sanity with four wild banshees under her roof. Five for several years, he thought with a pang of sadness.

  They went to the living room, which hadn’t changed much in the past decade. The nearly floor-to-ceiling windows were accentuated with floral curtains. Plants billowed out from iron and ceramic planters by the windows, and verdant leaves with bright flowers hung from the ceiling, pretty wisps of leaves draped to the plants below. Between the two windows, the mantel was home to a long rectangular planter with ivy snaking its way down the sides of the intricate marble, twining with the leafy plants on the floor like joined fingers.

  Tiffany walked past his mother’s favorite reading chair—the flowered one with cushions that were molded to her body—and the comfortable wine-colored sofa Dylan had fallen asleep on too many times to count, making a beeline for the plants. “These are gorgeous.” She bent to smell the flowers. “How do you keep up with them?”

  “Oh, honey.” His mother waved a hand as if it were no big deal, but he knew better. She had always loved gardening. Every room boasted lush greenery in planters of varying heights covering the bottom half of the windows, and a multitude of vases. They’d multiplied in the years since they’d lost Lorelei and had taken over even more after their father moved out.

  “If you grow and cultivate them instead of picking them, they’ll flourish,” his mother explained. “And when you lose a bud, well, they’re never really gone. They feed the soil, helping the others stay alive.”

  “Do you think you could teach me the basics?” Tiffany asked so sweetly, so tentatively, it made Dylan’s heart hurt.

  Had she heard the same family correlation in his mother’s comment as he had? Was she missing her mother? Or was he looking for things that weren’t there again?

  “I’d be happy to,” his mother said, and led Tiffany out of the living room.

  He followed them into the study, where his mother pulled out one gardening book after another and handed them to Tiffany with explanations of why each was important. He knew his mother had highlighted chapters and made notes in the margins, as she did with everything she read. Including novels. He loved watching them together, but it was the intense and needy look in Tiffany’s eyes that brought him to her side, sensing she was, in fact, thinking about the mother she’d never had a chance to really get to know.

  They took the books into the kitchen and Dylan whispered in her ear, “Are you okay?”

  She nodded, and he knew she was too full of emotion to respond.

  His mother busied herself making iced tea as Tiffany leafed through the books. “Wow, you’ve made notes everywhere.”

  “It’s kind of my thing.” She set the glasses on the table and pointed to the pantry. “Dylan, honey, why don’t you grab some cheese and crackers and put them on a plate? I’m sure you guys are hungry.”

  “Sure, Mom.”

  “Tell me, Tiffany,” she said, taking the chair beside her. “What are your hobbies? What are you passionate about?”

  Dylan’s ears perked up, and he glanced at Tiffany, who was looking at him like he was not only part of the answer—but her entire world.

  TIFFANY COULDN’T HAVE stopped the truth from coming if her life depended on it. “I’ve always been a huge sports fan, and to be honest, until I met Dylan I never really slowed down enough to think about what else I liked. But your son has a way of opening people’s eyes.” It was easy to see why Dylan was so nurturing and accommodating. He’d obviously learned from his generous, vibrant mother.

  Jackie smiled up at Dylan. “He has a way of making sure no one misses out on life, doesn’t he?”

  “Yes, that’s it exactly. I recently realized that I like motorcycles, thanks to Dylan.” She really liked his mother, and she didn’t want to make the same mistakes she had in the past, by clamming up and drawing uncrossable lines in the sand. She sat up a little straighter, mentally opening the curtains she was used to hiding behind. “Actually, that’s not true. I like riding on the back of your son’s motorcycle.” She stopped short of telling her she found out she liked to cuddle, and turn off her phone, and she even liked the trapeze. There were too many recent realizations to list.

  Dylan set a plate of cheese and crackers on the table and sat beside Tiffany. He put his arm over her shoulder and kissed her temple. “You opened my eyes, too, Summers.”

  His mother gave him a curious look she couldn’t read. “My boys and their big-boy toys. Those things scare the bejesus out of me, but they all have a thing for them. Even Carson, who is usually the most cautious of them all.” She smiled at Dylan in a way that told of her unconditional love.

  For the first time since she was a little girl, Tiffany allowed herself to feel the pain of longing to have one of those smiles aimed at her. Dylan must have felt her tense up, because he pressed a kiss beside her ear and held her a little tighter.

  “Do you have siblings, Tiffany? Tell me about your family. Where are you from?” Jackie asked.

  “Yes, I have two brothers, Rocco and Perry. They both play professional sports. We’re from here, actually, but I’ve lived in Los Angeles since college. I just moved back because—” It was time for me to stop running from my mother’s absence.

  Panic swept through her. Oh God. Where did that come from?

  How had she not realized this before? She’d built a life far, far away from her bad memories. And here she was at Dylan’s house, where he confronted his far worse memories with every visit.

  Jackie was looking at her expectantly, and she realized she’d stopped midsentence. She sat up a little straighter, forcing her mind past the quicksand of her past and focused on answering the question.

  “I moved back because my father was sick. He was recently diagnosed with kidney disease. He’s doing well now, and it’s under control with medication, but I wanted to be closer.” But not too close. Her rushed visits with her father suddenly made sense. She wasn’t fitting him in to her busy life. She was making sure he didn’t fit. She cut their visits short so she didn’t get mired down in the way their kitchen had always felt like someone was missing and that every time she looked at her father, she secretly wondered if he’d done something to push their mother away.

  I’m an awful daughter.

  She reached for Dylan’s hand.

  “Are you okay, babe?” he asked.

  “Yeah. I was just thinking. Maybe we could visit my dad soon? Just for a quick—” No, she refused to minimize him any longer. Her mother’s abandonment had already caused enough damage. “For dinner?”

  “Sure,” Dylan said. “I’d love to.”

  “I’m sorry to hear he’s sick,” Jackie said. “But I’m sure he’s thrilled to have you close to home again.”

  “Thank you.” I hope he will be.

  They chatted for a while, moving the conversation away from family to easier subjects like work and the weather. Jackie was nice to talk to. She had a kind nature with obvious strength and fortitude, which
reminded Tiffany of Dylan. She looked around the cozy kitchen for the first time since they’d sat down and tried to envision the two of them baring their souls in the middle of the night. She pictured moonlight streaming through the windows and Dylan pacing the floor, his mother watching, her heart breaking for her son—sons—and trying to hold herself together enough to talk about the little girl who had been such a big part of their lives.

  Dylan rose to his feet. Instead of reaching for Tiffany’s hand, he reached for his mother’s. “Should we go through pictures for the fundraiser?”

  He should get a Most Compassionate Son award. His mother’s expression was full of gratitude, love, and worry. But somehow Tiffany knew that worry was meant for her son’s well-being, not her own.

  Jackie took Dylan’s hand—and then reached for Tiffany’s. The lump in Tiffany’s throat swelled, lodging itself so firmly she could barely breathe.

  While Dylan retrieved the box of photos from upstairs, Tiffany and Jackie returned to the living room and sat side by side on the sofa.

  “He called you ‘Summers,’” Jackie said. “Did you have that nickname when you met?”

  “Oh gosh, no. I’ve always been Tiffany to everyone outside of my family. But Dylan has had nicknames for me since the first night we met.”

  “He hasn’t called anyone that I know of a nickname since Lorelei passed away. It was their thing. He called her squirt and she called him Dilly.” She patted Tiffany’s hand with an approving smile. “I think my boy must be quite taken with you.”

  Tiffany felt herself blushing, and as Dylan walked into the room, the truth came easily. “I think we’re both equally taken with each other.”