Well, I suspect that my appeal has just vanished as well. Now that I’ve called him on his sleaze, I seriously doubt if he’ll want to go home with me and do the horizontal pelvic dance.
Thankfully for both of us, a waiter pops over after a moment. As soon as he sees Giancarlo, he erupts into rapid-fire Italian. My pseudo-date responds to him, and I swear that they converse for five minutes while I sit there, completely invisible. They obviously know each other but Giancarlo makes no move to introduce me or even to acknowledge my existence.
After what feels like an eternity of discomfort spent watching Giancarlo and his buddy chuckle about mysterious topics, the waiter finally leaves. Damn, I wish I understood Italian.
“He’s not going to take our order?” I ask.
“I already ordered for us,” Giancarlo says, gesturing with his hand in a way that says how stupid are you to think I was going to let you pick your own food?
“Um, okay,” I say. Wow. This date will easily go down in history as the worst ever. For a moment I chastise myself, wondering if I’m only letting it go badly because I want an excuse to tell myself that Dylan is way better for me than this little asshat.
But it’s true. Dylan is respectful. He asks me about myself. He has a sense of humour. He’s…Dylan.
Of course, that doesn’t mean Giancarlo is so bad as all that. Maybe there’s hope for him yet. If I could just engage him in a proper conversation, maybe we could start over.
“One minute,” he says, rising to his feet as though trying to prove to me that he’s nothing more than a rude jerk-off. I watch as he strides towards the back of the restaurant where a young woman is standing in a white, fitted dress, her hip pressed against the wall. She smiles as he approaches, twining her fingers in her dark hair.
Giancarlo puts a hand on her waist and draws her to him, kissing each of her cheeks for a little longer than seems appropriate. He doesn’t let go of her, but to my amazement, slips his hand up her side and over her chest, then plays with a chain around her neck. While he fondles her jewelry he whispers in her ear, and she looks my way and giggles. It would seem that he’s telling her an amusing anecdote about me. Well, this is pleasant.
For a moment I feel absolutely mortified. Rejected. Stupid. Insecure. He’s making an ass of me, belittling me to some beautiful young woman, and he doesn’t even have enough respect for me to hide his disdain.
It would be so easy to cry right now, to erupt in a flood of self-pitying tears. But then I remember what Dylan told me earlier; that he’s not sure any man deserves me. That was probably one of the nicest things any man’s ever said to me.
At the moment I can think of one man who does deserve me, but he’s not in this restaurant. The good news is that he’s not far away.
With a smile on my face and my chin held high, I rise to my feet, grab my purse and walk out onto the street, letting the restaurant’s door slam shut behind me.
Bye bye, Giancarlo. I’m going home.
Nineteen
Dylan
The knock comes at my back door.
The only person who uses that entrance is Lucy, but it can’t possibly be her. She only left twenty minutes ago for her date with the famous Giancarlo, that lucky bastard. There’s no way she’s back already.
But sure enough when I open the door, she’s standing there, a funny little grin on her face. Still wearing that little red dress that plunges in the front, still looking like a goddess.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, leaning against the frame. Maybe she hasn’t left for the date yet, I tell myself. I sure as hell don’t want to get my damned hopes up.
“Can I come in?” she asks, looking past me into my apartment.
“Of course.” When I get out of the way she strides in, lighter on her feet than I’ve seen her. “What’s going on? What happened to your dinner date?”
Lucy throws herself down on the couch, crossing one leg over the other and stretching her arms out across the back cushions. “My date, it turns out, was a little shit. So I ditched him,” she says, still with that funny, indefinable expression on her face.
A feeling of bliss courses through my system. She ditched him and she came to me. Still not getting my hopes up, but I’ve got to say, I’m feeling pretty fucking pleased with myself right about now.
“Okay, I need to hear about this. But first, you need wine, and I need beer.” I head over to the fridge and extract a bottle of white Tuscan something-or-other before pulling two glasses out of the cupboard. Moments later I’ve handed her a glass and seated myself on the armchair opposite the couch.
She sips the wine elegantly, biding her time. Damn it, she’s teasing me.
“Okay, you’re killing me,” I say. “Why did you ditch the poor guy?”
She proceeds to tell me about everything. How he ogled a young woman outside when he thought she wasn’t looking. How he called her a cougar, then ordered her food without even asking her what she likes. How he wandered away and got handsy with some young woman in front of her.
What a tool he is, and I’m so fucking glad to hear it.
“Holy shit, that sounds like some fresh hell,” I reply. “I’m not sure whether to laugh or charge down to the restaurant and beat the living crap out of the idiot.”
“He’s not worth risking your hands,” she tells me. She sets the wine glass on the coffee table and leans forward, her lips ticked up in that knowing smile of hers. “Besides, it’s not really him that made me walk out. It was you.”
“Me?” I ask, dumbfounded. “What did I do? I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m delighted to have fucked up your date. Any time I can be of service…”
Her smile disappears. “You reminded me that I’m worth more than to let myself be treated like shit, Dylan.”
“Well, yeah. That goes without saying.”
“No, you don’t understand. It’s more than just that.”
“Tell me.”
She pulls her hands into her lap and looks down at them. “A few years ago, I wouldn’t have left. I would just have sat there and taken my lumps, no matter how much it hurt. My ego would have suffered for it, but I would have sat there blaming myself for some stupid man’s shitty treatment of me. It’s taken me a long time to gain the confidence that I have now. And sometimes, I have to admit that I’m still the insecure little girl that I was so long ago. But you’ve reminded me that I shouldn’t be. I just wanted to thank you for that.” She lets out a little laugh and pulls her eyes up to mine. I don’t know if I’m imagining it or if they’ve gone a little dewy, like she might cry. “I guess this is a big change from where we were that night seven years ago, when we parted ways.”
“Yes,” I reply, “it is. We were kids then, Loose. Now we see the world differently. We understand things better.”
I pull myself up and step over to the couch, seating myself next to her. I’m not sure if I’m welcome there. All I know is that I want to be closer to her.
She looks away and draws her hands deeper into her lap, but she doesn’t pull her body away. Doesn’t flinch as she has so often when I’ve come close to touching her.
“Lucy, look at me.” I speak the words low, pulling her eyes to mine. “I have to come clean about something.”
“What is it?” she asks. She’s trembling, like she’s waiting for a doctor to deliver bad news. But what I’m about to say isn’t bad. At least I hope it isn’t.
“I don’t want you going on dates with other men,” I tell her.
When she doesn’t reply, I slip my hand over her left knee, easing it up her thigh under her skirt.
This is it. This is the test. Pass or fail, I’ll know very soon if there’s any chance that we can be together.
“What do you want, then?” she asks, her voice a hoarse whisper as she watches my hand move slowly along her skin. She doesn’t stop me, though. Doesn’t protest.
“I want you, Loose. I want every part of you. I’ve wanted you for a decade.”
Twenty
Lucy
“I’ve wanted you for a decade.”
God, how many times over the years have I wanted to hear those words from between Dylan Emerson’s lips?
The way he’s looking at me, I’m surprised my dress doesn’t just melt off my skin and fall to the floor in a puddle. My body is reacting with a quiet explosion of fireworks, my breath coming in shallow gasps that I have to control, or I’m going to lose my mind.
“I don’t want to be with anyone else, either,” I tell him. “I only said yes to Giancarlo because I thought it might help me take my mind off you for a little.” I’m waiting to see how he reacts. Waiting to see if he understands exactly what I’m saying.
The hand that’s under my skirt pulls away and then slips up to my neck, tucking my hair behind my shoulder. Slowly he pulls my thin strap downwards. Another gasp locks itself away in my throat.
It’s finally happening. His lips are on my shoulder now, laying gentle kisses in their path. I’m weak—so damn weak with desire for him. My right hand goes to his stubbled cheek and I guide him towards my neck, drawing my head back. He kisses his way up, one hand returning to my thigh. It’s so gentle, that touch of his. I feel him pushing my skirt up again, skimming my bare flesh with his fingertips.
I pull my knees apart slowly, savouring the heat of this moment. A moment I lost years ago. A moment I’ve craved for so damn long. His hand is between my legs now, making its way cautiously up. He pulls his face back to look at me, one eyebrow raised as if to ask for tacit permission. I nod almost imperceptibly, easing my hips forward.
When his fingers find the edge of my panties, I gasp.
“Lucy,” he whispers, slipping a finger between the fabric and my pussy. “I want you.”
With those words, his lips crash against mine for the first time in seven years.
The kiss is even better than the one I remember. Tender, sweet, warm, delicious. When he finds my tongue, gravity fails. I’m floating above the clouds, light as a feather, but he’s still with me. Still kissing me, unwilling to let me go.
I’m not sure we’ll ever let each other go again.
Dylan’s mouth is still on me when he pulls my panties to the side and strokes his middle finger over my sex, finding my wetness. I can feel his sigh vibrating through us both, and I know he’s floating too.
In one smooth motion he slips down off the couch, left hand reaching for my dress, pulling the top down to reveal my strapless lace bra. Tentatively he draws a finger around the rim of the left cup, pulling it downward to reveal a very, very hard nipple. He’s staring at it as he pushes a finger inside me, eliciting a moan from between my lips. Gently he nuzzles my nipple with the tip of his nose.
“You’re perfect,” he tells me. “More now than ever.”
He cups his hand around my breast and purses his lips around my nipple, sucking gently enough that I already want more. He knows it, too. Knows how to get me going. Dylan can read me like a book, and I love that about him.
His fingers move to the other breast and he pulls at my bra again, drawing it down. Slowly he pulls his other hand away from my pussy and cups both hands around my breasts, pressing them together as he licks one nipple, then the other.
“I’m sorry to break it to you,” he murmurs, “but I have a serious crush on these beautiful things.”
“They like you, too,” I tell him. “A lot. Especially that swirly thing you’re doing with your tongue.”
It’s almost enough to make me come.
He lets me go, though, pulling away for a moment before he slips both hands under my skirt. He’s looking up at me with the dirtiest, naughtiest narrowing of his eyes. I know exactly what he wants, because I want it too. So damn badly.
I lift myself off the couch as he yanks my panties down towards my feet. I slip one foot out then the other, letting them fall to the floor. When I push my pelvis forward I’m right on the edge of the couch, yanking my skirt up and offering myself to him, parting my legs wide. Slowly I lift my dress over my head and toss it aside. My bra follows close behind.
I’m naked on his couch, offering myself to him at last.
He dips a finger inside me again, his thumb working my clit as he stares up at me. “Do you like this?” he asks.
I nod. “Yes, I do. But like is the wrong word. Totally inadequate.”
He replaces his thumb with his tongue and I let out a quiet yelp. Definitely inadequate.
“Dylan, you’ll make me come,” I protest, though I can’t say I’m strongly opposed to the possibility.
“And that’s a bad thing?” His voice vibrates against my sex. Oooh, good boy.
“It’s not,” I reply. “But I want you inside me too, you know.”
“All in good time,” he says before giving my clit a gentle suck that sends a shudder of bliss shooting through my body.
I ram my fingers in his hair and push myself against his face, encouraging him as he eats me voraciously. All in good time. We still have almost a month together, and I intend to make good use of it.
As I wrap my thighs around his shoulders he stretches his muscular arms up and pinches my nipples gently, driving me beyond insane with pleasure. Well, it seems that I’ve just discovered yet another of Dylan Emerson’s talents.
My hips dance under his touch, his tongue lapping greedily at my pussy as he moans against me. I’m all but convinced that he’s enjoying this as much as I am.
I don’t need to cry out when the shock of my orgasm hits. My hips thrust forward and he reads me perfectly, wrapping his hands around my thighs, eating me until the last shudder has left my body.
I want to weep.
That was the best orgasm of my life, the most intimate, the most sensual. I’ve been waiting for it for seven long years, and it was totally worth the wait.
After a final soft kiss on my bud, Dylan slips up to kiss my stomach, my nipples, making my body flinch with pleasure under his touch.
Finally he looks into my eyes. “Is it okay?” he asks.
I nod. “I’m on the pill,” I tell him.
He reaches a hand out, raising me to my feet, and guides my naked form towards his bedroom. When we’re inside I turn to face him and watch as he strips off his t-shirt.
There’s that body that I saw my first evening here. The ripped muscles, the perfection of his torso, his arms. I want to touch him, but I wait. He’s not quite naked enough yet for my tastes.
“More,” I say.
He undoes his jeans slowly and slips them down, along with his boxers, stepping out of the garments when they’ve hit the floor. My eyes are drawn to the iron rod between his legs, standing erect just for me.
Manaconda, indeed.
Without thinking I fall to my knees before him, submissive, worshiping. He gasps as I take his shaft in my fingers and stroke him, my tongue teasing the engorged tip of his cock.
He’s as big as I always imagined, his dick throbbing with need. I slip my fingertips over his rock-hard thighs as I take his length in my mouth and suck, drawing more moans from between his perfect lips. This. This was what I wanted so badly. Well, this and one other thing.
“Loose,” he gasps as though he’s reading my mind. “I want to be inside you.”
I’m reluctant to release him from between my lips but I pull myself to my feet. He guides me to the bed, but I shake my head. “You first,” I tell him.
“Me?” he asks.
I nod. “Lie down.”
I want to straddle him. I want to dominate Dylan, to control this moment. I’ve waited so long for this, and I want to take charge of his pleasure.
He obliges, lying back, his cock clenched in his fist. Slowly I climb over him, kissing my way up his chest, my knees resting on either side of his taut torso. When my lips reach his mouth I slip my body over him, pressing my weight down as I take in his massive length.
I arch my back as my ass collides with his hips. A hard cry explodes from me, my eyes wincing shut with the pleas
ure of this moment.
His hands are on my hips, guiding me up and down, urging me to milk his shaft with my greedy pussy. “Fuck, Lucy, that’s so good,” he moans.
I look down at him, pressing my breasts together with my upper arms. I know how much he loves looking at them, how much they turn him on. My nipples are still tight little peaks, red and tender from his fingertips.
Slowly I ease downward and press one nipple to his lips. Hungrily he sucks as I fuck him, my body hungry for his length. Good boy.
I pull away from his mouth and speed up the pace, drawing my body up and down, faster and faster as I read his face. His eyes close tight, his fingers digging into my thighs. I can feel him getting close, the muscles in his stomach tightening as he resists. I draw myself along his cock, then ram back down again.
“Oh fuck, yeah,” he moans as I keep up the pace. He’s on the brink, I can tell.
As if to confirm my suspicion, after a moment I feel a spray of hot seed on my insides. Dylan lets out a possessive roar, ramming himself deep inside me with one brutal roll of his hips. Then slowly, gently, I fuck him until his body subsides, and I ease my body down on top of his, my face pressed to his neck.
We’re spent and happy.
“Seven years,” he whispers.
“Seven years,” I reply.
Twenty-One
Lucy
Warm rays of morning sun hit the tiled floor between the bed and the window as I lie facing towards the courtyard on my side of the bed.
Dylan’s bed, that is.
A smile spreads over my face as it hits me that it wasn’t a dream—this really happened between us. Dylan and I finally made love, after all these years.
Three times.
My body’s tingling with aftershocks and memories of his touch, his taste. I’ve had sex more than a few times over the years, but last night was something different. Last night was a release of everything I’ve held inside my soul for years. It wasn’t just sex; it was forgiveness, acceptance, moving forward. It was the understanding that the world changes, and so do we.
Going Hard (Single Ladies' Travel Agency Book 2) Page 12