Dylan pulled back, slipped off the bed to stand between Beth’s legs. She unbuttoned Beth’s jeans, yanked the zipper low.
“Wait.” Beth clasped Dylan’s fingers as she sat up, head dizzy, breasts heavy. “We can’t do this in here.”
Dylan’s face was flushed, her eyes dark. “It’s a replica, it’s just a replica…”
“I…” Heat throbbed between her legs as Dylan’s hands dipped low at the small of her back and kneaded. Her head dropped to Dylan’s chest. It was too difficult to play the moral dilemma game when she was so far gone. Desperate, she nodded.
Hurriedly, Dylan’s hands slid beneath the waistband of her jeans. With a groan, Dylan pushed them over her hips and drew her underwear down with them. She pressed firmly at Beth’s shoulder, encouraging her to lie back. Quick fingers liberated each ankle, and Dylan roughly tossed the heap behind her. When Beth’s legs were free, Dylan gripped her behind the knees. Her nakedness dragged against the scratchy bedspread as Dylan yanked her to the edge.
Blood rushed in her ears as Dylan splayed her hands over her quivering abdomen. Their eyes met, held. Dylan’s dark stare searched her own. Dylan dropped a hand between them, and Beth shuddered as she traced a finger through her, slow and tentative. Her hips jumped from the bed. “Dyl-an…” Need surged through her in waves as Dylan rolled her thumb, teasing in tight, perfect circles.
Dylan’s eyes grew large as she watched Beth respond to her touch. She refused to take her eyes off her for a second as her fingers slipped lower. Beth clutched at the bedspread, fisting it as a single digit disappeared to the first knuckle with complete ease. She bit her lip against a whimper as Dylan’s palm settled fully against her.
Her head fell back, her lips parted in a silent moan. The rest of her ached to be touched, to feel Dylan above her as they chased Beth’s high. Her thighs tightened around Dylan’s wrist, but Dylan edged her legs apart again and, in an instant, retracted her touch.
Moving back from between Beth’s legs, Dylan flicked the button of her own jeans. Beth’s heart hammered as Dylan tugged the zipper low and peeled her jeans down her legs, her expression determined. With her underwear, the jeans fell to the rug.
As Beth took in Dylan’s milky thighs, the light hair between her legs just visible beneath the hem of her shirt, a wave of lust bolted straight between her legs. Dylan started on her shirt buttons, but the second Beth pulled her gaze from Dylan’s legs to meet her stare, Dylan’s eyes turned dark. She dropped to her knees on the rug.
Her hands slipping across Beth’s thighs, she lifted one of Beth’s legs, then the other, over her shoulder, and pulled Beth to her mouth.
Beth’s head snapped back as Dylan’s lips moved fervently against her. She gasped, the caress of Dylan’s tongue so soft, so slow she worried she would pass out before Dylan had really begun. As her back arched, Beth’s hand fisted in Dylan’s hair, pulling at her loose bun.
Dylan remained silent, focused as she abruptly changed her course, seeking what Beth needed and granting it without hesitation. Her heels pressed into Dylan’s back as Dylan’s delicate hands skimmed lightly over the swell of her ribs.
The pressure in Beth’s ears was a hum, growing into a roar as her hips spasmed, reaching. Strung tight, her body climbed to a familiar crescendo, sudden and strong, and before she knew it, she was chasing the peak, fraying at the edges. Her heart rammed against her ribcage, her chest burning as she came hard, throbbing against Dylan’s tongue.
She collapsed, boneless. Dylan worked her down, her tongue ardent as Beth convulsed at her touch. And then suddenly, Dylan was above her, her mouth on Beth’s. Dylan sighed into the kiss, and Beth would have thought it sounded satisfied if it weren’t for the untamed press of wet heat dragging across her thigh.
As her bare nipples dragged against Dylan’s shirt, Beth’s fingers grasped its collar. She could feel Dylan’s eyes on her, trying to catch her gaze. She worked the buttons quickly.
Dylan’s breath was ragged. Beth flattened her hands against the soft, sweaty nakedness of Dylan’s middle.
“I’ve been thinking about that for weeks,” Dylan rasped against her collarbone.
Beth pulled the tie from Dylan’s hair and let it cascade over her shoulders, down to tickle Beth’s breastbone. Cast in the floodlight coming in through the window, Dylan’s skin was so pale that Beth could see the grey-blue spiderweb of veins that pathed tiny rivers beneath her skin. Dylan’s chest was flushed, her nipples straining. It was obvious to Beth that she was aching to be touched.
Beth pushed her back. She drew her nails over Dylan’s breasts, revelled in Dylan’s soft cry, but she had no desire to tease. Electrified with excitement, she kissed her way down Dylan’s body.
Beth heard her own name whispered again and again as she pressed hot, thorough kisses to the inside of Dylan’s thighs and encouraged her to scoot further across the bed. The blatancy of Dylan’s want was heady. God, she was so ready. “Beth, please.”
For somebody so relaxed in every other way, Dylan was tightly wound, so riled up, and it drove Beth wild with power. She traced her tongue through the slick, swollen heat between Dylan’s legs. Had she ever been with a woman so responsive? Dylan’s hand fisted a pillow and with a throaty groan, tossed it against the bedhead. That hand found purchase in Beth’s hair and pulled, hard. When Beth flinched, Dylan stiffened, retracting her touch immediately.
With hooded eyes, Dylan pushed herself shakily up on one elbow and looked down at Beth. She needed more. Beth groaned against her. It seemed that, no matter how desperate Dylan was for release, she wouldn’t let go. She held her body taut, bordering on the edge. Beth traced her nails along Dylan’s iliac crest and a listened as a desperate sob fell from Dylan’s parted lips.
Grasping two of Beth’s fingers splayed across her ribcage, Dylan directed them low, jerking as Beth pushed into her. Her hips jumped, her rhythm frantic. Beth slipped her lips higher, where Dylan’s need throbbed, and seconds later, Dylan fell apart, back arching as she cried out.
Beth moved over Dylan’s heaving body, sliding close, closer, until the heat of their skin was pressed together. It was dizzying—the image of Dylan beside her, gasping for breath. To Beth, she’d never looked so young.
“Oh my god,” Dylan sighed.
Beth watched as a muscle beneath the soft, taut skin of Dylan’s middle twitched beneath her hand. She swallowed. “Yeah.”
A tear ran from the corner of Dylan’s eye. Beth swiped it away with her thumb, watching as Dylan closed her eyes. Beth licked her lips, tasted Dylan on them. Had the release been as intense for Dylan as it had been for her?
“I was not expecting that,” Dylan whispered.
What had she expected? Beth wanted to know every indecent, wicked detail. But what was the point in asking when the same realisation was sparking through her? She had imagined too, had spent nights curled up with her own expectations, but being with Dylan was more intense than she could have anticipated. It was harsher, more acute. She’d guessed that if they ever surrendered, it would be hot, wild, maybe even a little rough. The yearning for more, something unnameable and unreachable, when they’d already had their hands and lips all over one another? It was potent and raw, and with every fibre of her being, Beth ached to surrender.
Dylan’s hand fell to Beth’s hip, traced down to her thigh and gripped. “Come here,” Dylan whispered, and Beth straddled her, her body still humming with pent-up arousal.
Dylan sat up and pulled their bodies together. A look of longing flickered across Dylan’s face before she snaked a hand between them, slipping her fingers against Beth and drawing her body firm against her with a hand at the small of her back.
“Like this?” Dylan licked hotly at Beth’s throat.
“Yes,” Beth said, her eyelids fluttering, mind reeling as Dylan pressed inside.
Dylan’s grip tightened at her back, clawing her closer as Beth rocked forward to meet her long strokes. She arched her back, searching, locked her ankles behind Dylan’s
back and tried to bring herself closer. “Dylan, please. Please.”
As Dylan redoubled her efforts, a thought hit Beth, brief and fiery—was Dylan this intuitive with every woman she took to bed? Her eyes slammed shut. Heart thundering, she fell forward and wrapped her lips around Dylan’s pulse. Had it been like this with Rose? Thighs shaking, she came down onto Dylan’s fingers, jealousy racing through her veins red hot, spurring her on. “I’m close,” she choked. “I’m so close.”
Dylan’s touch smoothed up her back. Long fingers threaded through her hair, drawing it back. She bared the column of Beth’s neck and pressed light kisses to burning skin. With the twist of Dylan’s fingers, Beth cried out, quivering in Dylan’s arms as ecstasy ripped through her body.
As she came down, she registered Dylan’s gentle bite on her neck, the hand at the base of her hairline, holding her close. Her forehead dropped to Dylan’s shoulder. She shuddered as Dylan withdrew. The hand at the nape of her neck hairline jerked, skittering down the ridges of her spine, and up again. Beth curled into the light touch. God, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so close to somebody…
Dylan’s hands found her hips, urging her from her lap.
Beth took the hint. Legs shaking, heels brushing aside the papers that they hadn’t managed to clear away, she rolled away to lie beside Dylan across the middle of the bed. She waited for her heart to calm before she turned her head. Sex-flushed, Dylan stared up at the ceiling, lost in thought.
Beth reached out and wrapped her fingers around Dylan’s, careful to keep her touch light, but Dylan shook her head. A lump grew in her throat as the fingers in her grasp pulled away, Dylan’s hand falling to the pillow she’d abused in her moment of reckless abandon.
Silence. Eyes burning, Beth looked out the window. It had been dusk when Dylan had followed her into the bedroom, but now the light was well and truly gone. How long had they been up there? Her gaze flickered nervously around the room before it landed on their reflection in Sarah’s dresser mirror, their naked bodies bathed in the dim floodlight. Reality settled in. “What are you thinking?” she whispered.
For a long moment, Dylan was quiet. “I’m wondering if Sarah lay in bed at night, looked up at this very same ceiling and convinced herself that what she was about to do was not all that bad.” She paused. “I’m thinking about what some people are willing to do for money.”
Beth’s relaxed form stiffened, the words puncturing her heart like a barb. Slowly, she turned her head. Dylan’s jaw was set hard, her cheeks stained pink.
“Can you please just go?” Dylan whispered.
Chapter Fifteen
As the week stretched on, tensions grew. They went through the motions, trying to ignore the way it clawed at the hallway walls as they passed each other, the way it squeezed between their bodies when their tours passed on the landing. There was a chasm opening between them, deeper than the Corinth Canal, wider than the Serengeti.
What had happened on Sunday afternoon had put a hold on everything, and they’d barely said five words to each other. The last thing Dylan wanted was to empower the poison oozing between them and slowly destroying their friendship. But returning to their previous existence was impossible.
Their lovemaking had been completely untamed. Dylan knew she had been intense. She’d known it the moment Beth had sat up on shaky elbows and looked down at her, stunned, like she didn’t recognise the woman who had just taken her to pieces with firm hands and unrelenting lips. But Dylan couldn’t have stopped herself, not when Beth had responded like she’d never been touched like that, ever.
But it wasn’t just the sex that made meeting Beth’s gaze impossible. Dylan was so deeply ashamed of what she’d said. Comparing Beth’s desire to sell to Sarah’s familicide was the lowest of blows. She knew Beth was telling the truth, that she hadn’t been aware of Brian’s decision to show up on their doorstep. Beth wasn’t a liar. Willing to bend the truth? Yes. But not an outright liar, and certainly not malicious.
But Dylan’s harsh words had struck a nerve, seemed to wound Beth as deeply as Dylan had been hurting. In the moment, it had felt good, deserved, a release almost as good as the one she’d had at Beth’s touch. Dylan had acted out, made a claim she could never take back, and the thought was mortifying. She wasn’t even angry at Beth. It was the universe that she resented. Why couldn’t it just leave her be? Let her hold onto happiness, even just for a little longer?
Their inevitable discussion was postponed. Beth came and went each day, arriving at the house early to work on her book. Dylan knew exactly when Beth arrived, because she’d been waking at the crack of dawn. Since the argument, her body clock was completely out of whack. Running on five hours of sleep—six if she was really lucky—she’d sit up in bed and watch the sunrise over the dam, the purple glow lifting between the trees. And eventually, when that flash of blue would catch her eye after six-thirty, she’d peer under the blind, watching as Beth’s car pulled in. And as if she knew Dylan was awake, not once that week did Beth take the stairs to push open the loft door.
Friday morning, when she’d finally dressed and come downstairs at ten past eight, she’d found Beth’s laptop and notepad abandoned at the table, Beth already over in the gift shop. Beside the kettle sat Dylan’s fine bone china cup, her tea steaming, perfectly timed to Dylan’s eight a.m. arrival. Was the gesture an olive branch? Or was it Beth’s way of saying cut the crap, we can’t go on like this forever? Perhaps, Dylan thought, it was a little bit of both.
When they crossed paths in the gift shop on Friday afternoon, an explosion felt inevitable. With Dylan watching surreptitiously as the door opened, Beth draped her scarf over the small couch. She crossed the room, and with a playful, dramatic sigh, flopped her arms on the counter. Dylan looked up from counting twenty-cent coins and offered a terse smile. She knew Beth was trying, but she could barely think over the rat-a-tap-tap of her fingernails on the glass top of the counter.
“What are you doing tonight?” Beth asked.
She struggled to pull an excuse from thin air. “I…uhh…I thought I’d visit my parents at the club.”
Beth played with the swinging axe on the iron figure Dylan had soldered. Irritated by the movement, she reached out and tapped the inside of Beth’s wrist.
“Sorry,” Beth whispered, retracting her hand. A pause. “Can I come with you?”
On the edge of the counter, the heater purred, the revolving stand ticking, ticking, ticking like a time bomb. She looked up. God, Beth was so, so beautiful. “To the club?”
Beth nodded.
How could she say no? How could she live with herself if she made things worse? Time was slipping away from them. She swallowed over the lump in her throat. “Okay.”
The moment they stepped into the bistro, Dylan locked eyes with her mother. One minute, Maggie was on the phone behind the register. The next, she was coming toward them.
Dylan had been to the club with Beth only once before, about a month into working together. Her parents hadn’t been there that night, and Dylan had avoided having to introduce Beth to the people who mattered most. Months ago, when their friendship was new, blossoming, thriving, having Beth to herself had felt special, like they’d existed in their own little bubble. Dylan had worried that if Beth met other parts of her world, it would pop that bubble, only reinforce that their partnership wasn’t permanent as they pretended.
Dylan knew her mother would be besotted with Beth the moment she laid eyes on her. Beth was gorgeous, and Dylan had only ever spoken highly of her—her intelligence, her kindness. Maggie had been asking about her for weeks, and Dylan knew that if her parents hadn’t lost their general manager of three years to a year-long European vacation—suddenly requiring Maggie at the front desk of the bistro morning, noon, and night—her mother would have shown up at the homestead by now.
“Hello, sweetheart,” Maggie said as she pulled Dylan into an embrace, but Dylan could tell that her focus was reserved for Beth.
>
Dylan pulled back. “Mum, this is Beth. Beth, my mum, Maggie.”
“Dylan has told me so much about you, Beth.” Beth accepted Maggie’s hug with a laugh so light, so easy, that Dylan was suddenly gripped by the realisation that she hadn’t heard Beth happy for days.
“I hope not from day one,” Beth joked, but Maggie only tilted her head, a confused grin lighting up her face. “What happened on day one?” She looked between them. “What have I missed?”
It was hard not to notice that Beth seemed taken back as it dawned on her that Dylan hadn’t confided in her mother about their first run in. “Oh,” Beth said. “Just a little misunderstanding…”
Dylan bristled. “Anyway, we’re just here for dinner,” she said, gesturing back through the doors to the stairs that led down to the main bar. “Just wanted to come in and say hi.” She hadn’t—not with Beth beside her—but she’d told Beth that she was going to visit her parents—following through on that felt somewhat imperative.
“Eat in here,” Maggie said.
“Nah, we’re going downstairs to eat in the bar…”
“Don’t be silly! If you won’t fill a plate from the smorgasbord, at least order up here. Dad’s in the kitchen,” her mother insisted. “Let Beth have a look over the bistro menu and then go on in and tell him what you’d like.”
Dylan sighed. She didn’t have the energy to argue. “’Kay.” She pressed a kiss to her mother’s cheek. “Thank you.”
They were halfway across the bistro to the couple tables by the window when she felt Beth’s hand pull at the bend of her elbow.
“Dyl, I’d rather just order and pay outside in the bar. I don’t want to take advantage of your parents’ hospitality.”
“It’s fine.” She pulled out a chair, drew away from the touch. “Honestly, I eat here all the time.”
She handed Beth a menu. After a minute of silence, she looked up. “Know what you want?”
Beth sat straighter in her chair. “I’ll have the Soup of the Day, please.”
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