Dylan hauls my skirt up—is he going to fuck me right here?—and he lifts me, encouraging me to wrap my thighs around his hips. My ass hangs out of my skirt, but he’s carrying me up the stairs and all I care about is that we’re almost to my apartment. Where there’s a bed.
He reaches around my hip and rubs my clit while I unlock the door, this time with laser precision because my body’s now calling the shots—and it wants him now. We burst into my apartment and slam the door behind us, tearing at each other’s shirts with frantic movements and almost angry expressions on the way to my bedroom. I take his glasses off and set them on my counter because I want to see his eyes.
They’re wide open and locked on mine.
I hate that he’s not already inside me.
Mouths fused together, we stumble around the boxes in my room, unable to part until we’re next to the bed and pants and skirt come off all that’s left are his boxers and my panties. He pushes me away by the hips and I land on the bed and tip my hips up to help him get me naked. I rub his engorged cock through his boxers before tearing them past his hips, the soft sound of them hitting my floor the best thing I’ve ever heard.
Everything’s hazy, every cell of my body demanding I spread wide for him, but he’s been so very good to me today, and I’m an orgasm ahead, so I bend and suck him into my mouth. He grinds out a low moan which hits me straight between the legs, reverberating in pulses reaching deep inside me.
This. This feels powerful, and sexy, and I suck at him greedily, wanting more of this feeling, wanting him to be just as turned on as I am.
He grabs the back of my head, and I take him deeper in my mouth, looking up at the ecstasy on his face as he fucks my mouth for three hard thrusts before pulling out and reaching for his pants, pulling a condom out of his wallet and putting it on.
“I need to be inside you.”
I lie back on the bed. Afternoon sunlight streams through the window, highlighting the definition of his physique and the dark ink decorating it, and I take a second to just look, soaking him in. Never wanting to forget this man and the adventurous person I was when I was with him.
And then I flip over, get up on my hands and knees, shamelessly spread my legs, and look over my shoulder, smiling at the surprise that streaks across his features.
He strokes a hand down my back and over my ass, just barely skimming his thumb along the crack of my ass, which tenses my spine a bit in surprise and a little fear—I don’t want him in there—but he settles behind me and thrusts inside my pussy, and concern falls away.
Dylan could do anything to me and it would feel good.
I came hard at Tilt, but it was nothing compared to the completion I feel with his cock driving inside me now in deep, thick, thrusts. His hands dig into my hips, holding me steady as he pushes inside hard enough to nudge me farther across the bed. The friction heats my knees, but I don’t want him to ever stop.
After a few minutes, he pulls out. “Turn over.”
I do, but with a frown, afraid I’ve messed up by initiating the position. “You don’t like it that way?”
“I do, but I want to see your tits shake.” He wastes no time plunging back inside and going slower but harder.
Sure enough, my breasts bounce every time in a way I find embarrassing, but with the way he’s biting his lip and staring like he wants to devour me, I decide it’s also kind of hot.
He lifts my knees, spreading them out like a butterfly’s wings, grinding against my clit when he’s fully sheathed inside me, drawing more pleasure from my body. His hands knead my breasts, tracing thumbs across the tight buds of my nipples, lightly squeezing them.
But I want even more. With as brave as he makes me feel, it’s not as hard as I think it is to ask for what I want exactly. “Dylan?”
“Yeah?”
Do it. Tell him what you want. “I want you to bite me.”
He laces his fingers through mine, throws our hands above my head on the mattress, and sharply nips my lip, sending a spasm through my innermost muscles, gripping his cock.
“Mmm, you really like that, don’t you, baby?”
“Yeah,” I answer in between kisses.
“Tilt your hips up.” He puts a hand under my ass to help, tilting my hips at a more severe angle so his cock rubs against my g-spot before sucking my tongue into his mouth hard enough to hurt a little, in the perfect way I didn’t know I liked until he came home with me last night.
His hips do a little shimmy that steals my breath, and he does it again, kissing me rough and fast like he can’t get enough of my body’s reaction to the things he’s doing.
He thrusts deep and moves his knees, scooping me up until he’s kneeling on the bed and I’m on top. In this position, I’m taller than he is.
“I bet I know something else you’ve never done,” he says, placing his lips on my neck and licking hard before sucking the skin. It pinches. It stings.
It feels fucking amazing.
I promise right then that I’ll never razz Alex about another hickey again.
Unable to stay still, I start riding his cock with complete abandon. This isn’t me anymore. Not me at all. It’s the alternate Rachel, the one Dylan brought into existence for the space of—what? A day? It feels like so much longer, the way I can so easily give myself over to her now. To him.
He bends to my chest, placing his lips just above my left breast. He sucks my flesh into his mouth. Hard. Oh, God, I might come from this. He nibbles and licks his way across the valley of my breasts to place a matching mark on the right one. Each pinch caused by the warm, wet suction of his mouth drives me higher, makes me bob up and down faster, so desperate for release it makes me dizzy.
Dylan reaches down and starts massaging quick, light circles over my clit. That’s all it takes, and I unravel completely, shuddering, moaning his name as I spasm around him, tossed by waves of pleasure like a tiny boat on a rough sea. Wrapping his arms around me, he increases the speed of his thrusts until his cock twitches inside me and he comes.
We collapse in a messy tangle of limbs and smiles, and he tucks me against his chest so I’m the little spoon.
The warmth of his body and the past couple days catch up with me, and I succumb to the heaviness of my eyelids.
“Hey.” He strokes my back and kisses my shoulder again. “Wakey wakey, eggs and bakey.”
Blinking hard, I realize the light’s changed with the setting sun. I must have fallen asleep in his arms. “I wish. I’m jealous of Old Mother Hubbard’s cupboards.” I stretch and pull the sheet tighter around me, suddenly ravenous. “Do you like pizza?”
“Two things you never have to ask a guy: Do you like pizza? And Voulez-vous cou—”
I slap his chest and smile. “What kind do you like? Pizza,” I hastily clarify as a wicked gleam enters his eyes.
“As much as I’d love to stay in bed and eat pizza with you, I’m afraid I’ve got to get going. I didn’t mean to fall asleep, but it’s later than I thought.”
I push up and nod, and for a moment we just look at one another like we’re both memorizing the lines of each other’s faces. I run my fingers through his floppy hair, and trace the words of the tattoo on his chest. I want him to stay so badly, spend the night, but that’s more than I’m comfortable asking for, and he’s definitely not fishing for an invitation.
“Do you leave soon?”
He nods. “Tomorrow afternoon.”
I have things to do to get ready for the move, annoying and important things to finalize tonight and tomorrow, but I’d put everything off to spend another night with him. “Ah.”
He sighs and swings his feet over the side of my bed, turning his back on me. I may want to spend more time together, but he isn’t suggesting it.
The sheet’s still warm with the heat of his body, and I wrap it around my body instead of getting dressed. Besides, I think my bra’s still in the living room, and I’m definitely not putting those panties back on.
He gr
abs his clothes and holds his hand out for me to take. We negotiate our way around the boxes until we get to the living room and he picks his shirt and hoodie off the floor before heading to the bathroom. I call for a cab and stand in front of the window, looking down at my neighbors below.
How many times have I stood here, sat here, playing music while the world went by without me, living lives I’ll never have? I can’t fade away as soon as I step off stage anymore. I’m more than just a vessel for music—I’m a human being. I’m Rachel. And I need to be an entirely different Rachel than the one I was before Dylan or with him. I can’t lose myself while pursuing my dreams. The single-minded focus I’ve had has gotten me far, but it’s taken some of the glow from my life, rendering me less present than I should be.
Dylan wraps his arms around me, nuzzling my cheek. “I had a great time with you.”
I tip my head back and turn toward him. “Me too.”
Weakness takes my legs when his lips touch mine again, and I turn in his arms, pressing myself against him, wanting the feeling of his body stamped against mine, tattooed in my memory forever. The sheet slips down to my waist, baring my breasts, and he palms them, thumbing my nipples into stiff peaks.
I grab the back of his neck, pulling him closer to deepen the kiss. The way he kisses spreads warmth to every part of my body. Consuming, demanding, insistent. This could be the last kiss of my life and that would be fine by me.
He breaks away and grabs the sheet before it falls away completely, covering my skin again. “Okay, you are trouble.” He shakes his head and bites his lip, pressing one last soft kiss to my mouth. “If I don’t leave right now, I’m going to be late.”
What will he be late for? I don’t ask.
He takes a step away and turns back, pulling out his phone. “You should give me your phone number or email address.”
Oh, I want to. I’d love to see Dylan again, spend more time with him, but that feels more like overindulging in something decadent and ultimately bad for my health. I forget myself when I’m with him and I have obligations. Besides, what future do we really have?
I take a breath. “Every minute I’ve spent with you has been amazing. But it’s not like we’re going to be bumping into each other a lot. I think we should move on and leave this as a vacation fling for you, and a wild goodbye to Chicago for me.”
Dylan’s little smile is sad. “You’re probably right. We won’t even be living in the same state.” He tucks his phone away and we stand awkwardly for a moment.
I hate that I’m disappointed that he didn’t push further. But it’s the best thing. It’s the right thing.
It’s the easier thing, too, in the long run.
I want to know where he lives, but the less I know, the easier it will be to forget him—though I don’t think I’ll ever really forget him.
“I’ll walk you to the door.” A flash of out of place silver catches my attention on the way through the kitchen. “Oh, your shades.” I grab them from the counter and hold them out.
He takes them, opens the arms and slides the sunglasses onto my face, lightly tapping the tip of my nose. “Keep them. They look better on you.” With that, he turns and leaves my apartment.
I lean against the door and let the strange sorrow settle over me. This was a perfect way to end my life in Chicago—by trying on someone else’s and doing something fun and completely out of character. A wild goodbye.
Odd that this adventure has also made leaving much sadder than it was before.
As much as I want to focus on the future, thoughts of Dylan capture me the whole flight to Boston a couple days later. To stave off the mid-flight chill, and hide my hickeys, I wore a scarf—the same one he’d tied my hands with. I cross my legs, too aware of the throbbing between my legs that will never be relieved.
I should have taken his number.
For what? We have no future together; it’s better I didn’t take his contact information. Look at what happened—two days in his presence and he had me doing things in public. The best part—or the worst, depending on how I choose to look at it—I don’t even feel bad about it.
No, I can’t have his number. I’d call him. And he’s far too tempting, the type of guy who doesn’t help with goals, the type of guy who distracts, and I’ve worked too hard to let that happen. This way, he’ll always be the perfect memory of the time I went a little wild before knuckling down. A memory that will put a sparkle in my eye when I’m eighty that makes the grandkids wonder what I’m thinking about.
I hope.
I flip through the inflight magazine, focusing on nothing, memories of him drifting in and out of my head. We’re midway through the flight before I finally sigh and decide to put Dylan behind me once and for all.
Well, maybe not once and for all.
I plug earphones into my phone and take advantage of the airline’s Wi-Fi to search for a song. Dylan never told me the title, but I know the band’s name is Fallen Angels. I want to hear it again—hear the soundtrack that is Dylan—so badly that I’ll listen to their whole album.
Or both their albums, I see as I load up the bands website. They have two. I skim the front page, looking for the buy links and gleaning some info as I do. They’re a newer band. Hugely successdful. Their first album went gold, then double platinum. Then they released the next album. Currently they’re on a world tour with a few stops in America.
They played Chicago the night before last. Which seems oddly coincidental and I wonder if that’s why Dylan was in town. Then half a second later I know it was why he was in town.
My fingers freeze their scrolling and my heart pounds loudly in my ears. Because in the middle of the page I find a picture of the band—five tattooed, rocker guys.
And Dylan is the frontman.
Holy shit.
In a slow motion slideshow, memories flash through my mind.
The guy fistbumping Dylan at the bar.
Dylan asking if Alex was the fan when I told him she was the one who really bought him the drink.
The way he evaded my pressing when I said he had a great voice when he sang in my apartment.
The looks he got when we went to Millennium Park—it wasn’t because people were judging him for his appearance.
His acceptance of my lack of interest in personal details about him—he was probably relieved I wasn’t prying like everyone else.
The big shades he wore that are now on my head.
How the operator of Tilt looked the other way when Dylan broke the rules by standing behind me, and then took me to the stairwell.
The reason he had to leave—he was performing.
I thought he was just a regular guy who was struggling and ashamed of what he did for a living.
Dylan St. John could probably pay my entire graduating class’s student debts without breaking a sweat. He could rent out Tilt and have an orgy with the trail of supermodels he’s been linked with—if these pictures in the website’s gallery haven’t been photoshopped.
Well, why would they have been? He’s a star. He’s not my memory. He’s not just my anything.
The scruffy man who made me cracker sandwiches and tied me up and fucked me in front of my window was on the cover of Rolling Stone Magazine last month. And I refused to give him my phone number or email address. Most women would have given anything for his contact information.
And while I don’t have his contact info either, I know entirely too much—When Dylan St. John’s not touring, he lives in Los Angeles.
I close the browser, mind reeling.
LA’s so far away, but it’s real. Now he’s too real.
All the warmth is sucked from the memories, confusion swirling through, muddying the waters. He was supposed to be a part of my past, that hot, nameless guy from a wicked weekend. I was supposed to be able to go on and leave our time together as a happy memory, moving on with my plans and serious career with no regrets. He was supposed to be forgettable.
Now he’s just an
entertainment magazine, a celebrity news show, an Internet search away. Now that I know who he is and how easy he is to stalk, how will I ever be able to forget him?
And shit, where I’m headed? I really need to be able to forget him.
Keep reading…
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About the Author
New Orleans girl relocated to Denver. Tattooed connoisseur of smut. Compulsive writer of any sexy idea that drifts through my mind. Hurricanes and hot guys and crazy mountain hikes always welcome. Like to win things? Join my newsletter–I always include a giveaway with each update!
authorraelynnblaise
www.raelynnblaise.com
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Long Ball: A Secret Baby Sports Romance Page 20