“What’s funny?” asks Dylan.
“Nothing. Snuggling. Whatever.” I lean towards the table and grab a handful of crisps, shovelling them in my mouth.
As I munch on the crisps, Dylan strokes my head, fingers setting off a soft buzz across my scalp. “What are you thinking?” he asks, in a low voice, gaze moving to my mouth.
“What are you thinking?”
“Honestly?”
I wrinkle my nose. “Okay. Tell me. Honestly.” Please, don’t let it be something I can’t say no to.
“I’m not thinking; I’m fighting.” Dylan traces my lips with his index finger, the abrasive touch shivering down my spine. “I’m fighting with the overwhelming desire to show you what you’re doing to me.”
“Oh…” Crap, I sound like some stupid, breathless teenager. Again. I can’t ask him to elaborate; otherwise, I’ll have no control left.
I touch his face in return, dragging my nails through his stubble, remembering the burn against my face last night. I shift closer and his hand closes on my knee, gripping as if stopping himself moving his hand elsewhere.
This weird connection pulling us together also pulls my insides tight – attraction, apprehension, lust. I don’t understand how I feel as if I’ve known Dylan months instead of days, but I do.
The way Dylan’s looking at me right now, I don’t think I’ve ever been looked at before. Lust is clearly in his darkened eyes, but something is behind that expression I can’t fathom.
“I know I pissed you off last night, Sky, but I really want to kiss you again.”
The hesitancy in his words amuses me - I bet Dylan Morgan doesn’t usually need to ask for permission.
“Really?” I say and bite my lip in a deliberately coy gesture.
His grip on my knee tightens. “Really, because your mouth on mine feels fucking amazing.”
“Don’t swear at me!” I say, slapping the hand sneaking up my leg.
“You’re also fucking funny.” He kisses my nose.
Secretly, Dylan’s colourful language is a turn on. The swearing reinforces his bad boy image - his ink and the strength in those muscles he could use to hold me down and do bad boy things to me.
Jesus, Sky…
“And you’re unbelievably, fucking sexy.” He moves towards me and I brace myself for a suffocating, urgent kiss. Instead, Dylan kisses me softly, his lips barely skimming mine. This is not what I want. I brazenly hold his face and meld his mouth with mine.
Embarrassingly, I tremble the minute he responds and encircles me in his arms. Either he, politely ignores this, is used to girls reacting the same way, or thinks I’m cold. I don’t explain. I can’t, because his lips are locked on mine and I don’t want to stop.
He captures my lip between his teeth, tugging gently and eliciting an embarrassing groan from low in my throat. I feel him smile against my mouth and nip his lip in response. His lips harden as he presses them against mine, thrusting his tongue into my mouth with a low growl.
There is no mystery to how this man gets girls into bed. With or without his name, he’d manage to seduce with a kiss, a touch and a blast of that panty-melting sexuality he can’t control. One I doubt he tries to control.
Dylan laughs against my mouth, and then pulls the duvet over our heads, landing us in a shadowed world of sensation. The warmth and scent of him emanates around in the airless space between the duvet and us, drowning my senses.
The heat from our breath and bodies stifles, intensifying the intimacy beneath the duvet as we hide like kids who’ve made a den from their bedding. Dylan runs his fingers along my lower back, a shiver shooting from the sensitive spot at the base of my spine to my toes. Sliding his hands around to my waist, he pulls me closer, hands igniting my skin where he touches. We explore each other with the urgency of teenagers, mouths locked together.
Dylan pulls his head away, and places his hand against my cheek. His hooded eyes are dark in the dim world of our hiding place. “Is this part of the snuggling process? I wasn’t aware…”
“I think this is optional,” I say and curl a hand around his neck to draw his face to mine again.
“I think this should be compulsory,” he says hoarsely.
“Fine, but I can’t breathe.” I pull the duvet from over our heads, drawing a huge breath as the cooler air hits. If I remain under there with Dylan, I might never come back out.
Damp hair sticks to my head and Dylan pushes his hand beneath a tendril, twirling the hair around his finger. He looks down, eyes glazed and distant.
“Okay?” I ask. Please don’t stop now…
“This is strange. Good strange, but strange.” He nuzzles my neck, hot breath against my sensitive skin.
“Strange?”
“This. Slow. Not all about me.” Dylan pushes the duvet away and pulls me onto his lap so I’m straddling him. I look into his darkened eyes, convinced I’ll faint due to hyperventilation. “Restraint – it’s different.”
I’m glad one of us has restraint; because now I’m on his lap, Dylan’s arousal is evident. Because of me? Wow.
“You, umm, don’t have to be totally restrained.” I close my eyes, stupid croaky voice.
Dylan sighs and tugs the neck of my T-shirt to one side, darting his tongue into the hollow of my neck. I jerk at the intensity, so many places he knows to touch, and Grant never did. Grant had two or three places he zoned in on - the obvious ones.
“I can tell this is okay with you. But tell me when to stop,” he says.
We lock gazes. Dylan slides his hand beneath my T-shirt, and strokes along my side until his hands hover below my breasts. He pauses and I shift so his hand brushes the satin fabric of my bra. Dylan smiles, and circles his thumb over my hardened nipple through the material. I rub my lips together, shifting my focus to his parted lips. I need to taste him, lock in all my senses.
As he claims my lips with his, Dylan’s tongue tangles with mine again. Reaching around, he unclasps my bra and touches my freed breast so lightly, the intensity causes me to moan into his mouth.
Dylan pulls away again, and yanks his T-shirt over his head. Oh, my God. He’s unreal. Men in real life don’t have perfectly sculpted, muscular bodies. Do not lick him. Do not lick him. I place a hand on his taut chest, brushing his nipple with a finger. He sucks in a breath and cocks an eyebrow at me. “Your turn?”
I hesitate.
Dylan moistens his lips, and lays his head back on the sofa. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, I’m just feeling a bit…shy.”
“I hope you’re not doubting how fucking gorgeous you are, Sky.” He runs a finger along the front of my T-shirt, circling around my breast. “I’ve spent a lot of time the last few days fantasising about your tits.”
His sudden, growled honesty arrests me further. “I noticed.”
Eyes shining, Dylan puts his hands behind his head. “So…?”
The last time anyone saw me naked in the daylight was around five years ago. Correction – the last time anyone saw me naked in the daylight and was aroused by the sight was five years ago. Grant and I would often get dressed or undressed together, but his reaction was never the same as the one going on inside Dylan’s shorts.
The curve and heat of his chest begs my breasts to be squashed against them, the desire to connect skin on skin pushes out the possibility he might not like what he sees. I pull my T-shirt over my head, and let the white, satin bra slip down my arms to the floor.
Dylan’s gaze caresses my nakedness, and he cups my breasts again. “You’re fucking beautiful,” he says as he closes his mouth around my pebbled nipple, and sucks gently.
I swear I’m ready to rip all my clothes off and let him show me the rest of his obvious sexual prowess. Curling my fist into his damp hair, I gasp at the wet heat flooding straight to between my legs. Dylan grips my hips, holding me to him as his mouth continues its attention to my skin.
The ridges of his muscled back are like nothing I’ve felt before – his sk
in softer than I imagined. As he switches to my other breast, I dig my nails into his back, convinced I’ll fall backwards to the floor if he lets go. Every muscle in my body has lost all strength, my sole focus Dylan. His scent. His touch. His warmth. After three days, this shouldn’t feel so natural.
Dylan shifts, twisting and laying me onto the sofa, covering his body with mine. The weight of him smothers me but this is what I want. I think. Crushing his mouth on mine, he runs his hard fingers along my naked leg, to the edge of the fabric of my denim shorts. An embarrassing whimper escapes me as he slides his hand between my legs, the barrier of the material between his fingers and my sex.
“Oh!”
He stops abruptly withdrawing his hand. “What’s wrong?”
“No, nothing. It’s fine.”
Dylan shifts his weight off me, propping himself on one arm. “Sorry. You’re right. I don’t think we should.”
I’m right? When did I indicate I didn’t want this? “No, honestly, I’m good…”
Heart hammering against my chest, I extend my hand and place it on his chest, recognising the matching beat. The colourful sleeve of tattoos stops around his shoulder, and I run a finger along the edge.
“No. I said. This isn’t good.” Dylan moves away completely, face flushed and I stare wide-eyed.
“What’s wrong?”
“I said last night.” He pulls his T-shirt back over that perfect physique I planned on exploring. “What if this gets spoilt?”
“This? What’s this? Two strangers having a holiday romance?”
He blinks. “Yeah, kind of, but this is more, Sky. You’re worth more.”
“This doesn’t have to be more,” I say, a sweaty, panting mess in front of him.
He runs fingers through his hair. “I told you what happens when I fuck girls, I don’t want to have that with you, I want to…”
Oh, my God. Fucking. Again. “Be friends?” I cross my arms over my naked chest and scrabble around on the floor for my top.
“Yes…no… Fuck, I don’t know. The last couple of days with you have been amazing. There’re a few more before you need to leave – I don’t want to spoil this.”
The pink in my face caused by his touch and kisses is replaced with embarrassment from his words. I climb off him, stumbling as I do and pull the top over my head.
“Don’t let me down so gently, Dylan. If I’m not the kind of girl you like to fuck, fine. Just say.”
“Sky, in case you didn’t notice, I have a hard-on the size of fucking Florida here, you’re sexy as hell. And I wasn’t going to fuck you. You deserve more.”
I need to stop kidding myself. I wanted this. Him. The fantasy.
“It’s not as if we’ll ever have a relationship, is it? So, we either do this or we don’t. I don’t think this between us would ever be more than sex, Dylan.”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe what?”
He huffs and leans back. “Look, sorry I upset you. You have no idea of the self-control it’s taking not to drag you upstairs and show you exactly what you do to me.”
I scoff. “Show me a good time, you mean? Arrogant much?”
He stiffens. “I don’t get complaints usually.”
“No, your endless lines of girls are probably grateful that the famous Dylan Morgan lets them into his bed. You know, I think you’re probably right.” I stand and grab my discarded bra from the floor. “This is a bad idea.”
“Sky…” He stands and touches my arm, but I shake him away. “Oh, great; so, even this has fucked things up?”
“Forget it ever happened!” I snap and on my wobbly legs, I stomp upstairs.
In the bedroom, I climb onto the top bunk and curl my knees under my chin. Was I really planning on sex with an almost stranger? Good thing he has more self-control than I have, because awkward would’ve been an understatement if we’d… I never have sex with people I don’t know. Ever. In fact, apart from Grant, I’ve had sex with two other people. Sexual hedonism doesn’t suit me.
Holding my breath, I listen. The house is often noisy – creaks, groans and tapping fill the quiet, as if the place is alive. I don’t notice them usually, but when I’m straining to hear Dylan, they magnify.
Footsteps on the stairs halt on the creaking floorboard between the two bedrooms. Panic rises – I don’t want to talk to him. A few minutes later, his bedroom door closes and footsteps thunder back downstairs. The front door slams.
We can hide from the reality of our lives, but we can’t hide from the reality of who we are. I grab my book from the bottom of the bed, fighting my impulse to google Dylan, because I don’t want to know who he is yet.
*****
A few hours of embarrassed sulking later, I stalk downstairs. I’ve spent a fair bit of the time listening for movement in the house, but since the front door slammed shortly after our encounter, there’s been no sound.
Good.
Dylan returns later in the evening and I deliberately don’t ask where he’s been. Where can he go? He’s bedraggled, clothes damp and hair wet beneath his hoodie. The rain stopped a few hours ago and I can only presume he went on a very long walk.
We eye each other warily. If I stare at him any longer, the blushing will start so I turn away, back to my book. Books are useful objects for ignoring people.
“I was going to order pizza if you want something?” he asks.
“I’m fine. Thanks. I ate.”
“Okay.”
I always have room in my life for pizza, but I don’t want to be around him. I’m not Dylan’s new toy and each time he kisses then rejects me, the worse I feel. I’m hyperaware of his every move as Dylan gets a drink in the kitchen and makes a phone call to order his meal. Do I leave the room before he comes back and traps me in his orbit again?
“Sky, can I talk to you.” Dylan lowers himself in the armchair. He’s removed the jacket and rubs his hand along his arm, a sign I’m beginning to notice spells unease.
“No.”
He pulls his mouth tight, “No?”
“Correct.”
“Right.” He hesitates, shifting as if he’s about to stand again, then remains seated. “Why?”
“I think we need to take this arrangement back to what it originally was. I’d leave but I haven’t got…” I stop. He doesn’t need to know I’m basically homeless. “I’ll leave in a couple of days, unless you want to go now.”
“I’m not leaving,” he says, tone becoming icy.
“I didn’t say you had to. But let’s keep out of each other’s way?”
Dylan stops the arm rubbing and studies me with tired eyes. “If that’s what you want.”
“I made a mistake, Dylan. I just came out of a relationship. I’m hurt, and I think that’s what caused this…situation. So you playing games with me hasn’t helped.”
Crap. Didn’t I say I wouldn’t talk to him? I have to get out of this room before I say anything else.
“I’m not playing games…”
“I’m sorry, Dylan. Please. Let’s forget all this. Enjoy your pizza.”
Attempting to disguise my trembling hands by tucking them and the book beneath my arms, I do my best at stalking out of the room, and upstairs.
My heart thumps for a long time once I’m cocooned in my bedroom, and away from him, mind and body swirling with contradictions. I’m a confused, hurt girl escaping a broken relationship. I’m not the heroine of some book where a sexy rock star falls for the confused, hurt girl and makes everything better with amazing sex and sweet words of undying love.
Chapter Ten
The next morning, I wash the smell of Dylan from my hair and body and replace it with the familiar scent of my strawberry body wash. I had plans before Dylan interrupted them: find-me-again time in peaceful Cornwall. Today, I’m going to follow my plans. Wrapping a fluffy blue towel around my damp hair and another around my body, I open the bathroom door.
Dylan. He’s on the top stair, on his way to his room from downstair
s and he freezes. I stop too, caught by his familiar roving look; and tighten the knot on my towel. The world is conspiring against my attempts to resist this man. Dylan grips the handrail with hands that sent shivers across my skin, skin now exposed and heating as I recall the smooth strength of Dylan hidden beneath his T-shirt. His words about how amazing my lips felt on his also leap into my mind as I stare at his mouth. Being this irresistible should be a criminal offence.
“Fuck. Sorry,” he mutters.
We’re stuck. I need to pass him to get to my room, which faces the top of the stairs, and he needs to pass me to get to his room. And in the small hallway, there’s room for little else than the sexually charged space between us. The logical solution? Step back into the bathroom, but I can’t move. Water drips down my legs onto the carpeted hallway; and if he doesn’t stop the gawking, I’ll be a puddle on the floor too.
Dylan climbs the final stair and I step backwards, knocking into the wall. The towel wrapped around my hair falls, revealing wild tangles. I try to grab the towel before it hits the floor. Stupid move, because the action causes the towel around my body to slip, I manage to hook the towel back up before more than the top of my breasts are on show for Dylan.
He squeezes his eyes closed, and I’m convinced he’s holding his breath.
“Fuck,” he mutters again.
The space between us contracts as Dylan inches past. I attempt to control my telltale breathing difficulty with a cough. He pauses. There’s no doubt in my mind he can read exactly what my body wants. The expression in his blue eyes suggests he’s one ounce of self-control away from responding.
Dylan doesn’t touch me, but his effect on me in this moment is beyond anything Grant could do with a kiss. How’s that possible? Dylan engulfs my judgement and if he did kiss me, everything I said last night would evaporate.
Heaving in a breath, Dylan continues by and I tense as his warm, bare arm brushes mine. When he gets to his bedroom door, he rests his head against the wood and expels the breath.
“Sky, please go and get dressed before I do something that will really piss you off.” His voice is hoarse, spoken to the white door.
Summer Sky: A Blue Phoenix Book Page 7