by Emery Rose
I shook my head. “No, thanks. I’m good.”
“Bring a friend,” the other guy said as if I hadn’t just shot them down.
“She’s with me.” Dylan slung an arm around my shoulders, tucking me close to his side.
The guy held up his hands. “My bad. Just inviting her to a beach party.”
“She’s not interested,” Dylan said tersely.
Dylan ushered me into the brightly lit wine and liquor store, his arm still around my shoulders. I looked up at his face. His jaw was clenched. “Was he hassling you?” he asked.
I shook my head. He studied my face for a moment and I gave him a smile. “No. It was fine. I accidentally bumped into him.”
“That guy’s an asshole.”
“Do you know him?”
“We used to go to the same gym.”
“If you ask me, he pumps too much iron. He’s too bulked up.”
“Not your type, huh?”
“Nope.” I squeezed his bicep and gave him a flirty wink. “I like my men lean and mean.”
His brows raised. “Your men? What’s all this talk about men?” He nuzzled my neck. “You’ve only got one man.”
“And he’s more than enough.”
He grinned and gave me a little smack on the butt, his good mood restored. The past month had been like a dream. Everything had been so good that I was starting to question if this was really my life.
“What are we looking for?” he asked.
We stopped in front of the white wine selection and I slid my phone out of my pocket, checking the text from Nic. I showed him the screen and he read the text then we moved down the aisle to the imported wines, scanning the bottles on the racks, looking for the one Nic had recommended. She was turning into a wine snob.
Two weeks ago, Cruz had whisked her off to Napa or a weekend getaway. The poor guy didn’t even like wine but he’d do anything to make Nic happy, so it was a weekend of wine tasting for him. He told me he’d spit most of it in the bucket which made me laugh.
Dylan plucked out a bottle of Riesling from the rack and studied the label then held it up to me for closer inspection. “Is this the one?”
“I think so.” I double-checked Nic’s text and confirmed he’d gotten it right. “Yeah, that’s the one.”
Then I checked the price and my eyes widened. “Put it back. That’s way too expensive for a bottle of wine.”
Instead of putting it back, Dylan grabbed two more and carried all three bottles to the counter and set them down.
“Dylan. Seriously. She’s ridiculous. Put it back.” I tried to grab the bottles, but he swatted my hand away.
“Stop being a pain in the ass.”
“But, I can’t afford that.”
He scowled. “You need to stop worrying about money. I’m buying it so get over yourself.”
“Dylan. That’s ninety bucks for three bottles of wine. That’s ridiculous.”
“Which part of stop did you not understand?” He looked at the man behind the counter. “Ring them up before she puts them back. I need to grab some beer.”
“Sure thing.”
I sighed loudly while Dylan went off to get his beer and leaned my hip against the counter, texting Nic to let her know that she was fired as my sommelier. Cheap domestic wine was just fine for me. Not like I was a wine connoisseur. I wouldn’t even appreciate this overpriced wine.
“Just so you know, I’m not with you for your money,” I told Dylan when he returned with a measly six-pack of IPA which cost nothing in comparison to my ridiculously overpriced wine from the Alsace.
“You’re with me for the sex,” he said, his voice low but loud enough for the man behind the counter to overhear it.
The man coughed. I blushed. Dylan chuckled.
I smacked his arm on our way out the door. “Stop embarrassing me.”
“Stop fighting me on money. What good is money if I can’t spend it on you?”
Dylan was generous, but thankfully, he wasn’t one of those guys who flashed his money around. He only bought what he needed and wasn’t really into luxury items or fancy toys. And I never got the feeling there were strings attached when he spent money on me. So I guess it shouldn’t really be an issue.
But still. That wine was way too expensive.
Male voices drew my attention to the parking lot across the street and I stopped next to Dylan’s car before climbing in. It took me a few seconds to comprehend what I was seeing. The parking lot was dark except for the beam of light from the headlights of a pickup truck. I recognized the two guys who I’d run into outside the liquor store and I recognized Corbin.
“You motherfuckers!” Corbin screamed, lashing out blindly. His face was bloody, long brown hair matted to his head, and his eyes were wild. I raised my hands to my mouth, watching in horror as the guy punched Corbin, bringing him to his knees.
Dylan tossed me his car keys. “Stay in the car.”
“What are you doing?”
He didn’t hang around to answer. It was pretty obvious what he was doing. He sprinted across the street to the parking lot just as one of the guys kicked Corbin who was on the asphalt, curled into a fetal position.
Dylan ripped the guy away from Corbin, spun him around and planted his fist in the guy’s face. Before he even knew what hit him, Dylan delivered two more punches and my feet carried me closer, my heart beating in my throat.
The other guy got Dylan in a headlock and I winced when the douchebag from the gym punched Dylan in the face. These guys were looking for a fight and they’d found one. Dylan wasn’t backing down and now it was two against one.
It took me a few seconds of watching the fists flying, and flinching at the sickening sound of bone and muscle before I came to my senses.
I reached into my pocket, my shaky hands fumbling to grip my phone, my eyes trained on the fight in the parking lot.
Stomach churning, I called 9-1-1 and chewed on my thumbnail.
Dylan was fierce. I’d seen him fight before, of course, but it had been years ago.
“…what is your emergency?”
“There’s a fight. In the parking lot across from El Camino Wine & Liquor. Please hurry.” I finished my call with the dispatcher then went in search of someone who could help until the cops arrived.
“How about those brews down at the beach, beautiful.”
I whirled around and came face to face with the douchebag from Dylan’s gym.
“Get away from me. You make me sick.”
He moved closer, his eyes drifting to my chest. “Is that right? Your nipples are telling a different story. They look excited to see me.”
“Fuck you.”
I turned to go, Dylan’s car keys clasped in the palm of my hand. The guy grabbed my arm to stop me. I heard a loud roar, and the guy’s hand released me. I turned and backed away, slamming into the back of Dylan’s G-Wagen as he and the douchebag hit the asphalt. Dylan had him pinned to the ground, his face contorted with anger as he drove his fist into the guy’s face.
The wail of sirens cut through the air, thank God, and I sagged against the back of the car, my legs too shaky to hold me up.
The pickup truck skidded to a stop and the douchebag’s friend yelled out the open window. “Get the fuck up, man. We need to get out of here.”
Dylan laughed and got to his feet, knowing they were too late. The blue and red lights flashed across his face and I flew to him, my arms wrapping around his waist, my face buried in his chest.
“You okay?” he asked, wrapping his arms around me and holding me close.
I nodded against his chest then lifted my eyes to his face. He wiped his bloody nose with the back of his hand and I took his face in my hands to inspect the damage. “Are you okay?”
Running his tongue over his busted lip, he did that half-smirk, half-smile thing he did. “Feels like old times.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he said, pulling my hand away from his face. I’d been tending his cuts and
bruises, cleaning off the blood with a washcloth and treating his cuts with antibiotic ointment because, of course, he’d refused medical treatment when the ambulance and paramedics had shown up.
“Tough guy, huh?” I rinsed the bloody washcloth in the sink and wrung it out then washed my hands and dried them on a kitchen towel.
“I can take a punch. Been doing it all my life.” He disappeared into the laundry room with the washcloth and returned when I was taking two plates out of the cupboard for our dinner that was on the way.
“So, how do you know Corbin?” he asked, pouring a glass of the overpriced wine and setting it in front of me on the island.
It made my heart hurt that those assholes had picked on Corbin. The story they’d told the cops was that Corbin had tried to mug them and it had been self-defense. Which was ridiculous.
“Just from walking to work. He sleeps behind the dry cleaners in the alley. A few months ago, I started dropping off food for him on my way to work. We talked a couple times.” I took a sip of the wine and had to admit it was pretty good. “He did two tours in Afghanistan. I don’t know what happened to him but whatever it was it messed up his head. He used to have a wife and a little girl, he told me. I don’t know what happened to them though.”
Dylan took a swig of his beer, eying me. “Where did you come from, Mother Teresa? How did you turn out so good?”
I laughed a little. “You know I’m not good.”
“You are. In the ways that count.”
“You just jumped right in, no questions asked.”
“Not because I’m good. I love a fight. Can’t get enough of them.”
I smiled. “Well, good thing there’s always something to fight about then. For your sake.”
“I’ll always fight for you. Always.”
Those words just about killed me. I was so crazy about this guy and here he was, pledging to always fight for me. I chose to hear his words differently, that not only would he fight for me physically, but he’d fight to keep me. At last, that was what I hoped.
Conscious of his busted lip, I kissed him softly. It had only been a month since that day he showed up in Remy’s office, but it felt like our relationship had been taken to the next level. It felt real and good and I knew that I loved him. And that I was in love with him.
The doorbell rang, and our food arrived before I could open my mouth and spill any true love confessions. Being Dylan, he’d ordered almost everything on the menu. The black granite island was covered in a sea of takeout containers, the spicy, garlicky aroma making my mouth water. I didn’t know why I’d bothered with plates.
We used our chopsticks and ate right out of the containers, passing them back and forth until I was so stuffed I couldn’t eat another bite. And then we stumbled upstairs, buzzed on wine and beer, lost our clothes and tumbled into bed.
“Every asshole in your life has let you down,” Dylan said, pinning my wrists to the mattress, his dark hair falling over his forehead, his face hovering only inches above mine. My legs cinched his waist, trying to pull him closer, wanting to feel him deeper inside me. I rocked my hips, needing more. He tortured me by gliding out until only the tip was inside me.
He dipped his head and flicked his tongue over my pebbled nipple then tugged it between his teeth before he did the same to the other one. Torture. Pure torture. My back arched off the mattress. “Dylan. I need more,” I gritted out.
He ignored my plea.
“I don’t want to be just another asshole,” he said, pushing my wrists into the mattress when I tried to break free of his hold and take control of this frustrating situation.
“You’re not. You’re in your own league. You’re my asshole.”
That made him laugh. Hard. So hard it split his lip again.
“Your face is a mess.”
“Your face is beautiful,” he said, voice husky, eyes stormy as he thrust inside me, finally giving me what I wanted. I stopped short of singing Hallelujah when he lifted me off the mattress, my breasts pressed against his bare, sweaty chest, my thighs squeezing his and he was buried to the hilt.
I kissed his jaw and his black eye and his bloody lip and razor-sharp, bruised cheekbone and when I came, I screamed his name.
“We’re a beautiful mess,” I said.
And I didn’t want to give him up for anything or anyone.
29
Dylan
Starlet was wearing a tiny white bikini and a sheen of sweat.
I reached for a cold beer from the ice bucket on the pool’s edge, my reward for swimming fifty laps, or a hundred, I’d lost count, and took a long pull as I watched her working. Her brow was furrowed in concentration, her plump bottom lip caught between her teeth as the paint marker in her hand moved across the rail of my new surfboard. She was painting a giant wave, undeterred by the blazing sun beating down on her sun-kissed skin.
For the past two months, we’d been spending most of our free time and most of our nights together. Fucking, talking, laughing, falling in love. I had no idea how the hell the love part had happened, but it had.
Scarlett was good at love. She was good at loving my fucked-up self.
She called me out on my shit and did it in a way that forced me to own up rather than retreat.
Meanwhile, I was still at war with her father. The whole fiasco with The Surf Lodge was still being dragged out. Except now he was attacking my business. We’d lost two of our biggest clients. He was forcing my hand, and it was time to shut him down. I would take the war to him, the war he had started that I’d never wanted, and I would fucking end it.
But today was a Saturday and it was Memorial Day weekend so the war could wait.
“You look hot,” I told Scarlett.
“Thank you,” she sassed.
“Hot and soon to be wet.”
I levered myself out of the pool and stalked toward her. Her eyes widened. “No! You wouldn’t dare.”
Didn’t she know me yet? Marker still in hand, she scooted back and stood up, making a dash for the house.
“I need to finish—”
I caught her around the waist, spun her around and tossed her over my shoulder in a fireman’s carry. Her small fists pounded my back and she tried to struggle out of my hold. It was laughable.
“Let me down, you Neanderthal,” she shrieked, laughing.
“You need a spanking?” I smacked her ass and she squirmed in my arms, gasping for air between her laughter.
Unceremoniously, I tossed her into the deep end and dove in after her. She came up spluttering and pushed the hair off her face, lunging for me, her hands grabbing my shoulders, nails digging in. “You—”
I dunked her before she got another word out. When her head emerged, she narrowed her eyes on me. “You’re an ass.”
I laughed. “Like a donkey?”
“Like a jackass.”
“You love it.”
“I do not love being manhandled,” she said primly. Little liar.
“You love it when this man handles you.”
She wrapped her arms around my neck and her legs around my waist. “Only when you handle me with care.”
“Have you seen my back lately?” I asked, lifting my brows.
She winced. “I might have gotten carried away. Good thing I don’t have long nails.”
“I love the pain you give.” My mouth latched on to her neck and I sucked on it. She tilted it to the side for better access and I marked her skin before she came to her senses and realized what I was doing.
“Are you giving me hickeys?”
“I’m marking you. Mine. Just like this pussy.” I slid my hand between her thighs. “All mine.”
“But are you mine?”
“Nobody else gets to touch me. Only you.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
I kissed her on the lips and she swam away from me and got out of the pool then proceeded to torture me by drying off every inch of her skin with a beach towel. I watched her saunter ove
r to a lounge chair before I got out of the water and carried my bucket of beer over to where she was sitting. Easy access. To the beer. And her.
Setting the bucket on the teak side table littered with all her Sharpies and paint markers that were all over the house, I sat on a lounger and reached for her waist, pulling her down on top of me, with her back against my chest. She rested the back of her head on my shoulder and let out a little sigh of contentment as my hands skimmed over her sun-warmed body. I kissed her neck just below her ear and felt the shiver go through her.
Scooping an ice cube out of the bucket, I trailed it down her chest and over her taut stomach, squeezing her nipple between the fingers of my other hand. “Mmm. That feels good,” she said.
“If you like that, you’re going to love this.” I hooked my hands under her knees and lifted, nudging her thighs apart so she was spread wide open. She rewarded me by grinding her ass against my erection while my hand ventured lower and slipped inside the waistband of her bikini bottoms.
I teased her clit with the ice cube, testing to see if she liked it. She arched her back and let out a little yelp.
“More?”
“More,” she breathed.
I slid the ice cube inside her warm pussy and she gasped. “Oh, my God.”
I pushed it in deeper with my fingers, my thumb rubbing her swollen clit in a circular motion. Her head fell back against my shoulder and she fucked my hand, grinding against it to chase her release.
I abruptly pulled my hand away. She needed to be tortured a bit longer.
“Stand up,” I commanded.
When it came to sex, she did exactly what she was told. Usually. Starlet was adventurous, up for anything, always ready to experiment and push her own limits. I spun her around and pulled her closer to me. Reaching for another ice cube, I put it in my mouth and gripped it between my teeth.
Hearing her breath hitch, I started at the column of her neck and slowly trailed the ice cube down, down, down. Running it over her nipples, between her breasts, barely covered by two white triangles. Water droplets trickled down her skin, goosebumps raising the blonde hairs on her arms. Lower and lower I went, wanting her to suffer through the sweetest torture until I was buried deep inside her, giving her an orgasm that would make her scream so loud the whole fucking neighborhood would hear it.