Dylan(73)

“You have to be more specific,” I mutter, caught between desire and the need to see her smile return.

“I’m not asking why you broke up with me those years ago. We were kids, and you had a lot going on, with your mom leaving. I knew that. I know it. But now you say you always wanted me.”

“I did. I still do.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Her voice shakes now, vibrating with pain. “Why did you pretend you couldn’t see me and looked at every other girl instead?”

I gather her close. “I was an idiot. I thought it was for the best.”

She hits my chest with her fist, lightly. “For the best?”

I wish she’d hit me harder. I deserve it. “I thought you moved on. I was so damn jealous of every boy you kissed. Anyone you kissed that wasn’t me.”

“It was only kissing. It didn’t mean anything.”

I just hold her, feeling her warmth, her strength. Preparing to tell her the truth. I take a deep breath, let it out. “I’m scared of love.”

Her fist is still resting on my chest. Now her fingers uncurl, splayed over my heart. “Why?”

“Love fucked this family up.” I press a kiss to her forehead. “After my mom left, and I saw how it destroyed my dad… Love is dangerous. I thought if one could only turn it off, then it’d be safe. For my brothers. For me.”

She produces a choked sound, like a sob. “Is that what you’ve been doing all these years? Trying to turn love off?”

“It destroyed my family, Tess.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. It held your family together. Your love for your brothers, for your dad… It’s what makes you a family. Unlike mine.” She rests her cheek on my chest. “Mine fell apart because there was no love to hold it together.”

I say nothing, standing still. She’s right. I want to tell her, but words were never my strongest suit. I express myself through actions, so I lift my hands to her face, stroke her wet cheeks and kiss her.

It’s not just a kiss. It’s a kiss to end all kisses, to erase every other kiss from her memory. It’s a kiss to tell her how much she means to me, how much I want her, how much I need her.

Her arms come around my neck, and she kisses me back. I taste her tears, her anger, her grief, her love for me.

I’m hers.

I tug on her sweater, and she tugs on my pants. We fall on the bed in a tangle of limbs and discarded clothes. I suck on her neck as she rakes her nails down my back, then trail my mouth lower, on her bared breasts, teasing her nipples. Every inch of her tastes like candy apple and caramel, every part of her fits perfectly against mine—soft against hard, curve against flat plane.

I roll her under me and kiss a trail down to her bellybutton, then lower, and she arches on the mattress as I burrow between her legs and taste her. I pull her legs over my shoulders, and she reaches down and tangles her fingers in my short hair. She tastes of summer mornings and spring rain, of cupcakes and dark spices.

“Please,” she murmurs, “please, please…”

Fuck, I have to be inside her, can’t wait a second longer. I pull back, bend over her and kiss her, swallowing her whimper, letting her taste herself on my tongue. Reaching down, I grip my weeping, aching cock and guide it inside her, groaning as I sink into her velvety heat.

I rock into her, and her legs tighten around me. Her hair spills on the comforter like liquid gold. My hips snap forward, pushing me deeper, and my insides clench. I can feel the wave of pressure rising, and I snap my hips faster, sparks of pleasure chasing up my spine.

Holy shit. It feels better every time, every time more intense, more powerful. More meaningful, like a symbol of the future.

My cock grows heavier. I’m so close, and she’s moving with me, moaning. Moaning my name.

Shit. I lose control, rocking frantically in and out of her, my teeth gritting with the cresting of pressure and the onslaught of release. Black teases the edges of my vision, bleeding inward. I brace my hands on either side of her head, a shout building in my throat. She tightens around me, and I crash my mouth on hers, so we swallow each other’s cries.

So perfect.





Chapter Fourteen


Tessa

Friday morning, and I’m sitting at my desk at work, my mind a thousand miles away.

Well, okay, not really that far. It’s stuck in a small house in the north of town, in a yard of overgrown weeds with a letterbox that’s broken and bangs in the wind. In a bedroom where I left Dylan asleep after making love this morning.

My face heats at the memories of how he went down on me, and how good it felt, how he touched me and filled me, and how amazing it was.