Dean halts mid-sentence. For a second, he looks genuinely confused, as if he doesn’t know what I’m talking about. As if he doesn’t realize what he’d said.
But I heard it. Loud and clear. My heart skips a beat. He just told me he loved me.
“You just said it,” I tell him, fighting the huge smile that’s threatening to surface.
“I…” He clears his throat. “Well, damn. I guess I did.”
“Did you mean it?” When he nods, my lips start twitching uncontrollably. God, I want to smile so fucking bad right now. “I want to hear it again,” I beg.
He scrubs his fist over his chin, looking adorably uncomfortable. “Aw shit, babe. Don’t make me say it again. It’s bad enough that I said it first. That’s never happened to me before.”
The smile breaks free. It stretches my face from ear to ear. I fly off the bed and into his arms, too giddy to kiss him like a grown-up. My kisses are sloppy and overly eager and Dean is laughing like crazy as I maul him with my mouth.
I abruptly pull back. “Are you sure your head doesn’t hurt?”
“It’s fine,” he insists, and a deep rumble of delight leaves his throat when I smack some more kisses all over his face.
“Okay, good, because I think we should have sex now.” I push him toward the bed and reach for his waistband.
He’s highly amused. “We should? And why’s that?”
“Because you told me you love me, and I love you too, and you know how turned on I get by all this emotional stuff.” I’m already ripping my shirt off. “You have no idea how wet I am right now, sweetie.”
The humor in his eyes is replaced with smoky desire. “Show me,” he orders.
I ease my yoga pants off my hips. Undies, too. I kick them away and move closer. Then I take Dean’s hand and bring it between my legs. He instantly curls it over me, and I cover his knuckles with my palm, grinding both our hands against my damp core.
Dean groans, and this time not in pain. Or maybe it’s a different kind of pain. His erection tents in his boxer-briefs, a hard, long ridge of arousal that I’m dying to feel inside me.
“Allie…” His voice is husky.
“Mmmm?” I rock my hips against our hands.
“I love you.”
Those three syllables send a jolt of heat to my core. I moan. So does he. I know he felt the way my thighs clenched and the rush of moisture that must have coated his palm.
“Jesus,” he chokes out. “This love thing really does make you wet.”
“Told you.” I give him another shove and he hits the mattress, falling back on his elbows. “I’m going to be coming all over you. Like, exploding ovaries and multiple orgasms kind of coming.”
Dean reaches into a drawer for a condom, and I’m on top of him before he even has his dick out. “Love you,” he whispers, then presses his mouth to mine.
The kiss is sweet and gentle, sending flutters of pleasure through my body. His hand trembles as he puts the condom on, and our mouths are still locked when he rolls me over and pushes just the tip of his cock inside me.
I wrap my arms around his shoulders and cant my hips, trying to draw him in deeper. It works. With a soft groan, he slips in another inch, then another one, until finally he’s all the way in, stretching me, filling me.
Our eyes lock in a hazy stare as he starts to move. I feel so fucking full. It’s incredible. Dean pushes a strand of hair off my forehead and strokes my cheek, making love to me in a lazy, blissful tempo that has my toes curling.
“Love you,” he says again, and damned if my entire body doesn’t sing with joy.
I hold him tighter against me, welcoming each slow thrust. He slides his hands under my ass and lifts me up so that his pubic bone presses into my clit every time he drives deep. It brings stars to my eyes. Makes me gasp and moan and writhe until my whole world centers on Dean. When my orgasm ripples through me, I have the words “I love you” on my lips.
His green eyes burn with emotion. He lets out a husky groan and sags on top of me, thrusting deep one last time. Then he says, “I love you too” as he trembles with release.
29
Allie
The rest of December flies by. Before I know it, the holidays are upon us, and I’m rewarded with three weeks of downtime, family time, and stuffing-my-face-full-of-holiday-treats time.
I’m spending the break with my dad, but I’ll be in Connecticut with Dean for the first two days. His family is heading to St. Bart’s for a couple of weeks, so this is my only chance to see him until he gets back, at which point he’ll join me in New York for our last three days of freedom.
Dean had asked me to go to the island with him, but as much as I hate turning down a free trip to paradise, I’d rather be in Brooklyn. Who knows where I’ll end up after I graduate—I need to take advantage of every second I have with my dad.
Still, I can’t say I’m not bummed when I have to leave Connecticut. Although Dean had told me his parents were cool, laidback peeps, a part of me had doubted it. I mean, they’re filthy-rich lawyers who own three houses. Hell, maybe more than three. Dean doesn’t have a bragging bone in his body, so for all I know, his family has a house in every country on the globe.
You’d never know it just by looking at them, though. Dean’s mom wore jeans and a flannel shirt the whole time I was in Greenwich, confessing to me that her favorite thing about having time off is ditching the business attire she wears to the firm. Her name is Lori, and apparently she kept her maiden name and practices law as Lori Heyward.
Dean’s dad, Peter, is equally easygoing. He did some paperwork in his office every morning, but for the most part, he spent all his time with his kids, going skiing with Summer, playing two-on-one hockey with his sons on the outdoor rink behind their mansion. Yep, they have their own skating rink.
Dean’s brother Nick is one of the nicest men I’ve ever met. He brought his new girlfriend, a lawyer at another firm, and though she was uptight at first, she was sweet once I got to know her.
And Summer…well, she’s just Summer. No filters, larger than life, contagious laughter. Sometimes I think I love Dean’s sister more than I love him.
As sad as I am to say goodbye to the Heyward-Di Laurentises, I’m excited to see my dad. I decide to splurge and take a cab from Greenwich to Brooklyn, and it’s late afternoon when I roll my huge suitcase into the front entryway and call out for my father.
I find him in the living room, wearing sweats and reading a book called The Physics of Hockey. He greets me with an indulgent smile, then fusses and gripes as I kiss his cheek and hammer him with questions about how he’s feeling. He finally cuts me off to ask about my visit to Connecticut. When I reveal what an amazing time it was, he looks slightly disappointed, which makes me frown.
We speak on the phone a couple times a week, so he’s already aware I’m dating Dean, but he’s been surprisingly tight-lipped about it. After I told him, he simply grunted and hasn’t commented on the relationship since.
He comments now.
“He’s not long-term, AJ,” Dad says with a tired sigh. “I hope you know that.”
The blunt words sting. I mean, it’s not like Dean and I are planning to mail out save-the-dates next week, but I don’t envision us breaking up anytime soon. We’re twenty-two. We’re in love. Going forward might be tough, what with me in LA or New York, and Dean in Cambridge for the next two years, but I’m certain we can make it work if we try hard at it. And once Dean finishes law school, he’ll be able to practice law wherever he wants. Wherever I am. We haven’t discussed it, but Dean hasn’t given me any indication he wants to break up after graduation.
“He could be,” I say quietly. “Long-term, I mean.”
Dad gives an adamant shake of his head. “He’s not.” His voice loses some of its hard edges. “Do you want to know the most important thing I learned after eighteen years with your mom?”
I sit on the couch beside him and wait for him to continue.
“Relationships are a fucking pain in the ass sometimes.”
I have to laugh. “Mom told me the same thing.” The thought of the last conversation I had with my mother brings an ache to my heart. “She told me you guys had problems at one point in your marriage,” I confess. I’ve never discussed this with him before. Mom had been open about their struggles, though. Not in detail, but she did make sure I knew how hard they’d worked on their marriage.
“We did,” he confirms in a pained voice. “It was the traveling. Eva gave up modeling after you were born, so she was always at home. And I was always on the road.” He gives me a fierce look. “I never touched another woman, AJ. That’s not what our issues were about.”
“I know.”
“It was goddamn hard. The long separations. The brief phone calls. I’d come home and we’d feel like strangers, have to get to know each other all over again. It took a lot of effort to work through that.” Agony flashes in his eyes. “Then she got sick, and it got even harder.”
A lump forms in my throat. I was twelve when she was diagnosed with lung cancer. I remember begging to go with them whenever Dad drove her to chemo. They never let me, and on the days where the side effects were too debilitating, when her skin was grayer than ash and she was vomiting so violently she’d cracked a rib, they would send me to my aunt in Queens. They hadn’t wanted me to see her like that. But I saw enough.