I haven’t been able to stop thinking about the way he kissed me and the orgasm he gave me, even if I was the one riding him. He didn’t make me feel stupid or ridiculous and has been nothing but kind…nothing like I expected him to be.
I pour a glass of wine, chugging it down quickly before refilling my glass and one for him. I want him, but I need a little liquid courage to stop from losing my nerve about going further than we did the other day.
“You going to keep stallin’, or are you going to come over here and give me those lips, wildcat?”
I stop moving. My heart is thundering, and my breath catches in my chest. “I’m not stalling,” I tell him. I shake off my nerves, grab the two glasses, and make my way toward Dylan. “I thought you’d like something to drink.”
He takes the wineglasses from my hands and places them on the coffee table. My feet come out from under me, and my stomach plummets as I’m pulled forward.
Not only am I falling into him, but my heart is falling for him too. This is all happening way too fast, but I can’t stop myself from feeling all the feelings he stirs inside me.
I adjust my body as if we’ve done this a million times instead of for just the second time. My entire field of vision fills with Dylan Walsh. Shades of blond, brown, and red cover his face and head, framing his soft lips as they turn up in satisfaction. His deep green eyes are brimming with emotion and hunger. Hunger aimed toward me, causing my belly to flutter again.
“Hi,” I squeak as a dress shirt-covered muscular arm closes around me, caging me in.
“Hi,” he whispers back, running a single finger down the side of my face and slowly drifting across my lips. “You good? We good?”
“Fabulous,” I breathe and relax into him.
This is good. We’re good. No man has ever made me feel like the floor is about to open below me, ready to swallow me whole.
Dylan does.
Never in a million years did I think I’d be on my couch about to have sex with him. I hadn’t thought about him at all, in fact. He was only a passing memory from my childhood and nothing more…until now.
“Thank you for tonight.” He smiles, his finger still tracing my features.
I sit perfectly still, propped in his lap, my body humming with excitement. “For what?”
“For dinner. For your grandparents. For being here and being you. For what we’re about to do.”
My heart skips. “What are we about to do?” I ask with a coy smile, pretending to be clueless or at least innocent.
I am neither, but I also have never been a go-getter, chasing after any man or sex.
His hand stops near my chin, his thumb pulling my bottom lip down and open. “Lots of dirty things.”
“Lots?”
His lips turn up at one side, and his gaze goes to my mouth. “So many dirty things, you won’t be able to look your family in the eye tomorrow.”
The air inside my lungs evaporates, and my pussy pulses in anticipation.
“I felt that,” he says, and my eyes widen.
“You felt what?”
“The twitch.”
“The twitch?” I whisper, swallowing hard and trying not to be mortified that he felt my pussy’s reply to his statement.
“Babe, your body couldn’t be any more connected with mine than it is right now unless I was inside you. You do it, I feel it.”
My entire body flushes with embarrassment, and to cover it, I throw myself forward until my lips crash into his, stopping him from saying anything more before I chicken out.
I glide my fingers through the thick, coarse hair of his beard as his mouth opens, slipping his tongue between my lips. A faint taste of wine mingles with his purely masculine scent, filling all my senses along with his hands roaming around my body over my clothes.
A moan slips from my lips when his palms glide across the sides of my breasts. He growls a response before he moves his hands to the hem of my shirt. My arms shoot up into the air as if it’s an automatic response to the promise of what’s to come.
He pulls away, our eyes locking immediately as the only sound in the air is our heavy breaths and the rapid beating of our hearts.
My shirt isn’t even out of his hands when I do the same, grabbing the bottom of his shirt and pulling it off. I brush my fingertips over the warm, hard skin of his abdomen, sending all kinds of wonder through me. He doesn’t speak, only watches me, his gaze dipping to the swells of my breasts as I lift his shirt.
I’ve never felt more beautiful than I do when he looks at me the way he is right now. He wants me, and the hard length of him pressed against my body leaves no doubt. I feel the hunger coming off him in waves.
I gawk at his chest and tattoos, running my fingers along the ink. He’s hard everywhere I’m soft, and I want to spend hours tracing every dip and ridge of his perfectly formed stomach and pecs.
“We still good?” he asks.
I nod and don’t get the words out before his mouth is back on mine, stealing my breath and another moan as he palms my breasts. The thin scraps of lace do nothing to block the heat of his skin against mine. I hum my appreciation, loving the way he touches me, both gentle and rough, a mix of sensations I’ve never felt with another man.
Dylan moves one hand to my hip, keeping the other on my breast, and pushes my lower half backward. Our lips never separate, but when he slides the hand that was on my hip between my legs and under my skirt, I gasp into his mouth.
His lips cover mine again as his hand slips into my panties and the skin on skin sends a shiver racing through my entire body. His fingers glide easily across my tender flesh, already wet and needy from the lightest touch and his deep, demanding kisses.
I spread my legs farther apart, wanting him to touch me deep. The roughness of his fingertips sends a jolt of pleasure from my core to my extremities as they sweep across the very spot where I’ve been dying to be touched.
A few passes of his fingers and I’m rocking into his palm, wanting more—and needing it too. My wishes are granted as a single digit dips into me, delivering total and utter bliss. He moans against my mouth, sending the vibration down my spine as every nerve ending inside me seems to come alive.
I slide my hand down his stomach to his crotch, unzipping the zipper on his jeans. Making quick work, I push the denim aside until his cock pops out, brushing against my fingertips as if begging to be touched. I move my hand around the shaft, rubbing the tip with my fingers. My eyes are open, his still closed, and I glance down to see his piercing flicker in the faint glow from the side table lamp.
Holy moly.
Piercings aren’t new to me. I work at a tattoo and piercing shop, but never have I been with a man who’s had his cock decorated. I’ve heard it’s a whole new experience, and it looks like tonight I’m about to find out if the gossip is true.
He groans as I trace the metal before sliding my palm around the head to stroke his shaft.
“Fuck,” he moans against my lips.
I smile, pleased with myself at bringing him as much pleasure as he’s giving me. His finger leaves me, and before I have a chance to whine at the emptiness, he adds a second digit, filling me so decadently, I almost cry out his name.
He thrusts his fingers into me, and I stroke faster, trying to match his pace. I’m so close to orgasm, my toes start to curl, but before the sensation I’m craving fills me, he flips me onto my back and covers me with his body.