by V. K. Powell
“So…your coping mechanism is sex?” Dylan asked.
“Yeah, I guess you could say that.”
Dylan stroked Finley’s thigh. “Then I consider it my civic duty to help you cope tonight, Officer Masters.” But her motives were far from selfless. She’d thought about her conversations with Holly and Bennett and about what she wanted in the future. She had put her personal life on hold—avoided feeling and buried her chances at love—while grieving her father, but he would never want her to sacrifice her happiness. Now she was finally able to admit she wanted more.
Chapter Fifteen
Finley parked in her driveway and hurried to the passenger side of the Jeep, her mind spinning. Was the house presentable? Were the sheets on the bed reasonably clean? Did she have anything to drink? Her body ached with arousal, and if Dylan changed her mind, which she might, Finley would be in a bad way and none of the trivial things would matter. Aside from the logistical considerations, Dylan was the boss’s sister and way out of her league. And Dylan wasn’t her usual fling material, but she’d asked for this, to Finley’s surprise. The other alarming part, Finley didn’t have women in her house. Ever. She opened the car door and offered her hand. “Are you sure about this?”
“Please stop asking me that.” Dylan grinned and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. “Let’s go before I change my mind.”
Finley unlocked the front door and waved Dylan inside. “Excuse the musty smell. I’m not here much and wasn’t expecting company or I’d have cleaned.” She flicked on a floor lamp.
Dylan quirked her mouth into a disbelieving grin. “You would’ve cleaned?”
“Or I’d have had it done.”
“It’s a Southern woman’s curse to clean when company’s coming, right?” Dylan asked.
“Or in my case, for periodic checks by social services.” Finley cringed at the memory of scrubbing the kitchen floor on all fours while her booze-soaked father supervised from his recliner throne.
“I think your place is perfect and surprisingly beautiful. I love the Craftsman style. Your decorator has great taste. The house is more compact and intimate than my family’s home, and I like that.”
Finley grinned. “Thanks. Do you want the nickel tour?”
“Maybe another time?” Dylan yanked the hem of her dress like a schoolgirl wishing for more fabric, and Finley’s hunger turned to protectiveness.
“Dylan, we don’t have to do this…or anything really. I can take you home.”
“Thank you for that.” Dylan hugged her and rested her cheek against Finley’s chest. “I want to have sex with you…but a part of me wants to keep this gentler side of you as long as I can.” She paused and heaved a heavy sigh. “And…I’ve never had a one-night stand…or even casual sex, but I think I’ve just been afraid of getting involved and being hurt.”
Finley’s heart thrummed hard at the admission. Dylan probably got hit on daily, but she’d chosen Finley for her first hookup. Her responsibility gene flared again. She eased out of Dylan’s hug and looked down at her. “Think I better take you home. I don’t want either of us to do something we’ll regret. I respect you too much for that.”
Dylan flicked a button on Finley’s shirt. “You’d regret having sex with me?”
“My body definitely wouldn’t, but my mind is another matter. And I’m more worried about you right now.”
Dylan tucked her fingers behind Finley’s belt and pulled her closer. “Now you’re just making me want you more. That’s so sweet. Please stop trying to talk me out of this and help me. Bedroom?”
No one could accuse Finley of not trying to change Dylan’s mind, but good intentions only went so far and she was only human. “Last door on the right.”
Dylan led the way down the hall and guided Finley to the edge of her bed. “I apologize in advance for the lack of foreplay, but we’ve been teasing each other all night.” Dylan grabbed the lapels of Finley’s jacket, but she stopped her.
“Dylan, I want to be clear about what this—”
“This is two consenting adults having sex with no strings. I’m clear. It’s out of character for me, but I saw a side of you tonight that I really like, and I want to hold that image while we…do this. Okay?”
Finley nodded. Dylan peeled Finley’s jacket off and started to unbutton her shirt, but Finley grabbed her hands. “I don’t usually—”
“Shush,” Dylan said. “Let’s drop that right here with this awesome jacket. I promise not to hurt you, Officer.” She stood on tiptoes and kissed Finley and then nibbled her way to the hollow of her neck and the top button of her shirt. “Relax.” Dylan held her gaze as she worked her shirt open, teasing her bottom lip between her teeth.
Finley ached at Dylan’s playful concentration and determination to take charge. Women usually expected her to lead, so this might be fun…to a point. Dylan stripped Finley’s shirt off her shoulders, followed quickly by her sports bra. Then she waited until Finley nodded to continue. Dylan unzipped her jeans and shucked them to the floor, and Finley shivered when the cooler air of the room hit her heated body. “Wait.”
“Second thoughts? Are you uncomfortable? Feeling used?” Dylan cupped her hand over Finley’s abdomen and waited.
“Used? No way.”
Dylan inched her fingers toward the waistband of Finley’s tight briefs. “May I?” She glanced up.
Finley grabbed Dylan’s wrist but didn’t pull her hand away. “I…can’t…I don’t…let other women take control.”
“I thought we agreed to leave that. Let go, Fin. Just tell me if I do something you don’t like.” She kissed Finley’s bare chest and blew her hot breath across her breasts. “Besides, I’m not other women.”
“Damn.” She released her grip and her body tightened as Dylan slid her hand lower into her briefs and through the slick heat between her legs.
“See,” Dylan said, “you need this too.”
When Dylan teased Finley’s clit, sparks shot through her, and she felt like she was falling. Her breathing hitched and she grabbed Dylan’s ass to steady herself. She made women weak and needy not the other way around, but right now she’d do anything Dylan wanted.
Dylan pressed her fingers into Finley. “I want you so much, Fin.” She slid her finger back and forth.
She should object, get things under control. “Me too.” Her legs wobbled as she tried to meet Dylan’s thrusts. “I want to touch you, Dylan.”
“Later.”
“Dylan, I can’t.”
“Of course, you can. Relax and enjoy.”
Finley’s labored breaths were like a chugging train in her ears, and the pounding between her legs kept time. “Need to sit down.”
“Your injured shins?”
Finley shook her head. “Wobbly knees.”
Dylan slowly eased her backward onto the bed and settled along her side. “I want you to come for me.” She sucked Finley’s breast into her mouth, and Finley felt the connection at her core.
Dylan’s teeth and lips on her breast were blunted razors sending shocks of painful pleasure to her clit in uncoordinated blasts with her finger strokes. She wasn’t used to so much attention and struggled not to come too soon. Dylan’s touch was sure, but Finley needed a synchronized rhythm. She cupped Dylan’s hand and tried to control the speed to match the efforts of her mouth, but Dylan kept the conflicting paces. Her resistance irritated and aroused Finley at the same time. “Damn it, Dylan.”
Dylan sucked her breast and rocked into her crotch with the heel of her hand. “You are so hot, Fin. I want to watch you come. You’re ready.”
Finley tried to slow or stop the aggravating pace but just grew hotter and more aroused. “Ohhh, fuck!” While her mind concentrated on guiding Dylan, her body was letting go, exploding around her. “Yessss.” As Finley started coming, Dylan finally pumped and sucked in perfect sync. Too much. Too good. She couldn’t stop her orgasm, control it, or deny the feeling of surrender for the first time. The thought was freeing
and sobering. She gasped and pulled for breath. “Holy crap, Dylan.”
“Don’t talk.” Dylan peeled Finley’s briefs off and then did the same with her own. She hiked her dress up and straddled Finley’s center, rubbing against her. “Take me, Fin.”
Dylan’s heat spilled over Finley, and she grabbed her hips, riding up against her, pressing and grinding together, wanting Dylan to feel what she had. “Oh, yes. Come on, baby.”
“Look at me, Fin.”
Finley opened her eyes—another thing she didn’t do with her casuals—and stared up at the most beautiful woman she’d ever seen. Dylan writhed atop her, hair wild, cheeks flushed, breasts bouncing, and hips seesawing back and forth bringing more pleasure than Finley had ever experienced. “Don’t stop. Please, Dylan.” When Dylan cried out and collapsed across her chest, Finley came with her. She’d violated so many of her rules tonight, but at this moment, she didn’t care about any of them.
* * *
Dylan opened her eyes with a start in the strange bedroom and scanned her surroundings. Silhouette window shades diffused light and provided privacy, tasteful bedding, neither too frilly nor too stark, and modern, functional furniture—everything suited Finley’s style. Dylan rolled onto her side, her body aching with the sensitivity of overuse, and studied Finley. She’d done things to Dylan no one ever had, or they’d done them poorly, but fairy tales ended. Hamilton and sex with Finley were both one-offs. Cop equaled fun and nothing more. She ignored the niggling doubt in her mind that stopped short of calling bullshit.
She eased off the bed and glanced over her shoulder. Finley lay on her back, arms and legs spread, her breathing even and heavy. Dylan took a mental picture of the peaceful pose and resisted the temptation to wake her for another round. Finley was everything and nothing Dylan expected—gentler, more experimental, and totally obliging, even letting Dylan take charge.
One and done? Not likely. She plucked her clothes from the floor on the way to the living room and opened the Uber app on her phone. Sneaking out wasn’t her style, but neither was a one-night stand. Since she and Finley had agreed on the terms going in, this seemed like the best option. No scene, discussion, or awkward good-byes. But she wanted to stay and wake Finley with gentle kisses, tease her into another round of sex, and share breakfast with her like a normal couple. She shook her head. Not part of the agreement, but it was still what she wanted.
Dylan dressed and glanced around the open-plan space, appreciating the cozy furniture and soothing earth tone color scheme. This would make a nice, comfortable home for a family. How did Finley live in a place with so many unpleasant memories while trying to sell it? If what she’d said last night was true, she didn’t spend much time here at all, not even with lovers.
Dylan scribbled a quick note on the pad on the kitchen island and then hurried to the waiting Uber. She settled in the back seat, clicked to iTunes, and pressed Abba’s “Waterloo.” The music surged through the earbuds, and she felt buoyant and free, until a pang of guilt crept in. Had she used Finley? Should she go back and make sure Finley was okay? No. Casual was her jam, and she’d been all in. Dylan checked the time. Five thirty. Her family would be awake soon and looking for her. If she was lucky, no one would notice her predawn return.
Ten minutes later, she slowly opened her front door, expecting at least Bennett to be waiting. She breathed a thankful sigh into the quiet, empty space and peeled her clothes off on the way to the bathroom. A hot shower and time to relive the ecstasy of last night, file it away, and prepare for the real world were exactly what she needed.
But her body thrummed with tactile sensations. The shower spray struck tender skin and sparked memories of Finley touching, teasing, and tugging her to orgasm after orgasm. The smell of their mingled sex drifted to her nostrils in the steam. Nothing about their night had been ordinary, expected, or off-limits. And that was the reason she couldn’t get it out of her head. That and the fact it couldn’t happen again.
She squirted shampoo in her palm, rubbed it vigorously through her hair, and rinsed. One night of decadence with Finley and no more. Dylan gently spread the shower gel over her body, determined not to think about Finley’s hands in place of her own. She leaned under the spray for a final cool rinse, turned off the shower, and pulled on her terrycloth robe. But sex with Finley had been totally freeing and satisfying. Was that what one-night stands usually felt like, or had Finley created a hunger only she could satisfy? “Do not go there. It’s over. Mission accomplished. Dylan out.”
While she towel dried her hair and finger combed it in the mirror, she caught a whiff of fresh, strong coffee. Bennett would’ve told the family about Dylan’s date last night over dinner, and they’d be like wild horses ready to crash her door for details. Time to face the real world.
Bennett and Jazz sat at her kitchen counter sipping coffee and chatting quietly. “Good morning, sisters. To what do I owe the honor of this early visit and fresh coffee?” She pulled her I-love-my-doctor mug, a birthday gift from Ryan and Riley, from the cabinet and filled it, taking her time with the sweetener and cream.
“Just wanted to say good morning,” Bennett said, holding Dylan’s little black dress up with one finger. “Shouldn’t leave your clothes on the floor if you’re being sneaky.”
“Give me that.” She snatched the dress and tossed it toward the bedroom. “I wasn’t sneaking. Last time I checked, I live here alone, though you guys apparently didn’t get the memo.” She took a sip of coffee to cover a blush when she noticed her boots and jacket still in the middle of the living room floor.
“So…good evening?” Jazz asked, sucking on her lip to hide a grin.
“Hamilton was outstanding. I’ve never seen anything so uplifting and expertly done.”
“And was Hamilton the only thing uplifting and expertly done last night?” Bennett laughed, and Jazz joined in.
“Shut up, both of you. What happened or didn’t happen after the play is none of your business. Are you two so bored being married and engaged that you’re perving on my sex life?”
Jazz pointed her index finger. “So, you’re admitting sex was involved?”
Dylan shook her head. “The only thing I admit is I had a great time. Period.”
“And came home just before daylight…in an Uber I’m guessing,” Bennett said.
“Oh, my God, you guys. How can you even know that unless you were staking out my place or…G-ma?”
“Bingo,” Jazz said. “She was so excited that you had a date, I think she was up most of the night, hoping to grill you herself.”
“There’s no escaping the police inquisition.” Dylan refilled her coffee cup to keep from looking at her sisters and to regain control of her growing irritation. They were concerned about her, probably more so because she’d been out with playgirl Finley Masters, but Dylan made her own choices and accepted the consequences. She turned to face them again.
“Seriously? I appreciate your concern, but I’ve got this. Sometimes I wonder if I should’ve moved across town or out of state maybe instead of across the yard.”
Bennett came around to her side of the island, took Dylan’s coffee mug and placed it on the counter, and hugged her. “We know you’re a strong, capable Carlyle woman, but you have to accept that we’ll never stop caring and worrying about you, just like the other members of our family. We love you, Sis.”
Jazz joined them and hugged Dylan from the other side. “What Ben said. Sorry if we overstepped. You just haven’t stayed out all night in…a long time.”
“Yeah,” Bennett said. “I hope you enjoyed yourself.” She rocked her hips back and forth.
Dylan pushed away and playfully tossed a pot holder at Bennett’s head. “Get out, you heathens. I have to work in a couple of hours and I might need a nap.” She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. That was all they were getting. She couldn’t discuss Finley with her sisters when she didn’t understand her continued craving, much less her emotions.
Chapter Si
xteen
Finley woke thinking about sex with Dylan and became aroused again but kept her breathing steady and her body still. This was the awkward part. She rehearsed her normal morning-after speech, but balked at delivering it to Dylan. Last night, Finley had done everything she never did with other women and nothing she usually did. Dylan had flipped the script, orchestrated their encounter, and left Finley’s head spinning and her body aching.
She reached across the bed for Dylan to either set the record straight or have sex again but found only cold sheets. Her arousal vanished. She checked the floor around the bed—her strap-on and discarded clothes—but nothing of Dylan’s. Her gut tightened with disappointment and she sat straight up. Did other women feel this way when she left in the middle of the night or early morning without even a good-bye? And why did it matter that Dylan had?
They’d agreed on the guidelines and enjoyed each other all night. So, what was different? She couldn’t claim being used since her motto had always been any sex is good sex. And sex with Dylan had been beyond good. She put on sweats and a T-shirt and headed to the kitchen for coffee. Before she made it to the pot, she noticed the note on her kitchen island.
Finley, thanks for everything. Last night was great. I’d appreciate your discretion. See you around. D
“See you around?” Isn’t that what she always said to women? Dylan had mastered the fling rules on her first try, and that didn’t set well with Finley. Was this payback for years of casual sex with women she never really connected with? She and Dylan had an emotional evening, talked about their families and fears, and shared some pretty fantastic sex…in this house. Nothing more. Nothing to reminisce about or dwell on.
She finished her coffee, showered, and dressed, refusing to unpack the evening any further. Every time her thoughts wandered to Dylan or the pleasurable soreness in her body, she changed the subject. She picked up her cell on the way out the front door and dialed Hank.
