by S. A. Wolfe
“Not literally. God, Dylan. I wasn’t going to walk out of the hotel. We have a job to do. But I was furious the other night at the dinner party when they brought up Jess and you, and it made me feel really crappy. I spent the last day wondering if I should live someplace else.”
“But I thought last night… I thought we were mending fences. I didn’t realize you were actually thinking of leaving. I didn’t get that vibe at all, Emma. You can’t give a great blow job and expect to walk off.”
“Would you stop saying blow job?” I whisper angrily as pedestrians continue to watch us.
Dylan shakes his head. “And this morning in the shower, I assumed you were enjoying it because you were with me.” There is no affection in his glare.
“I did enjoy it. Obviously. Do we have to talk about this in broad daylight on a busy street?”
Without responding, Dylan grabs my hand and walks me briskly back to the hotel in silence. When we enter our suite, he orders room service and then strips off his suit and puts on those low-slung sweats I love so much. I change into a pair of yoga pants and a t-shirt and then sit on the bed, waiting for him to unload his rage.
He huffs and puffs around the room like a caged lion.
“Okay, let’s talk,” he says angrily.
He doesn’t sit down; he keeps pacing.
“Not when you’re acting like this. Maybe you should go to the hotel gym and put in a fifty-mile run to work off some of this aggression,” I snap back. “Then we’ll talk.”
“Oh, no. You don’t get to therapize me, too. You’re not my fucking nurse or my shrink.”
“You don’t even have a name for what I am to you. Exclusive fuck buddy?”
“Fuck buddy!” he shouts and I scramble back farther from him. He is like a giant when he is irate. “Didn’t you hear a single thing I said this morning? We’re together, and I am trying. You’re my girlfriend, in case it hasn’t crossed your mind. And how could it not cross your mind? Explain that.”
“Um, well, how about we’ve never even dated. One week you’re pretty cold towards me, then I’m living with you, then we start sleeping together, which is something I encouraged, I realize. Then I find out you were involved with my boss’s wife and you bought a wedding ring for her. Those are some pretty key details that you left out.”
Dylan walks around the bed to stand over me. “We’ve been through this. I didn’t intentionally leave it out. I assumed you knew everything about me already from the town gossip who happens to be your best friend.”
“I realize that, and I understand you weren’t well then, but that’s a really huge thing to leave out.”
“So, this whole thing with Jess is a big problem to you even though it happened before I even knew you? Are you going to get over this or is it indefinite?”
“I don’t know.” I glare at him. “I imagine it’s going to be very difficult for me to be around Jess and maybe Carson, too.”
His lips curl into thin lines as his eyes widen. My stomach hurts to say I am unsure about us. I know I’m in love with him. I also know that I have never had to deal with such an awkward love scenario.
“Is this a deal breaker?” His voice is low and clipped now.
“Dylan, all I know is that I was falling hard for you and then this news about you and Jess made me think whatever we have or may have was all a lie.”
“Do you still feel that way? Because we’re not a lie. We’re good together.”
“Well, before I knew about her, I felt special. It sounds corny and silly because we haven’t been together that long, but it’s the truth. I thought I was special to you.”
Dylan takes that as his cue to sit on the bed in front of me. He then puts his hands on either side of me and leans forward until our faces are less than a foot apart.
“You are special. This isn’t about Jess. I had a fling with her. I’m not flinging anything with you, Emma.”
Yes, I needed to hear that, however sometimes the words don’t erase the bad feelings, and my ego says I am only second-runner up because the first one got away.
“You don’t understand,” I tell him.
“I don’t? How about the recent meeting you had with Robert? You were with him for two years—that wasn’t a fling—and I have to sit and watch you console him. It makes your relationship fresh and still perfectly alive when he’s undeserving of any affection from you. How do you think that makes me feel?”
“You knew about him before you and I got together. You knew I was trying to get rid of him. It’s not the same as being surprised after you’ve already put yourself out there for someone else.”
“You didn’t answer my question. I’m in this, too. I’ve put myself out there for you, so how do you think I feel when I see you with Robert? How do you think I feel when I see you worrying about him and dredging up old memories with him?”
I take in his angry eyes that never seem to blink as they lock on me with possessiveness. My heart and ego both remind me that it’s a reassuring sign, that he cares about me and I could be the biggest fool. I let my gaze drop down and focus on his bare chest and then down to his abs because I don’t know how to respond.
He moves his mouth to my ear with his lips barely touching me. “I’ll tell you how I feel. Pissed as hell, jealous that he’s trying to take you away from me, and scared that he’ll succeed.”
On those last words, I look back up and Dylan collides his mouth into mine. It’s a fast, aggressive, all-encompassing kiss that’s just long enough for him to brand me—to claim me. When he pulls away, my lips feel bruised and swollen.
“If you have any doubts about me, then I’m doing something wrong,” he says.
There is a knock on the door so Dylan leaves me to let the room service waiter in to set up another lovely spread in the living room. When he leaves, Dylan doesn’t wait for me. He sits down and begins chowing like a fiend. I sit down across from him and pick through the five entrees he has ordered for the two of us.
“I’m going down to the hotel gym to run,” he says suddenly, standing and tossing his napkin on his chair. “I don’t want you to be alone, but I need to run. I’m feeling jumpy. I wonder why… Will you promise me that you’ll stay in the room and not open the door for anyone?”
“You take babysitting to a whole new level.”
“I’m serious. I’m not leaving unless I have your word. No going outside, not even a trip to the ice machine.”
He grabs a t-shirt off a chair and puts it on along with his running shoes.
“Wow, you saw him. You really think Robert is a danger to me? Because I don’t.”
“I don’t know him and I don’t know who else may be with him, and I don’t have a fucking clue what’s going on. Until we have more answers, I want you to stay put. Can you do that for me?”
“Sure,” I mutter and twirl the pasta around on my plate.
“Good. I’ll be back in less than an hour.”
“Okay. Go break some records. I bet you can run a mile in thirty seconds, stud.” I keep playing with my food.
Unexpectedly, Dylan’s large hand is under my chin, and he angles my head up to him then gives me a soft peck on my mouth.
“I knew I could do that,” he says with something that almost resembles a smile. “Remember, I’ve got might on my side, and I’m stronger and faster than you. Now I’m going to go run ten miles. It should only take about five minutes according to your calculations. And before you get all whacked out and think I’m another guy who’s trying to control your life, I’m not. I’m the guy that wants to be with you, and I want to keep you safe.”
***
I spend the next hour sitting in a chair watching television and staring out the window at the vibrant city below. My chest tightens when I hear the door open and Dylan returns drenched in sweat. He takes off his t-shirt and dries himself off, sneaking looks at me as if he is trying to gauge my mood.
“Are you still
angry at me?” he asks.
“Are you still angry at me?” I shoot back.
“I was never angry at you. I was just trying to convince you that I’m not the bad guy. I can’t stand that we’re dealing with your ex.”
“Ditto on your ex. But, no, I’m not angry at you.”
“Jess isn’t my ex, and she isn’t stalking me, and she isn’t in trouble with the law.”
“You’re right.”
Dylan eyes me warily. “I’m right about everything?”
“Don’t push it.” I smile. “You’re right about Robert. And you should know that he couldn’t ever win me back. I was done with him last year. This new stuff is about me helping an old friend. Nothing more.”
“What else am I right about?” He grins, coming around to my chair and squatting in front of me.
“That we’re good together. When we’re not arguing, I really like being with you.”
“And?”
“And I give great blow jobs.”
Dylan’s whole face lights up with a boyish grin. He grips the armrests and pulls himself closer to me. “And?”
“What are you fishing for, Dylan? I admit I have had my screw-up moments. I admit I willingly started this with you. I also like working with you. And it’s nice when you do tell me things you wouldn’t otherwise share with someone. I want more of that.”
“I want that, too. I can’t share everything with my doctor, like what it’s like to get a BJ from an angry girlfriend who thinks she’s being vengeful and nurturing at the same time. That would be an interesting topic for my shrink.”
I laugh.
“But there’s more, Emma.” He tweaks my earlobe.
“Yes, Robert is someone I have to deal with, and you’ll have to get over that.”
Dylan groans then plants a delicate kiss on my nose.
“And Jess is someone who is a permanent part of your life, so I’ll have to deal with that on my own I guess. Don’t assume it’s something I can brush aside so easily, though.”
“Fair enough,” he replies, knowing he is winning this hand. “What about us living together? And I’m not talking about separate bedrooms with the occasional happy ending, babe.”
“I was working up to that one.”
“Oh, were you?”
He smiles and it’s enough to give me that tingling feeling from being goofy-in-love.
“I don’t know how that will work. It’s Leo’s house and I’m a temporary guest—”
“Leo isn’t living there, and you can share my room. But that’s beside the point. You’re thinking of an excuse. It doesn’t come down to actual geography or which house we live in; it’s about sharing a bed wherever we are, even if you choose to live at the Red Roof Inn on the interstate. God, I hope you don’t, though.”
His face is so close to mine that I can’t help myself, I stroke his cheekbone.
“Dylan,” I say coyly.
“What, Emma?”
“What time does the party start?”
“In a couple of hours. Why; did you have something in mind?”
His smile exposes perfect white teeth and full lips that I can’t get enough of. I zero in on those as I clasp his neck and pull him closer for a kiss.
Kissing Dylan is like being at the top of a rollercoaster as it is about to take the first terrifying and thrilling descent. I can’t wait for it to happen and the anticipation of how excited I will be on the ride is intoxicating.
When Dylan puts his arms around my back and eases me forward until I am snug in his embrace, I wrap my legs around his waist as he holds my head firmly to deepen the kiss. The arguing as well as the back and forth accusations of the last couple of days have built a need in both of us that’s impossible to ignore. As our tongues duel and my hands run wildly around his head, rubbing his soft buzz and grappling to touch the scruff on his jaw, my body is getting incredibly wound up, like a top that’s going to be released and spin out of control.
“Let’s not waste the bed,” I mumble between our clenched lips.
“I agree, but I really need a shower—”
“No, you don’t. Bed, now.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he replies, picking me up with my limbs wrapped around him.
Still kissing and holding me, he strides over to the other room and falls onto the bed with me, never letting our mouths part. We undress each other, stroking and touching flesh as we expose it with each item of clothing that’s discarded. Kisses ensue on hips and stomachs, inner thighs and necks. Our naked, tangled bodies are all that matter now.
All my grandstanding about us not talking enough is tossed out the window along with my personal quibbles on where I stand with Dylan—either as someone he may love or as his short-term girlfriend. I am laughing inwardly because the only talking my body is doing right now is telling itself how primed I am to be screwed out of my mind. I don’t want to try to unravel my inane, preachy thoughts. I just want to feel him all over me and inside of me.
At one point, my head is resting on his large thigh and my mouth and hands have his cock, coaxing moans from him while his tongue teases my clit. I’ve never engaged in this position with any man, and I am completely enthralled and turned on beyond control when we have our heads between each other’s legs, bringing one another to volcanic climaxes. As the orgasm shoots a bolt of fire from my center, I moan Dylan’s name at the same time he ejaculates onto his stomach and my breasts. The orgasm feels endless and I am crazed with lust.
I turn around and climb on top of him with the stickiness of his semen between our bodies. I need to kiss him again. I can’t get enough of Dylan, and I know he can wring more out of my body that is still vibrating. Even after a ten-mile run and an orgasm, he eagerly gropes my ass and breasts while his cock perks and comes back to life. When I lick his small, firm nipples, he is completely hard. I begin rubbing him against my wet sex.
Then we have the “oh shit” moment.
Dylan rolls me off him, jumps out of bed and tears through his luggage and drawers searching for a condom. Talk about a lustful fury. I beg him to hurry even though he couldn’t possibly move faster or throw more things on the floor. Just when we think it is futile to our sex addled brains—that finding the roll of condoms is like finding the Holy Grail—we both laugh with relief as he discovers one.
Chalk it up to the professional sex fiend, I think. Thankfully, he’s got the condom on and is ready to go before the mood or momentum can be broken.
“On your knees,” he orders breathlessly, as if he’s shaken.
Some poet, but he’s mine.
I scramble on all fours and he plunges into me before I can gain stability on the bed. Dylan wraps a strong arm around my waist and holds my body tightly as he mounts me without finesse. He bows over me, putting all of his weight on one arm and thrusts repeatedly with forceful grunts against my neck. I push back, meeting each of his thrusts with my own moans, letting him fill me over and over until my desire is begging for him to quake my body.
“Two days without being inside of you, and this is what you do to me, Emma,” he rasps into my ear.
The hand he has splayed against my stomach moves down my rocking pelvis and rubs my clit, fingering the slick folds until I whimper. That magical crescendo of pleasurable sparks begins building quickly. I am impatient for the ultimate explosion to take over totally, knowing it will blind me temporarily and leave me in a glorious stupor of euphoria. I want it now. Just when I hear Dylan’s breathing hitch, he detonates my sensitive spot and I climax as he comes, shouting my name.
For a running man, Dylan is breathing rather hard and sweating as if he really did run ten, thirty-second miles. I feel overjoyed that he’s completely spent because of me.
After he takes care of the condom, he pulls me down on the bed so we’re facing each other and nuzzles his head against my cheek.
There hasn’t been any poetic murmurings or tender kisses, it’s just been goo
d, old-fashioned fucking. It’s exactly what I’ve needed. It isn’t just the physical aspect, either. It is like being doused with a cold bucket of water so I could have the epiphany we all wish would happen at the start of a relationship and not after countless misunderstandings and confused interpretations of mixed signals. Of course, if we didn’t have to struggle and suffer a bit in a relationship before we wise up, that would make life too easy.
“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” he asks. I find it adorable that a big guy who looks destroyed after shouting through a spectacular orgasm would ask that.
“No, you didn’t hurt me.” I kiss his cheek and then his nose. “I loved it.”
“I loved it, too. I hope I wasn’t too rough with you. Seriously.”
I smile then wrap my arms and legs around him. Sweaty body and all, I want to be as close as possible to him. He looks relieved and responds by tightening his hold on me.
“Dylan, you can’t hurt me. Like you said, we’re good together.”
“You’re just getting that now?”
As I gently stroke the stubble on his chin and let my fingers glide past his ear to his scars, he closes his eyes and groans softly.
“I like tracing your scars. Is that weird?” I chuckle.
“No, it feels good.” He opens his eyes and gives me a sweet kiss on my forehead.
Up close, his blue irises are arresting. I wouldn’t mind skipping the party and spending the rest of the night here with him. The room is quiet and so decadent that we could easily make up for the lost time spent arguing about other people. It is the first time I feel like we are actually alone and out of reach from everyone in Hera or Jersey.
“Hmm,” he murmurs. He stills as my fingers dance along his scalp and neck. “I don’t want to go to the party.”
“I was thinking the same thing, but my boss wouldn’t appreciate me blowing off our biggest client’s expensive event. There are hands to shake and asses to kiss.”
