by Kylie Parker
“Touch me, Dylan. I need you,” she says softly.
Those few words are more than I can resist.
“Fuck, Alexa. Do you know what you do to me?” I growl, tearing my t-shirt over my head. She sits up and starts to undo my shorts, I let her. Once unfastened, I quickly step out of them, wearing nothing but my briefs. She drops back, props up on her elbows, staring at my body. I feel worshiped. Her tongue flicks out, licking her bottom lip.
I drop next to her, finding her lips with my own and start a slow, deep kiss. Her hand goes to the back of my head and pulls me closer. I willingly go with her as she lays her head on the bed. My hand rests in the middle of her bare stomach. I use a finger to trace small circles around her belly button before running my hand up to her breasts. As expected, her body arches. She is the most responsive, sensual woman I have ever been with.
My plans for taking it slow are fading fast with each one of her moans. I greedily swallow each of them, drinking in her passion with each sound. It fuels my own need to the point I can't hold back. Next time, I promise myself. Next time I will take my time and worship every inch of her body.
“I need you in me, Dylan. I can't wait. Please don't make me wait,” she says when I pull back.
“I won't make you wait, baby. Not this time,” I say, quickly pulling off my underwear. She moves to take off her panties, “No. I want to,” I tell her.
I pull her back to the edge of the bed and slowly pull one side and then the other, baring her to me. I have to taste her. I yank the panties off, far less graceful than I had intended before diving in between her legs. I run my tongue up to the hard nub, pulling a small shriek from her.
“I can't,” she pants. “I,”
I dive in again, this time using a combination of teeth and tongue to bring her within a hair's breath of ecstasy. She doesn't give me the chance to complete my mission.
“Now, Dylan!” she shouts.
I want to deny her, string out her pleasure a little longer, but I can't. I'm ready to explode. She pushes across the bed, pulling me with her, trying to force me in. She reaches between us, pulling my dick towards her opening. The woman is whimpering and pleading. I hold back, just an inch. She bends her legs and pushes herself against me, rubbing her wet pussy up and down my slick cock.
Her fingers are pressing into my ass, pulling and clawing. I can't hold back and plunge in. The action brings her to climax. Her body tightens around me, clenching and pulling me in. I slowly pull out, before plunging in again. Her back arches and through a thick fog of lust, I can hear her repeating my name.
It isn't long before I tumble over the cliff with her, pushing into her over and over, unable to temper by body's force. I know I am probably hurting her, but I have no control. It is a foreign feeling. I am lost, spinning into her and I don't care. I go willingly. Her hands rub over my back, soothing me.
I collapse next to her, trying to catch my breath while coming back down to earth. Her hand moves up my side to my shoulder, where she does a few soft circles before putting her hand on my face and gently kissing me.
“Marry me,” I blurt out, shocking myself.
She looks at me, raises an eyebrow, “What?”
I think about back pedaling, but I figure this is as good a time as any, “Marry me, Alexa. I know this isn't exactly the most romantic setting and I'm not on bended knee, but well, will you?”
She starts laughing, “You're crazy. I bet you say that to all the ladies after you have had one of the best orgasms of your life.”
I lean over, kiss her and hold her eyes, “I swear to you, I have never, ever said those words to anybody.”
“Are you being serious? I mean, you don't even know me,” she says softly.
I shake my head, put a hand to her cheek and push her hair back, “I'm being very serious and I do know you. I bet I know you better than any of your other boyfriends have.”
She gives me a small smile, “I'll give you that. I don't actually talk about my past. In fact, I think the only person that knows is Jessica.”
“See, then, I do know you better than most. I feel so comfortable with you, like I don't know, like you get me. Does that make sense?”
Alexa's small shoulders shrugged, “It does, but I don't know if that means we run off and get married after knowing each other for a week, Dylan.”
“I don't want to wait. I want you to be my wife. Please say yes, Alexa,” I plead.
I won't be reduced to begging. She is a perfect solution to my problems and I do truly care for her, but begging is beneath me. I don't love her, but I'm sure I will one day.
“Okay,” she says.
It's my turn to say the word, “What? For real?”
She giggles, “Yes, for real. Why not. What could possibly go wrong when you marry a guy you have known for exactly a week, give or take a day.”
I jump off the bed in all my naked splendor and hoot with glee, “Awesome! I am going to make you the happiest woman alive.”
More giggles, “If you keep doing what you just did, I will be a very happy woman.”
My joy quickly turns to something far more serious, “I am going to keep doing that—a lot. I am going to start right now.”
26
Alexa
I'm pretty sure I must have fallen into some alternate universe or something. I have already showered this morning, so I know it isn't a dream. We didn't drink more than a glass of wine each last night, so he wasn't drunk.
I can't help but feel as if I'm floating. Is that what all newly dubbed fiances feel like? Do they float? I think I may actually be giddy. It is a very weird feeling. I can't stop smiling. I hadn't realized I actually loved the man until after he said those sweet, okay, not actually sweet, but those two words were pretty spectacular.
I want to tell someone, but I feel like a text message to Jessica is really not the best way to drop that bombshell. Maybe tomorrow. We are doing the gala thing tonight and tomorrow should be clear. Unless Dylan decides he wants to take me to yet another hiding place he owns somewhere in the country.
“You ready?” he calls from my open bedroom door.
“Yep,” I say, glancing around the room. My eyes fall on the bed. Last night, we didn't have sex—we made love. Repeatedly. Truth be told, my body feels depleted today. He wrung me dry, which reminds me I should hydrate.
I walk to him, he takes my small overnight bag and kisses me before taking my hand in his free hand. I feel warm and fuzzy. It is a feeling I never thought I would experience but now that I have, I never want to let it go.
“I still need to get a dress. I mean, I have a couple in my closet, but they aren't going to be suitable for a black tie event. I can ask Jessica. She may have something.”
“I got it covered,” he says.
I groan, “Dylan, I told you, I would prefer to pick my own gown. I mean, I'm sure you and Mrs. Daniels have impeccable taste, but this is a really big deal,” I stress.
He smiles, loads me into the truck, “I said I have it covered. Relax, Alexa.”
I know I am supposed to trust him. Right? He is my fiance after all. I giggle as I toss the word around in my head. I don't have a ring, but the proposal was kind of a spur of the moment thing. If he would have had a ring at the ready, I would have been a little worried and definitely on guard. The spontaneity of the moment was far more romantic.
We board the plane and head back to—wait, I don't know where we are going.
“Dylan?” I ask.
“Yes?”
“Where are we going or more importantly, where am I going?” I ask.
A strange look crosses his face, “Uh, I guess I just assumed back to my apartment. Is that okay?”
I roll my eyes. I'm glad I don't have a cat or plants. They would all be dead by now.
“That's fine, I guess, but I do need to go shopping. We are cutting it really close here,” I remind him.
“Okay, I know, it's fine,” he says, completely distracted by his phone
.
I pull out my own phone to check email and see if anything exciting has happened in Facebook land. I only have a handful of “friends” but it is more about being on the stupid site than actually posting to it.
As we jet back to LA, I can tell something is on Dylan's mind. Maybe he is having second thoughts about the proposal. He seems distracted. Worried about something.
I offer him a way out, “Dylan, if you want to change your mind about the proposal, I would completely understand. You are not obligated to me in any way.”
My own insecurities are bubbling to the surface. I know it, but I can't stop it. I don't want to be someone's charity case. If he has changed his mind, life will go on.
He looks at me before putting his phone in the other chair, standing and closing the distance between us. He drops to his knees in front of me, uses both hands to cradle my face before whispering, “I have not changed my mind. I am dying to marry you. It will be the best day of my life.”
I smile—well as much as I can with his hand on either side of my mouth, “Are you sure, Dylan? It happened fast and it was in the heat of the moment as they say.”
He kisses me, “It happened when it was supposed to. It was at that very moment my heart knew. It was like having a veil removed and I could see clearly in that very second what I wanted. It's you. I want you, Alexa. Never doubt that.”
I kiss him, pouring my love and affection into the kiss. I am not good at the mushy stuff, but I need him to know how happy I am.
“I'm sorry,” I whisper. “I don't want to be one of those women that always needs attention or whatever. I'm not. I promise. I only want to be sure you want to do this. Maybe we should take a few days and think about it.”
“No,” he says with finality. “I don't want to think about it. I know when I want something. When I want something, I go after it. I don't need to wait. I knew the moment I saw you in that coffee shop. You were different.”
My heart does another crazy flip flop, spin, boogie thing. Those are probably the most romantic words I have ever heard. I want to cherish every moment and relive this over and over.
“Okay, I'm good. My little meltdown is over. Go back to doing whatever it was you were. I won't bother you,” I tell him, trying to make light of the very serious moment.
Another quick kiss and he takes his seat, picks up his phone and goes back to staring and scowling and then rapid texting. I don't care. I am not worried at all. My mind drifts to my future and what it will be like to be married to one of the richest men in the world. I thought the gossip had been bad this week. I can only imagine what will happen once our engagement is announced. Lord have mercy.
As soon as we land, we are shuffled into an SUV with blacked out windows. I notice the license plate says HAWKE1. In the past, we have traveled anonymously. He clearly isn't worried about hiding now. It isn't long before we are in the city. Our driver expertly navigates the traffic and before I know it, we pull to a stop in front of a building.
“Are you ready?” he asks.
“Ya,” I say, not fully understanding why he was asking such a silly question.
“Keep going. Don't stop. I'll be right behind you,” he says.
I look at him, still not getting why he is acting so strange. The car door swings open and I get it. There are flashing lights and people shouting my name. Asking me if I'm okay and I swear I heard someone say something about a dungeon.
I do as Dylan ordered and make a beeline for the front doors where a man is kindly holding the door open. Dylan's hand is on the small of my back, gently pushing me forward. My vision blurs with the flashing lights. One photographer reaches his hand directly in front of my face and sets off a bright flash of light.
“Get back!” Dylan shouts at the pushy photographer while propelling me forward.
We finally get inside and the doors shut behind us. My head is spinning. Dylan grabs my hand and keeps pushing me on. Another kind man is holding the elevator doors open for us and when they silently slide shut, I slump against the back wall.
“Oh my, God,” I murmur.
“Are you okay?” Dylan asks.
I slowly nod, “What the hell was that?”
He chuckles, “That is the very friendly media. Thankfully, there weren't as many this time.”
“What?” I ask in shock. “That is insane, Dylan. Is it like that all the time?”
He shakes his head, “No, no. It's just that story winding down. Soon enough they will get tired of us. We will be an old, boring married couple,” he says with a wink. “Now you know why I hid you away all week. It was much worse Monday.”
I am not so sure about that. How could it be worse? It felt as if I were being attacked by a group of greedy vultures. I watch as the numbers on the elevator count up. At 26, the door pings and opens up into a grand foyer.
“Wow,” I mutter, unable to say anything else. “This is your apartment?” I ask in awe.
He nods, “Well, the foyer. Come on, let's get you inside.”
We walk down a hall and he opens a set of double doors to reveal a large living area. There is a staircase leading up to the next floor. I scan the room, trying to soak in all the furnishings. It is like a palace. There are floor to ceiling windows on one side of the room, making the massive space feel even bigger.
“This is the living room. The formal dining room is through there,” he points to a massive arch. “The kitchen is off to the left. Our rooms are on the second floor.”
He starts to walk towards the stairs. I follow, still in disbelief at the size of the apartment. We climb the stairs and find ourselves in another small sitting area with two couches facing each other. There are two hallways leading in opposite directions.
“My room is over there, I have had the suite on the other side prepared for you. The gym is through that door,” he points to a small door off of the sitting area.
“This is all so much. I mean, your apartment is two entire floors of a building?”
He shrugs, “Actually, there is a third floor, but that is where I entertain. I don't actually go up there unless I'm hosting a party.”
I nervously laugh, “Wow.”
“I don't really like people in my home, so the third floor gives them the feeling of being allowed into my inner sanctuary, but it still keeps them at a safe distance. The only access from that space to here is with a touch pad,” he explains.
I nod, agreeing, but truly not fully able to wrap my head around it all. His apartment is actually a mansion sitting on top of a tall building. His phone chirps and he steps away, giving me a few moments to explore the area.
He comes to stand next to me as I stare at a massive painting. I am sure the thing cost more than what I would make in three years, but I don't see the beauty in it. He wraps his arms around me from behind and softly nuzzles my neck.
“I have a surprise for you,” he whispers in my ear, sending goosebumps popping up down my arms.
I lean back, relishing in the feel of his hard body cradling mind, “You do?”
He kisses my neck, “Yes, but we'll need to go downstairs.”
“Okay,” I mumble, willing to do whatever he says when he kisses me like that.
He steps away, takes my hand and we descend the stairs. A woman, wearing a black dress suit is essentially directing traffic. It looks like a dress shop exploded. There are mannequins being carried in, each wearing different dresses. I can see a clothing rack loaded with more dresses off to the side. A man pushes in a cart loaded with shoe boxes.
“What is this?” I ask, trying to take in the scene.
“This is you shopping for a dress. I know it probably isn't the same, but you saw the photographers out there. They would ruin your experience. I had the store come to you. If you don't find something you like, we'll get more dresses brought over,” he says as if it the most normal thing in the world.
The woman steps forward, introduces herself as Mary and tells me to look around. I look back at Dylan wh
o is talking to a man in a suit. I scan the mannequins outfitted in various dress styles. I have never been to a black tie event. Why did I think I could possibly choose my own dress?
I turn back to Mary and quietly say, “I have no idea what to wear. Can you give me any suggestions?”
The woman, who I would guess is in her mid-forties smiles, “Of course. That's why I'm here.”
She stands back, looks me up and down and taps her finger to her chin.
“You have a gorgeous figure. We want to show it off without going over the top and overwhelm your petite size. Black is very basic. I would personally avoid red for this occasion,” she says turning and scanning the rack. She pulls off a dress, holds it up and puts it back. She reaches in grabs another and then another, “We'll start with these.”
She hands me a light blue gown and points to a door. I realize she has been here before. Is this something Dylan always does for his ladies.
Mary smiles, “I am Mr. Hawke's personal shopper. I dress the man. He doesn't look like that on his own,” she winks.
I laugh, feeling like a fool for automatically assuming something different. I take the dress into the room, which I discover is a large dressing room. There is a small bathroom off to the side. I quickly strip out of my clothes, realize the dress is strapless and remove my bra.
The soft material glides over my body. I can't do the zipper in back, but hold the back of the dress closed with one hand and look in the mirror. I don't like it. It feels very old-fashioned with the A-line waist. It is very low-cut, revealing a little more cleavage than appropriate.
Like a dutiful model, I step outside, still clasping the back of the dress.
Mary takes one look at me and shakes her head, “No. I'll grab the other one.”
I look up and see Dylan sitting on the couch. He stares at the dress and then meets my eyes. It's the look I have quickly learned means he wants me. His eyes are heavy lidded and I can see his chest moving up and down. Mary may not approve of the dress, but Dylan doesn't seem to mind. I do a slow turn, giving him a better view.
