by Sarina Bowen
In spite of my worries, I can’t resist the chance to be close to him. So I kick his backpack out of the way of the door and let it fall shut. Then I climb into the bed.
We’re lying on our backs again, contemplating the gray ceiling at dawn. Dylan doesn’t seem to be falling asleep. He’s quiet in the way a man is when he’s thinking.
“I just have one question,” he says eventually. “Why did you do it?”
“Why did I…lie?”
“Yeah. Was it because Fridays were for Kaitlyn? You wanted to make her mad?”
“Yes,” I whisper after a beat. It really is that simple.
“Because she was such a bitch sometimes?”
“Sometimes?” I repeat, my blood beginning to simmer. I know I’m in the wrong, here. But Kaitlyn just brings out the worst in me.
He snorts. “Fine. I get it.”
“Do you?” I squeak. I’m suddenly so angry. “She was horrible to me since the moment I met her. She was rude to Rickie and Keith. She was manipulative of you. And you never called her on it. Why is that? You don’t let other people run over you.”
“I dunno,” he mutters.
His non-answer just makes me crazier. “I’m sorry, I don’t buy that. You do know. You just don’t want to say it. I lied about Fridays. And I am sorry. But now you’re lying, too. You put up with her because she’s very pretty. And you wanted her in your bed.”
The mattress shakes gently as Dylan laughs. “Yeah, I already admitted that. Fine. I let her treat me a little shitty, because I didn’t care that much that we weren’t really a good match. But I’m sorry I let her treat my friends badly. She didn’t give you that message, right? When you were waiting in the library?”
“No,” I grumble. “She didn’t. But that’s just the most obvious example. She loved rubbing my nose in it.”
“In what?” he asks.
My heart flails, because I realize I said too much. “Nothing.”
“In what?” Dylan whispers, rolling onto his side to look at me.
I look up into his beautiful face. It’s right there, just inches from mine. And those big brown eyes are regarding me seriously.
“I was jealous, okay?” I whisper. “I wanted what she had.”
Dylan blinks. “You wanted a meaningless sexual relationship with me? That cannot be true.”
“There you go again,” I say as my pulse pounds in my throat. “Assuming you know what I think. That I couldn’t possibly want what everyone else has. I was jealous. And that night I got drunk? She gave you that whole guilt trip about how the two of you never slept in her bed?”
Dylan winces.
“Yeah, I heard the whole thing. And everything that came afterward, too. She made sure of it. She opened the window, Dylan. Just to treat me to an hour of what I imagine porn sounds like.”
He gapes at me. “You’ve never watched porn?”
“That’s beside the point!” I yelp. “I have the same dirty mind as everyone else. And I just want what everyone else has.”
Dylan pinches the bridge of his nose, as if he can’t quite believe what I’m saying. “So you lied about Fridays.”
“Yes,” I cry, raising myself up on an elbow. Now we’re nose to nose. “It was a bitchy thing to do. A real Kaitlyn maneuver. I’m not proud of it.” Even if she had it coming. “I don’t belong up on that pedestal where you always put me. But neither do you, you know.”
“Oh I know that,” he grunts.
“You lied, too.”
His eyes narrow. “When do you mean?”
“What about last weekend when you said—” I have to swallow the lump in my throat before I can finish the sentence. “—‘I’m so drunk I don’t know what I’m doing.’ Because I think you totally knew.”
His eyes flare. And then he leans back against the wall so fast that his head makes a clunk against it. “Fine. Fair enough.”
“You totally knew,” I repeat.
“Yeah. I fucking did.” He won’t meet my gaze, though.
“And you enjoyed it. But then later you made a big deal about it, apologizing. Like it was some terrible indiscretion. As if I wasn’t supposed to like it.”
He squeezes his eyes shut. “Did you?”
My heart is pounding so hard now that I almost can’t hear myself over it. “You know I did. Drunk doesn’t cut it, Dylan. You’d have to be dead not to see that. Don’t you dare make me feel bad about it again.”
“I won’t. Jesus.” He shakes his head. “I’m sorry I—”
“Don’t be sorry,” I gasp.
“—made a big deal about it,” he finishes, reaching across the distance between us and taking my hand in his. When he wraps his long fingers around mine, I stop breathing. “But you don’t want me, Chastity. I’m a fucking mess.”
The words would break my heart, if only I could really hear them. But I can’t, because Dylan is holding my hand. All I can do is stare at our joined hands. Everything I ever wanted is hovering here in this small space between us.
“Don’t tell me what I want,” I say quietly. “That’s not for you to decide. But I know how it works. Some girls are the kind you’re willing to tutor in algebra. And some are the pretty ones that you’re willing to tutor in sex. And I know which kind I am. I already know.”
“Hey.” His brow furrows. “It’s not that simple.”
“I think it is.”
I try to take my hand back, but he holds on. “It’s not like I never thought about it.”
“What?” All the air leaves my body. “You did?”
Now it’s his turn to wince. Like he said too much. “Well, sure. Because I’m twenty years old, and you have perfect breasts.”
I blink. “These old things?”
He gives me a wry grin. “Just…trust me. But that isn’t really the point. We’re friends.”
“I know that.”
“Yeah. Well, did you notice that all the girls I take to bed end up hating me?”
“No, they don’t.”
His eyebrows lift, as if to ask, Really?
“Okay, a lot of them do,” I admit. “But that’s on them.”
He shrugs. “Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t. But I don’t go there with you, because I don’t want you to end up hating me. And I don’t date, Chastity. You deserve somebody who sticks around.”
“This again,” I grumble. “You’re telling me what I need. And you don’t get to do that. But if it’s not going to be you, then it isn’t. I’ll find someone else to tutor me.”
“Tutor you,” he repeats. “In…?” He doesn’t finish the question, probably because he doesn’t believe that I really mean it.
“Sex,” I say, although I’m really just saving face right now. Lord knows that I couldn’t have this conversation with anyone else on Earth. I can barely manage to have it with the boy I know best. “I’m twenty-one, and I’m tired of being everybody’s naive little friend. If you can’t wrap your head around that, or if you don’t want the job, I’ll find someone who does.”
His eyes darken dangerously. “Who?”
“I don’t know.” I shrug, hoping for nonchalance. “Someone. Maybe Rickie will have an idea. Or Keith.”
Alarm crosses his features. “That’s a terrible idea.”
“So what? Like you’ve never had any terrible ideas? I’ll just go to more parties. I’ll wear my red silk blouse again. Kaitlyn noticed it. She said I looked slutty.” An edge of hysteria creeps into my voice at the memory. “You didn’t even correct her. Although I’ve never gotten the chance to try slutty out.”
His face drops, and I know I’ve struck a blow.
“Do you know what you said instead?”
He shakes his head, his brown eyes full of sorrow.
“You told her to grab the bed rail with both hands.”
“Jesus.” He covers his eyes with one hand. “You’re right. I was an idiot.”
But I’m too worked up to stop. “So don’t sit here and tell me that sex kills a frie
ndship. Because there’s lots of other ways of doing that.”
“You’re right. Christ.” He reaches out and scoops me into a big, full-body hug.
That’s what finally shuts me up—Dylan’s strong arms encircling me. His hugs are always overwhelming, but we’ve never hugged when we’ve been horizontal, and I’m unprepared for the press of his hard body against mine, our feet tangling beneath the bedclothes. His brown eyes are just inches away.
He lifts his chin and presses his lips to my forehead.
And maybe it could have ended there—with a chaste peck. But my reaction is swift and fierce, and without even thinking, I lift my hands to catch his perfectly cut jaw. I hold onto that kiss, my thumb sliding over his cheekbone, my body easing closer to his. As if I could prevent him from ever letting go.
His lips part on my skin, pausing. Uncertain. He holds me a little more tightly as he kisses the bridge of my nose. And then my cheekbone.
Time slows all the way down to zero, as I wait to see what happens next. If I were a different girl, I would just take what I wanted. I’d throw a leg over his hip and kiss him like a starlet in a Hollywood film.
But I’ll never be that girl. I’m stuck being the kind of girl who waits and hopes. The best I can do is stroke my thumb sweetly across his face, tracing the perfect curve of his cheekbone. My touch is so reverent, so filled with yearning.
Maybe he can sense it, because he kisses the corner of my eye, and then the corner of my mouth.
It’s like gravity, really, the way we come together. His lips feel inevitable as they slide toward mine. His breath is warm and minty as our lips finally touch. I get a glimpse of soft brown eyes before they drift closed.
He sinks into our kiss, the way you slide into a hot bath. And that’s exactly how it feels—hot and wonderful and all encompassing. Heat sizzles through my body, and I part my lips helplessly.
Dylan doesn’t make me wait. He tilts his head to adjust our connection, and then his tongue tastes mine so sweetly.
His mouth, though. I dream about it all the time. Whiskers and heat and the snick of his kiss light my poor, hungry body on fire.
I make a desperate noise. Dylan goes still for about half a second and then makes a shocked sound in reply. “Fuck.” He whispers it like a prayer against my lips.
Then we’re kissing again. Faster now. He takes eager sips of my mouth from several angles. I gasp in surprise as his mouth retreats, only to land on my neck a moment later.
Wet kisses on my skin feel so good that I practically levitate off the bed. One hand flies into his hair, and the other curls into the fabric of his T-shirt. He worships the tender skin of my jaw. My ear.
“Fuck,” he whispers again. He swings his big body over mine, pinning me to the bed.
I can’t help my low moan as I sink back onto the pillow. This is exactly how all my fantasies play out, with Dylan pushing me down and taking everything I’m so ready to give him.
He doesn’t, though. Not yet. He’s still worshiping my neck as his hard body settles over the frustratingly thick flannel of my nightgown.
He stops, lifting his head to look down at me in wonder. He smooths the hair off my face with his thumb. “Tell me to get lost,” he begs suddenly. “This is a terrible idea. Tell me to fuck off.”
I can only shake my head.
His eyes dip down to my chest, which is rising and falling too fast. I expect him to say something else. To argue. So I’m not prepared for the way he drops his head to kiss the exposed skin at the top edge of my nightgown.
I gasp. When my arms clamp around his strong neck, he goes still for a moment. But then? His sweet mouth drops another kiss on my skin. Slower this time. And another. Thick fingers fumble open the first button, and his kisses trail a soft path between my breasts.
I am electrified. My arms tighten around his head, as if I could actually keep him here against his will. He drops hot, open-mouthed kisses onto the swells of my breasts, onto skin so unexpectedly sensitive that I want to weep with pleasure.
With a sigh, he presses his body more firmly against mine. He’s hard everywhere. Against my stomach. Against my thighs. Between my legs.
Then his mouth changes course, kissing up my chest and onto my cheek, and I can’t hold still any longer. My shameless hands skim down his muscular form. Even his butt is rock hard. He moans when I take it in two hands.
“Fuck,” he says against my jaw. “Tell me to stop.”
Once again, I shake my head.
“Chastity,” he whispers. His whiskers scrape the corner of my mouth as he kisses the side of my face. “Tell me. Make me stop.”
But I can’t. Even if he was right all along—that this was a bad idea—I don’t have that kind of willpower. I have the opposite kind—the kind that tugs his T-shirt up and slides a hand underneath, exploring the smooth skin of his back.
Then I give the shirt a really good tug.
With a groan that sounds half irritated, he yanks it up and over his head. I get one fast look at that rippling chest before his mouth descends on mine, hot and hungry.
That’s when I feel his self-control snap. He moans into my mouth at the first touch of our tongues. And then we’re like a couple of people running too fast downhill. Tongues tangling, hands grappling. Our kisses are wet and dirty.
I love it, but it’s hard to take in every new sensation at once. So I’m no help at all when Dylan tries to tug my nightgown up and off. He’s not a small guy, so his elbow catches an empty beer bottle on my nightstand, sending it crashing to the floor.
Neither of us bothers to see where it landed. I finally figure out how to raise my arms so he can lift the thing over my head and then drop it on the floor. Before I can even take a breath, he’s lowered his mouth to my breasts.
As the cool air hits my skin, all the heat goes right to my face. I’m so bare all of a sudden. My nipples are like hard, little points. It’s tempting to duck for cover, but I make myself stay completely still, except for trembling. I can’t control that.
“Chastity,” he whispers. “Goddamn.” The next sound he makes is an eager groan. And then he’s pushing me back onto the pillow again, kissing and licking first one nipple and then the other.
A warm hand lands on one breast and gives me a filthy squeeze. I’m still trembling as he licks his way across the other breast.
Then his mouth closes over my nipple, and he sucks. My mouth opens on a silent moan, because I had no idea how good that would feel. Like there’s a direct wire between my breast and the throbbing between my legs.
I want so many things. I want his hands on my body and his tongue in my mouth. I want Dylan to kick off his underwear and fuck me.
I can’t ask, though. I won’t beg. I’ll give him everything. Right now. But I don’t know how to offer. I need him to just take it.
To take me.
He slides a hand down my body, and I hold my breath. That crafty hand slides right over my panties and between my legs. It’s so perfect that I moan out loud this time.
“Fuck,” he murmurs against my mouth.
He toys with the elastic of my panties, and I tremble harder. “Please.” It’s barely a whisper, but somehow it came from me.
He groans and tugs the panties roughly down my legs. I’m already kicking them away. And then I’m absolutely naked beneath Dylan Shipley.
Finally.
“Fuck,” he whispers again. I feel how fast he’s breathing, almost as fast as I am. “Tell me you want this.” He kisses my neck.
I lift my chin, giving him access. But I can’t say it out loud. That’s how it is with me. I have wanted this since before I even learned the words for some of the things I desired.
But a girl who was slapped just for asking for things can’t just change overnight.
“Chass,” he begs between kisses.
I lift his chin, aligning our mouths and drinking him in. I need him to take me back to that tongue-tangled crazy place where nobody speaks. Not with word
s, anyway.
“Chass,” he groans against my tongue. “What do you want?”
I take a big breath. You. I want you. The words are stuck inside me.
When his hand catches my flailing one in his, I seize the chance. I take that hand and push it between my legs.
I cannot believe I just did that.
But the puff of shame is almost immediately replaced by thick fingers spreading my legs apart. They stroke, just once, and that’s all it takes to make my point. Because I am unbelievably, embarrassingly drenched.
The sound Dylan makes in response is deep and desperate. We’re kissing again. Our teeth click and scrape as we devour each other with a ferocity that stuns me. Dylan’s finger does a slow circle through the slippery heat of my pussy and my kiss stutters beneath his mouth.
No hand besides my own has ever touched me like that, and I’m astonished by how sharp and achy my desire is. My body throbs and my breasts ache and I can’t remember to breathe. “Dylan!” I whimper shamelessly. I clench my thighs together, reaching for something that isn’t there.
He moans into my mouth again. And then I lose both his tongue and touch completely. I take a much-needed gulp of oxygen as he shoves his underwear down and off his body.
A moment later we’re lying side by side with nothing on. Not even the sheet. Dylan looks enormous without his clothes—all bulging muscle and sun-warmed skin.
The only thing left between us is the serious look in his eyes, and all my grasping desperation.
Nineteen
Dylan
Chastity reaches for me, as if she’s afraid we’ll lose our momentum. But I’m made of momentum right now, and I honestly need a second to calm down. So I kiss her cheekbone instead of her mouth.
Her lush body is laid out beside me, and I’m so hard it hurts. I don’t really know how we ended up here, and tomorrow I’ll probably regret it.
No—not tomorrow. I’ll probably regret this by lunchtime. But it doesn’t seem to matter. We’re like a boulder rolling downhill, fast and dangerous. And I don’t know the last time I felt like this—totally desperate and lost.
