by Parker Swift
“And then?”
Dylan sighed. “You’ve heard me talk about the personal project I’ve been working on?” I nodded. “When I was in Athens over the summer for the remodel of that hotel, I took a few days to explore the islands. I fell in love with Ikaria. It’s less inhabited, less popular. Quiet. Private. It’s not easy to get to—Thank you.” Dylan interrupted himself to accept glasses of Champagne from the attendant, one of which he handed to me. “I gave myself a day there and just walked. I found this fabulous village, and I just sat and drank and chatted with the locals, who clearly love their island. The Mediterranean was right there; the temperature was perfect. The whole place smelled like olives and eucalyptus and the sea. It was absolute heaven. There was the occasional off-the-beaten-path traveller with a rucksack, but more of the people were just living their lives there.”
I could see the tiny thread of longing running through his words, imagining a life that could just be lived. But he also looked so calm, at ease, like he was there again by telling me this. It was a side of him I’d never seen.
“That afternoon I saw this older man sitting in a chair outside this run-down stone wall that gated the most beautiful little house. It was white in the traditional style, with a blue door I can never forget. Flowering plants crawling all over the trellis marking its entrance. It was perched on a hill, looking down over the water, no other houses immediately visible. But it was less than a mile from the little town. I asked him about it, and he showed me around. The place was a lot bigger than it looked, but it was also falling apart. He’d been born there, as had his father and his father’s father. Now his wife was gone, and his three daughters had moved to Athens. We ended up talking over ouzo while he cooked an amazing meal for me. I was there for hours, and he told me his whole story. He used to be a fishing captain, amazing stuff. He was lonely. He wanted to be with his children, but he couldn’t afford to move. He couldn’t afford not to—the man has grandchildren he doesn’t see.”
I was staring at him, I knew. “How is there this side to you?”
“What do you mean?” he asked, sipping his drink.
“At home, you’re a badass. Everyone’s afraid of you. You have hard lines and hard limits. You’re all efficient, no rounded corners. You don’t take bullshit from anyone. You’re curt, sometimes even rude. You’re Lord Dylan Hale, who doesn’t bend for anyone. You can be terrifying, actually,” I said, remembering all the times I’d heard Dylan barking orders at Thomas in that efficient way he had.
“And?”
“And then you’re this other guy. The guy you are with me. And apparently old Greek men. Generous, patient, and warm.”
Dylan shrugged his shoulders. “Anyway, I offered to buy the place right there.”
“What? You just bought it?”
“When you see it, you’ll understand why. I told Zeus—”
“His name is not Zeus,” I said, mouth agape.
He nodded in confirmation while smiling widely, and I shook my head, laughing. “Anyhow, Zeus is welcome back anytime. Standing invitation for him and family. I even gave him a set of the new keys.”
When we were safely in the air, I unbuckled my seat belt and crawled onto his lap, straddling him, kissing him. “I love you,” I said, looking straight into his eyes. “I really, really love you.”
* * *
We spent that night at a hotel in Athens: the Grande Bretagne—it was gilded old-world elegance, and it felt fancy. Not hip, modern, urban fancy, but enormous-portraits-in-gold-frames, someone-playing-the-piano, and all-the-staff-in-morning-suits fancy. The place harkened back to days of empires and gods; it made me feel perfectly away from London, from our busy lives there.
I groggily emerged from sleep at nine the next morning and pulled the pale blue sheet around my body. But within a second Dylan was on the bed, stalking me, crawling towards me. “Uh-uh,” he said. “No covers for you, damsel. We are in vacation mode.”
“Mmm,” I groaned, wrapping my arms around his neck and pulling him down on top of me. “And what exactly does ‘vacation mode’ mean?”
“No covers. That’s what it means.”
I giggled into his shoulder.
“You need me, damsel?”
I nodded and reveled in the tingling of my warm breasts meeting his cool chest. I wanted every inch of us touching. I kicked away the sheet that separated us and wrapped my legs around his waist.
“Well then,” he said, and I could hear the smile in his words, even if I couldn’t see it as he kissed my neck. His large hands ran the course of my body, leaving goose bumps in their wake. My skin felt soft under his touch, warm, replete. I lived for the way his broad palms could cover the expanses of my thighs, as they were doing right now. “Let’s take care of you, shall we?”
He was exuberant, energetic, and I could feel his enthusiasm, his eagerness. I needed it. He reached over the side of the bed and grabbed the hotel bathrobe from the floor. He quickly pulled the belt from its loops and with one word—“Wrists”—I presented my joined palms to him. He wrapped them quickly, but instead of stopping at my wrists, he carefully wrapped the belt all the way down my forearms, tying it off at my elbows.
“Dylan?” I asked, curious but also just the tiniest bit nervous. My movement was so restricted this way.
“Trust me, baby,” he said and with one movement grabbed me by the waist and flipped me onto my knees. He’d said those words so many times over the past weeks, and each time there had been a part of me that resisted, that didn’t want to trust. That didn’t want to let go. But this time I caught myself before pulling away, and instead of tensing, I relaxed. I rested my weight on my forearms, my forehead on the soft mattress, and just closed my eyes.
In this position my ass was high in the air, my chest low to the bed. He was above me, behind me, and his scent and warmth were alerting my senses, so much more acutely because there wasn’t a part of me that was aware of his stress or waiting for some shoe to drop. And that very vulnerability jump-started my arousal, put my hormones into hyperdrive. I could feel my heart racing, my hot breaths against the sheets, and that familiar electric tingle spreading from my limbs to the base of my spine.
He leaned down, over me, and rested his forearms alongside mine, grabbed my bound wrists, dragging them just a little further forward, which incidentally gave him better access to my boobs. “Don’t hide these,” he added as he moved them with his palms. “God, it feels so good just to touch you. I’ve missed you.” I knew what he meant—somehow our minds had been elsewhere lately, but right then we were nowhere else. He took my nipples in between his thumbs and forefingers and kneaded them, rolled them. All the while his naked cock was nestled against my ass, getting harder by the second.
Dylan played with my breasts forever, stroking them, molding them, and the longer he did the longer every other inch of my skin raged against them with envy. My bare back wanted his touch. My sides—the ticklish ribbons of skin above my hips and across my lower back. My ass, presented so nakedly before him. My neck. My goddamn earlobes wanted their turn.
My sigh turned into a moan, a sound of yearning that escaped unbidden.
“Shh, darling. I’ve got you.” He stroked my back, warming it with his palms, and settled his hands over my ass. He was being patient, steady, taking his time, slow in a way that made me notice every movement. He sank a finger into my wet slit, then another. “Christ, you’re perfect. So ready for me.”
My hips involuntarily bucked into his palm, but he held me steady, held me down, reminding me of his complete control. Instead of lingering there, where I wanted him most, he slid his wet fingers north to my other tiny entrance and inserted a finger, rocking into me in small thrusts. Then he added the other, turning them both, stretching me.
I gasped again, and Dylan shushed me. “I’ve got you. I want you here.”
“I…I want you there. I think I’m ready for that.”
“Not yet. Soon. I just want to play with this prett
y ass.” My breathing was so loud it was its own heartbeat in the room. It was tinged with my desperation for him.
“In fact,” he said and left me for a moment, retrieving something from his bag before returning to me. “Let’s get you more ready for that, shall we?” What did he mean? Then I felt a cool object being dragged through my pussy.
“We haven’t played this way in a while,” he said.
“Dylan—” I arched my ass into his touch, into the blunt edge of the object, letting him know in no uncertain terms I was with him.
“That’s right, my good girl, show me.” He plunged the plug into my pussy first, coating it in my wetness, and then dragged it up to my ass. I exhaled slowly and leaned back into it, taking it fully. Holy shit that was intense. It felt so wrong, as it had the other times we’d done this, but also so good, so full.
“Perfect.” Dylan sighed and caressed my ass admiringly. I felt so coveted in that moment, so completely owned. “I can’t believe this ass belongs to me,” he added and started to stroke my pussy. “And this.”
“All yours,” I said, laying my cheek against the soft sheet, trying to absorb the intense sensation, waiting for him to cultivate this anticipation, mold these feelings into the orgasms I knew were coming.
And then he started. He entered me at an agonizingly slow pace, filling me centimeter by centimeter. I heard him whisper a swear through his breath. He cursed my tightness. He dug his nails into my hips, and the tiny sting was the perfect accent to my pleasure.
I have no idea if I made a sound or if I was silent the entire time. I have no idea where his hands were or weren’t. I was all sensation. Every inch of my skin was one inch. Each touch was all touches. All I could see, touch, taste, and feel was the pressure building and the stars brightening. We’d started out laughing and ready to indulge in a romp, but that’s not where we’d ended up. Instead we were just quietly, slowly, intensely finding each other.
“Come, Lydia. Come with me, baby.” Dylan breathed right into my ear.
And I did. Brilliantly, all around him.
He was still in me, still moving, when he said, “Again, baby.”
“I can’t,” I said, because I truly believed I couldn’t.
“You can. Come for me.” He grazed my clit, igniting that hunt in me. He knew exactly how to coerce my body, make it chase, remind me what it was capable of, and in a moment I was capsizing into a second impossibly powerful orgasm at his command.
He slid out of me, and I could feel his own breathing harsh against my shoulder as I collapsed under him and he fell at my side. He kissed my lips, rolled to his back, and closed his eyes. I could see the sweat glistening on his chest and brow, and I loved looking at him, so calm, so sated, so stress-free.
“Um, Dylan?” I asked, and he turned to look at me with that sleepy smile on his face. I glanced up to my arms.
“Oh, sorry, damsel.” He quickly unbound my arms, allowing me to finally collapse fully onto the sheets. “You okay?” he asked, sitting up now, taking each arm in its turn, massaging it, bringing it back to life.
“And the, um,” I said, glancing back at my ass and then at him questioningly.
“That stays.”
“You can’t be serious,” I said, raising my eyebrows at him.
“Deadly,” he replied and pulled me against him, us both on our sides, our fronts melting together, and he placed his palm over my ass. “Just for a while, baby. I love seeing it there.”
I blushed at his insistence. This was us. This was what we did—Dylan steered this boat, our bedroom antics, and I let him because we both needed it.
* * *
An hour later we’d showered and had breakfast. I was stretched out on the bed, still naked, loving the cool, soft sheets on my stomach and chest and warring with the sensation of the plug between my ass cheeks. It was there, but not there. Just present enough to keep me on edge, but not so aggressive that I couldn’t relax. I sank even further into the bed, so content, pleased with all of the time spread out before us.
Dylan was in his jeans only and was stalking around the room. I followed him with my eyes, having one of those moments of not believing he was mine—those trim muscles, the way the jeans rested perfectly on his hips, and that ass. Before him, I’d had no idea I was an ass girl. I was definitely an ass girl. He pulled my favorite pair of jeans and a T-shirt from his bag—no underwear; no surprise there—and placed them at the foot of the bed. “Is that what I will be wearing for the next five days?”
“No, but I don’t suppose you can go shopping in yesterday’s clothes,” he said, smiling a naughty smile. “Or naked,” he added with a swift slap to my thigh.
“Shopping?” I asked, raising my head to look at him suspiciously.
“Shopping. I told you I’d figure out a way to make you let me spoil you.” He lay down next to me on the bed, pushing my bangs from my eyes, looking into my face.
“Dylan,” I said in a tone that I hoped conveyed something along the lines of you cheated.
“Damsel,” he said, trying to mock my tone, but he sidled even closer to me, pleading, putting his hand across my back. “I am a very wealthy man, and I want to indulge my girlfriend. You work so hard, and you’re very self-sufficient, which I adore. Tremendously. But I long to spoil you.”
“Okay,” I said, sighing but also shyly smiling at him. I was never shy with him, but giving in to him, giving him something he’d been wanting, made me feel shy. Happy.
His eyes lit up, and then he rose to kneeling and dragged me to the edge of the bed, so my feet were on the floor and my stomach still lay on the soft sheets. “And let’s take this out, shall we?” He said, tapping the end of the plug. The sensation of the object pulling lose was surprisingly arousing and sent a jolt of electricity between my legs. He caressed my cheeks, trailing a finger to where the plug had just been, and I felt my breath hitch. His fingers settled between my legs and found me shamelessly wet.
“Good to know,” he added, and I could actually hear him smiling in satisfaction.
I flipped over and quickly landed my own smack on his ass, although it lost some of the effect since he was already in his jeans. Then he had the nerve to start walking away.
“Oh no you don’t,” I said, shaking my head. “If I’m gonna wear a butt plug for an hour, you’d better believe you’re gonna deliver.” I grabbed his belt loops and pulled him towards me until he lost his balance.
His laugh reverberated through the room, and without much difficulty I convinced him shopping could wait.
Chapter 22
When we eventually left the hotel, we spent three hours wandering around Voukourestiou Street, ducking in and out of luxury shops. I protested when things were just too extreme—no, I wasn’t going to let him spend twelve hundred dollars on a bikini. But basically I indulged him indulging me. He bought me my own pair of aviator sunglasses that matched his, a handful of cotton blouses to wear with my jeans, a few gauzy dresses, a couple of bikinis, some sandals and heels, light jackets for the cool evenings, and some loungewear for lounging around his new Greek hideaway.
We were on our way back to the hotel, holding hands, meandering past the last of the shops, when Dylan stopped in front of Alexander McQueen. In the window, a mannequin donned a black cashmere trench coat—warm, elegant enough for swank parties, but cool enough to wear to work. It belted at the waist but had the tiniest hint of flare in the skirt. It was stunning.
“No,” I said instinctively, but even I was staring at the coat. It was beautiful.
I could feel Dylan looking at me, smiling, victorious. “Yes,” he said and pulled me into the store.
And just like that, Dylan bought me a coat. An astoundingly beautiful, totally sophisticated, ludicrously expensive coat. Apparently I was letting go outside the bedroom too, and instead of it feeling wrong, it felt somehow like I’d let him in.
* * *
It was just after three p.m. when I found myself staring at our mode of transporta
tion to the island of Ikaria.
“A helicopter!?” I squeaked.
“The airport on Ikaria is only open during the summer, and it’s an eleven-hour ferry ride,” Dylan explained. “So this is it.”
I couldn’t take my eyes off the window the entire trip. I was mesmerized by the blue Mediterranean below, islands marked with blue roofs, sprawling vineyards, farms, and fishing towns. It was truly glorious. It was unseasonably warm, over eighty degrees when the average high was ten degrees less than that, and the sun was dancing off the water below. Dylan kept my hand in his, resting on my lap. Occasionally he’d stroke my thigh or lean over to kiss me. Once I caught him simply staring. I smiled at him, and he smirked at having been caught, but then just squeezed my hand.
Normally my father’s absence loomed large during moments like this—when I was seeing something I knew he would have loved, experiencing something so beautiful for the first time—but at that moment I was also so acutely aware that my life was fuller than it had been in a long time. There was presence here too, not just absence. Something gained, not just something lost.
As we started our descent I was sure we’d land in the water—the small patch of cleared flat earth we were headed for was situated right against cliffs that dropped into the turquoise water below and a sloping hill that disappeared into trees and brush. Not ten minutes later, we’d walked up a short winding road and come to a shoulder-height stone wall—earthy brown stones and white sandy mortar holding it together, and at its opening a black iron fence that looked recently repainted. The warm air was so fragrant, smelling of olives and herbs, and I could still hear the ocean crashing against the cliffs in the background. Dylan gestured to the road behind the gate.
“This is us,” he said, smiling an eager smile.
I held the bars and looked down the path: sunny and warm down the middle but lined with trees and wild yard on either side. He waved his phone in front of the old gate, and I heard a click. “I’ve had the security updated and things retrofitted with the newest technology.”
