Falling Sky

by Lisa Swallow

  I crush my mouth on hers, and our mouths move in an intense battle of lips and teeth until Sky tugs my lip into her mouth and won’t let go.

  “And you’re mine, Dylan. I love you,” she says breathlessly.

  I take her face in both hands, gazing back into the mirror of my soul, dragged from the intensity of the moment by her tender words. I release her arms and sit back on the floor, dragging Sky onto my knee. Naked, wet, hot Sky. I inhale, as my length rubs against her. She brushes the damp hair from my face and kisses me softly.

  An image of Grant fires into my mind again - of his mouth on Sky. My Sky. I tip her back onto the floor and nudge her legs apart with my knee. One thing that makes her uncontrollably mine and leaves her a shaking mess? I got that covered. Running my tongue across Sky’s belly, I swirl around her belly button and then kiss toward her hipbones. Sky makes the soft arousal sound that drives me wild, but I steady myself, concentrating on dropping teasing kisses along her side. I reach her sex; the only thing better than the scent of her is the taste. And she’s fucking wet for me already.

  Pushing her hips against the floor so she can’t move, I run my tongue along her slick folds until I find her clit. She gasps and bucks slightly as I flick her with my tongue and I hold her firmer. As I lose myself in getting her to lose control, I listen for the cues from her breathing, so I know the exact moment to stop. The moment she won’t want me to. Recognising her on the verge of coming, I move my head away and wait for her reaction.

  “Dylan…” Her voice is low, distant.

  I rub her with my finger. “Say it again. Now.”

  “Fuck, Dylan!” she says and I smirk at the exasperation in her voice.

  Dipping my tongue to touch her briefly, I pull away and the exasperated voice becomes a sound in her throat. “Say it.” In case she needs any more persuasion, I slide a finger into her; the heat almost making me lose my own control.

  “I’m yours, Dylan! Fuck! You win,” she breathes as I suck on her clit again.

  Sky doesn’t need to tell me; at this moment, I have total control over the girl who thinks she’s in charge. The orgasm shudders through her and she cries out, shifting against my mouth and the intensity. And I fucking love her loss of control that I bring, every time. Sky manages to escape my mouth and digs her hand into my hair, pulling at the curls.

  I don’t need any more persuasion, as I thrust into her hard. Tight, hot, fuck…I almost lose myself the second I do. She digs her nails into my back and wraps her ankles around me, holding me so I can’t move away. I let go of the primal ferocity stoked by my jealousy, pushing hard and fast as she continues to climax around me. Then I come. Hard. And the world is right again because Sky is undoubtedly, completely mine.

  ****

  Sky busies herself making coffee. How she ever sleeps when she’s full of caffeine, I’ll never know. I sit on her ratty sofa and loop the memory of her and Grant in my head. I know the fucker was winding me up, but he’s hit the sore spot. Sky and her old school friends, a connection I don’t share. We’re living in her shitty flat as some kind of test by her I think, and I’ve had enough. She doesn’t need to live like this.

  I left Blue Phoenix; she needs to leave Bristol.

  Sky reappears with two steaming mugs of coffee and I set mine on the table. She remains standing and looks down at me.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Liar. This is still about Grant, isn’t it?”

  “Please don’t tell me you’re really jealous of him?” she asks, mouth parting in surprise as she sits next to me.

  “Not of him; of everything you have here. Okay, a little jealous of him.”

  “Dylan…”

  “Sky, can we please leave Bristol?” She opens her mouth to protest. “I know you want to be around for Tara, but she’s slowly improving. We don’t need to go far, not yet.”

  Sky looks into her cup, hands wrapped around the mug. I stroke her cheek with the back of my hand. “I love you, Sky, so fucking much it hurts. Sometimes, I think what I feel must be wrong because it’s like something gnawing at my insides that’s only quietened when you’re here. Then I’m with you and everything changes. Life has peace. But I’m selfish. I want you all to myself, to spend time alone away from everything. Maybe, if I do that, the gnawing will stop?”

  “I think you’re insecure,” she says quietly. “That’s the gnawing. You don’t have to be.” She puts down the coffee cup and holds my face, rubbing her thumbs across my cheeks. “You are in my world and that’s how life is. I’m not going through the amount of crap we’ve been through in the last few months, for nothing. You don’t get to walk away again, Dylan Morgan.”

  “Then come with me somewhere. You promised if Tara improved. Just for a few days, and then we can be and think with no distractions.”

  Sky sips her coffee, and I attempt to figure out if she’s pissed off with me or considering the idea. She tips her head, and gives me a knowing smile. “Tomorrow?”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Sky

  Dylan’s surprise trip away isn’t the next day and isn’t a surprise. The childish smirk he carried around for a few days before and his refusal to give me a hint irritated me, but I let him have his fun.

  He promised me no boat trips to tropical islands, and when I managed to extract the information we could drive there, I didn’t need to guess anymore.

  This time the traffic cones on the motorway don’t bother me, and my state of mind is a million miles from the broken-hearted girl facing an unknown future. Despite his decision to drive at dusk, I know where we’re going. Dylan concentrates on the road, one hand on the steering wheel and the other repeatedly holding my hand up to kiss. The relaxed happiness that exudes Dylan recently adds to his irresistibility.

  In the warmth of the car, he’s jacket-less and I lean over to kiss the toned muscle stretching from under his t-shirt. “I know where we’re going, Dylan.”

  He sticks his bottom lip out. “You could’ve pretended until we got there.”

  “Oh, okay.” I clear my throat. “I wonder where we’re going? I’ll just have a sleep until we get there.”

  As I close my eyes, Dylan laughs softly and runs his hand along my leg. I was going to pretend, but the burr of the engine and heat in the car sends me into dreams of Dylan, and Gran’s house.

  The car comes to a smooth stop and I open an eye. Dark rain clouds obscure the moon and the wind blows the grass on the sand dunes. The amount of rain accompanying suggests staying in the car would be preferable.

  “Oh, where are we?” I ask innocently.

  Dylan doesn’t reply, but instead, climbs out and goes to the boot of the car. I watch as his tall figure disappears into the house carrying our bags. The cold blast of air and icy rain that came into the car when he climbed out doesn’t encourage me to follow but now the engine is off, the air inside is cooling.

  Dylan reappears in the lit doorway and leans on the doorframe watching. I steel myself and climb out of the car. Slamming the door, I run for the house.

  Someone has been here before us, because the fire is lit. I’d expected the place to be cold but to my relief, the warmth matches that of the car. I wrap my arms around Dylan’s neck and stand on tiptoes to kiss him.

  “Thank you,” I say.

  “Thank you?”

  “For knowing me. You finally realised tropical islands and expensive houses don’t impress me?”

  “I don’t need to impress you, Sky.”

  “Well, this is perfect. Thank you.”

  He walks into the kitchen and I follow. “How long are we staying?”

  “How long would you like to stay?” He pulls open the fridge, which has also been stocked with food. “Beer?”

  I spy a couple of bottles of red wine on the bench and tip my head toward them. Dylan pours me a glass, and as he passes the wine to me, he grabs me around the waist and pulls me closer.

  “Careful!” I hold the
glass up, attempting not to spill.

  “The first day I saw you here,” he whispers then nips my ear. “Fuck, you turned me on and I hadn’t even touched you.”

  “Oh, was it the snarky attitude or the unattractive underwear that made me so irresistible?” I ask, placing the glass on the bench so I can pull him closer.

  Dylan leans against the bench and pulls me into him, and I rest a palm on the solid muscles of his chest. “Imagining the underwear on the snarky girl.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Well, maybe taking them off her…”

  “Congratulations on your self-control then,” I say sarcastically.

  “I’m serious! I’ve said before, something about you from the first moment I looked into your eyes, I knew you were meant to be there, in that lane at exactly that moment. Then finding you here. That’s more than fate.”

  He loops a finger through my jeans and yanks me toward him, closing the last tiny gap between us. “And when I realised there was a smart girl behind the sexy body, well, life suddenly got a lot more bearable.”

  Dylan’s mouth brushes mine, and then he hovers his lips close, waiting for my reaction. I close my eyes, drawn back to the spark between us the first time he said he didn’t want to kiss me then undoubtedly proved he did. Pushing down the urge to respond, I inhale the moment; Dylan, the place we are, the energy we carry that keeps us both going. The man holding me close now has stripped away the hurt and anger I held for the world. Dylan showed me I could give myself to someone and not lose myself at the same time.

  “Kiss me with your sarcastic mouth,” he whispers.

  “I don’t do rock stars.”

  I run my tongue along his lips and he sucks in a breath as I draw back instead of continuing. His grip on my waist tightens. “Don’t tease me.”

  “Pizza?” I ask in a low voice.

  “Snuggling?”

  “Or skip both?” I sneak a hand under his t-shirt, tracing the shape of his muscled stomach with my fingers.

  “You just said you don’t do rock stars.”

  Unbuttoning his jeans, I slide a hand inside, smug at the fact I don’t need to touch him and he’s aroused by me. “No, but I do Dylan Morgan. All the time.”

  A low growl escapes his throat and he grabs my head, pushing his mouth to mine so hard it drags the air from my lungs. The familiarity of Dylan’s taste, the scratch of his stubble on my cheek wipes away anything, but the desire to be in bed with this man and never get out again. Dylan turns me around and presses me against the bench, igniting a reaction to the memory of the last time we kissed in this kitchen. When his hands go to the button on my jeans too, I slap them away.

  “No?” he asks, pulling his mouth away and running a fingertip against my lips.

  “Last time you refused to take your jeans off or make love to me. You owe me.”

  “Ah, okay. You want me to take you upstairs?” The way he grips my waist, and the tiny kisses creating a trail of heat across my skin could have me change my mind and let him do whatever the hell he wants to me right here.

  Legs weakening, I hold onto the bench, ready to give in. He clouds my brain, pushing out anything but us whenever we’re this close.

  “Sky? Tell me what you want?” he asks, voice low. “Otherwise, I’m going to do what I want. Repeatedly. Until you’re begging me to stop.”

  Dylan grabs my t-shirt and roughly pushes the material upward; my nipples harden under his hand as he encircles my breasts. He presses me to the bench with his hips, the heat of his hard length against my stomach. I make the embarrassing whimpering sound he loves.

  “Fuck, Sky.”

  Without another word, he lifts me up and I wrap my legs around his waist, hanging onto his neck. Dylan’s hot breath meets mine as he moves in for another kiss.

  I pull back and lick the taste of him from my lips. “Not the kitchen?”

  Dylan carries me towards the stairs and I burrow my face into the hollow of his neck as he says, “Not tonight. Come on, summer Sky. Apparently, I owe you.”

  ****

  The morning light shines through the bedroom curtains. The air in the room is cold, but cocooned with Dylan in bed the temperature doesn’t matter. He’s asleep, arm wrapped tightly around my waist as always. I shift to watch him sleep, the softness of his features more pronounced in the peacefulness of sleep. A few months without a haircut, create curls touching his forehead and ears. I wind my fingers around a curl and soak in the tranquility of our seaside world.

  Dylan doesn’t stir. I shift, moulding myself against the hard muscles of his chest and burying my face into his neck. The after-sex muskiness fills the bed and I can smell myself on him. Dylan wraps me closer, murmuring something and I can’t tell if he’s fully awake. I debate whether to wake him or not, and then my stomach rumbles.

  “Is that a hint?” he asks sleepily.

  “Is what a hint?” I’m unaware I’m touching him anywhere that could hint at anything.

  “Now I’ve performed my duties in the bedroom, you want me to get back to the kitchen and make you something to eat?” He pokes a finger into my stomach. “You’re hungry.”

  I pull a face at him and he pushes the tip of my nose with a finger. “I know what you want,” he says, sitting. “See you downstairs.”

  ****

  One mean bacon sandwich later (unfortunately, not cooked by a semi-naked Dylan, which I excuse as the house is too cool), I stack the breakfast plates in the sink and gaze out at the grey sky. Dylan brings over the empty cups and leans on the edge of the sink next to me. He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear.

  “We haven’t spoken about the future much; I was hoping we could make some plans while we were down here,” he says.

  “Mine’s a bit hazy at the moment, Dylan,” I say as I run water into the sink.

  “Will you take time out to travel with me? I’ve been all over the world but never visited, if that makes sense. I’d like to share that experience with you?”

  I consider how I haven’t been outside Europe. “I’d like to travel…”

  “Then we can go together? I can organise everything; you don’t need to worry about money.” He catches my warning look. “Sorry, but this time I’m paying. If you refuse, then your obstinacy is going to piss me off. I don’t want to sit in your flat in Bristol waiting for you to save up money from a series of crappy jobs!”

  I blink at the strength of his tone. Slowly, I edge away from my discomfort at spending his money; afterall, we’re a couple now and I’d be doing something with him, not asking him for something. The excitement of seeing parts of the world I could only dream of, and in the luxury Dylan could afford, bubbles excitement inside.

  “Okay,” I say.

  “You’ll come with me?”

  “Once Tara’s better, yes.”

  “Yes!” Dylan grabs my cheeks and kisses me hard on the mouth. “This is going to be fucking awesome…”

  His childish excitement is infectious, and I laugh as I wash the plates. “And then afterwards? Are you going to stay in the States or England?”

  “Wherever you are,” he says as if I’m asking the stupidest question in the world. “But not that flat, Sky. You have to leave.”

  “I have to leave Bristol altogether,” I say, focusing on scrubbing a mug.

  “That’s a big deal for you.”

  “Leaving Blue Phoenix for a year is a big deal for you. Maybe we can see how things go on Dylan and Sky’s World Tour, and then make some decisions?”

  As Dylan listens, his eyes shine with the happiness he deserves, and this time, we reflect the good in each other’s lives. Does it matter if we want to escape? We’re not running; we’re enjoying our life and taking control of what we can. I’m not fighting against the strange fate that brought me to Dylan anymore; what point is there? If he’s happy and I am too, what does the rest of the world’s opinion matter?

  Dylan insists we wrap up in our warmest clothes and go for a walk. I pull a di
sgusted face but am unable to wriggle out of going because the rain has stopped.

  Getting dressed and considering the outside temperature, I toy with the idea of persuading Dylan to stay in the house using all the ways I know he likes. When I attempted to drag him back upstairs, Dylan informs me that even if I stripped naked in front of him, we are still going. Unsure whether this means he’s had enough sex for now, and highly doubting he has from what I know of Dylan, I decide he has a different agenda.

  Beach walks in June are okay. Beach walks in March, not so much. Despite being completely wrapped up, the exposed skin on my face smarts from the wind. Dylan strides across the beach, weaving in and out of the waves as he inspects the sand for shells. I stop and tuck my gloved hands beneath my arms.

  “Dylan, how long are we doing this for? Much as I love the beach, I hate this weather.”

  He straightens. “I just need to find the right one.”

  “The right what?” He holds a sand-covered shell out. “Jesus, Dylan, I’m not collecting shells on the beach all day!”

  “Just a few more minutes?” he asks.

  I give the waves a wide berth. If he’s in a childish mood, he could underestimate the level of pissed off I’d be if he threw me into the icy water. Not surprisingly, the beach is empty apart from the crazy rock star and his long-suffering girlfriend. I kick at the seaweed and watch Dylan. We could be snuggling. Or in bed. I hope he doesn’t suggest fish and chips next.

  “Okay!” Dylan approaches and places cool lips on my forehead. “I think this is the best I can manage.”

  I rub my cold nose into his warm neck, enjoying the fact this makes him wince. “Good, I’m bloody freezing.”

  “Don’t stress, I’ll warm you up when we get home,” he says in a low voice.

  “I was more thinking a trip to a cafe?” I pull Dylan’s black beanie further down his head for emphasis.

  Dylan wraps his arm across my shudders, pulling me into his woollen jacket and kissing my frozen cheek. “Okay, soon.”

  We trudge across the sand toward the house and when we get to the front door he puts his hand on my arm, stopping me from going in. “No, wait.”