I separate from her only to unwrap the condom and drag it on falling back between her legs. Her arms latch around my neck, her legs around my waist as I fall inside of her.
It feels like I do because one minute I’m grounded, and the next, I’m lost, fading into her, around her, with her. She latches around me from her core and with all her limbs, not intending to let me go. And I don’t think I would ask her to either.
I whisper small nothings in her ear. Shit, nothings I’ve never even said before as I remain under her spell. Drawing in and out of her, thrusting my cock into her so far, I don’t expect to find a way out.
Even if I were handed a map and compass, I’d throw them to the ground. This is a place worth being lost in.
Forbes meets my thrusts with her hips, my skin clapping against her plush thighs. My body drags over hers, her breasts mashing under me as I rub over her, our bodies making friction and heat together threatening to set us both aflame.
Her nails rake down my back as I continue and then glide back up to fist in my hair again. I hold her thigh over my shoulder, the other hand diving into her silky locks again.
The strong honey and sugar scent of it is flooding my senses mixing with the sweet, airy perfume she wears. I bury my nose in her neck tracing up to her lips before I kiss her, deeply, matching the fervor of my climax ready to spill over.
I feel her quaking beneath me, her heart pattering so hard I feel it on my chest. Her breath grows erratic as she breaks the kiss, but I can’t bear to separate from her soft lips. They drag over each other as we pant into each other, and her breath draws close.
I drive my hips deeper into her feeling the moisture of her sex dripping out around me, her clit hitting the dip of my pelvis as I press upward. She moans deep in her chest, then breaks off into smaller, high-pitched breaks of air as she comes again.
She squeezes my cock trapped in her as she pulses around me over and over until I lose myself in a lack of oxygen and breathe her in instead. I grip her waist and slide up to palm her breasts, the sight of them mashed together, her nipples puckered at me, and drags the last of me out.
I’m frozen inside of her, deep, as I come so hard it’s blinding feeling like a physical force weighing me down. I collapse onto her, my body sliding over hers as I pump through it until I slip out of her a bit, part of me exposed to the cold air, most of me safe inside her.
Her lips draw mine between her kissing me in a way she never has before. Still superior, still hiding what we’ve already proven but different in that she doesn’t fight me, doesn’t half-ass it.
I kiss her back holding the nape of her neck as I pull out of her completely and lay next to her, the couch big enough for her to be half on my body. I drag my hands out of the soft maze of her hair tracing around her waist and hips then back up to her cheek. Her fingers drag down my beard, her nails raking my skin before the kiss breaks, and her head lolls back as she sighs.
I stare into the glossy emeralds of her eyes staring back at me with resolution.
18
Forbes
I watch, rapt as Dylan rises to discard the condom in my kitchen trash can and returns, putting his boxers back on to continue the streak of disappointing me.
My shirt is in a pile on the floor. I put it back on, my head swaying as I sit up. My body crushed my journal laying on the couch, so I toss it on the table and sit up crossing my legs under me.
Dylan keeps his eyes trained on me when he sits down next to me avoiding the moist spot I left. The heat of my cheeks burns, still flushed as the rest of me swarms with the remaining spark of nerves in my body. His hands are nowhere near me, and I feel them on my body still. Hard, yet warm and mellow.
They’re worse than his words or even his eyes because they don’t hold me in place, they make sure I don’t leave.
“Are you speechless now?” Dylan asks, his voice gruff and hardened and weighed down with the end of his arousal. It fills the air, tangling with mine, scenting my living room in a way it has never been before.
“No.” I lick my lips. My hands tremble as I reach up to try to fix my hair. I have no doubt it looks as tangled as it is.
“No arguments, reminders?” His hand curves around my thigh above my knee and drags it over onto his lap.
The way he handles me makes me feel nimble, and at the same time, he reminds me I am strong.
“I…” I lied, I am speechless. Overtaken by the tundra he buried me in with his lips, his taste, his cock, his smell, his touch… it’s an impossible war between what I once thought was wrong and what inexplicably feels so right.
“You know something,” I finally say. He turns to me raising his brows in question and tightening his grip on my thigh. I scoot forward, so both my legs are in his lap.
His body is impossibly warm—a furnace. The build of his muscles over the wide frame of his body match the cloak he has put over his emotions, over the truth that he is hiding. It didn’t make sense to me not until we were together, and I could look into his eyes as we melded with one another, and I could see that we shared something normal people don’t—loss and a vestibule of self-loathing that disguises itself as righteousness and a vow to what we think is right. So, it doesn’t make sense to me anymore that he really would destroy a man the way I believed my father was. Nor does it make sense that he won’t tell me the whole truth as if I don’t need it, as if he doesn’t believe it himself.
I wonder how we got here from me croaking in his presence and scowling at the sound of his voice to melting under his touch and enamoring to his presence.
“I’m not sure if I do, and I’m… not sure about a lot of things. It never used to matter, not even when we first met.”
I swallow and lean forward, my mouth is dry, almost sour.
“I didn’t… this is a complete one-eighty for me. Part of me still doesn’t want to believe you or trust you.” I sigh and breathe in the new possibility sliding closer to him as I lay my arm around his shoulders and feel his muscles relax. It’s a rolling thought that my touch relaxes him in some way.
“But the bigger part of me, the one that ties to my gut, makes me a good lawyer or litigator, does believe you and wants to know you. Wants to know why.” My eyes fleet as I find his gaze tearing me apart.
“That’s probably scary for you since you’ve made a sport out of hating me.” His lips twitch, mindless. I reach out to touch them.
“For years now.” I whisper, “You don’t smile…” I exhale a laugh, “… ever.”
He shakes his head once lifting my fingers from his lips to kiss them.
“Yes, I do.”
“I don’t mean internally.” I give a closed smile.
“Not for a while. It’s easy not to. I didn’t have much after…” His breath fails as his lips part, and his eyes leave mine.
The more I see him, watch him, the clearer it becomes that he is hurt. By what, I don’t know.
It must be what makes it easier to relax the voice in my head which reminds me of the way I used to despise his every movement, every word as it becomes clearer that I may never have in the first place. The absence of truth, of every round of the story, brings fear and walls that for me became a hatred I never really knew how to understand.
“How was it when your dad died?” I ask him.
The end of his jaw tightens rolling under his skin. As he turns his head away, I crane mine to find his eyes again.
He seems reluctant as he stares through me like he can’t resist and like there is a pull between the two of us neither can see. I would assume that ‘opposites attract’ applies here, but I’m more inclined to believe we are as similar as a man and woman can be.
“What’s with the beard?” I change the tone.
He chortles. “What?”
“The beard.” I smile, running my fingers down the sides. It isn’t overly thick, but it’s perfectly grazed equal to his top lip in line up to his ear, the bottom tracing under his jaw, and soft, not as soft as his ha
ir, but finely coarse. The memory of it rubbing along my inner thighs and skin is one I know will never go away.
“Nothing’s with it. I need a reason?”
I shrug. “That would make it more exciting.”
He shakes his head at me. “Nothing’s with it.” His eyes drop down to my chest, my shirt drooping low enough as he runs his finger down the center.
“How come you don’t have a huge scar? From the transplant.”
The past mingles with the touch of his fingers on me, a sensation that I find able to quell the darkness of those memories.
“They’ve gotten better at closing incisions these days.” I giggle softly. “For a while, there was, but it fades. It’s been a little over three years.”
“Is it… my brother, Jeffrey, is a doctor. He gets this stuff. But I’m curious, I don’t want to sound stupid.”
“I know you’re not stupid. You went to MIT.” I smile.
“Lots of stupid people go to MIT,” he jokes. I can only tell because of the shift in his voice. I laugh a bit and get what he’s saying.
“It works the same, does the same things. With the medication and good condition, it will last until the day I die. Highly unlikely to be premature.”
“Is it scary or… or weird?” He blinks.
My breath halts. I may have come a long way, but like him, telling the complete truth has an unforeseeable consequence. It isn’t something I can give up so easily because I even don’t understand it.
Science fiction, that’s what it feels like. It’s the farthest thing from scary, the farthest thing from weird. People say when a loved one dies that they are still with them in spirit or whatever if they believe in that—but I get to be the physicality of it, the advancement of medicine let my father choose to give me his heart and save my life.
The inclusion of Dylan in all this was a rock for me to grind on only because I didn’t have all the facts. I still don’t, and that fact reminds me that there is a truth still to be developed here. That the feelings I have for him are the only thing I can attribute to the flurry of life I suddenly have. My eyes weren’t opened suddenly tonight. It was slow with each time I saw him, thought of him, heard his voice, and looked closely as I would to a client or representing someone who everyone thinks is lying, and I have to prove they are telling the truth. And now… I strongly believe it’s only a matter of time, and that’s what’s scary because I still don’t know.
A matter of time until what?
“No. I only wish my dad had seen me get better. He was always there until he wasn’t. I guess that’s how it goes.”
“Yeah, I know how you feel.”
“Because of your dad?”
He nods, his hands stalling on my leg.
“Were you close?” I turn my head. “I was an only child, I had no choice but to be close to my parents. But there are so many of you, I imagine it might be hard.”
His chest rumbles when he chuckles. “It would have been. If my dad were anyone else, it would have been.” He sighs, running his tongue over his bottom lip.
“What?” I laugh once.
“Nothing… just… if we’re going to do this, I’m going to need a drink.”
* * *
“My dad was formidable, but he was the kindest man the world could have ever known, and most of it did. When I grew up, in the middle of my brothers, I was predisposed to feel left out, being the middle child and all. But I wasn’t.” Dylan drinks half the bottle of Shiner from my fridge. The way his eyes light up made me laugh, but I don’t say anything about it.
I wasn’t in the mood for it. I sip at my milky tea instead. My kitchen never looked more different—in the midst of my stainless-steel appliances and black countertops is Dylan, hunched over the breakfast table I never use. The low ceramic chairs aren’t comfortable.
“He never groomed me for the company, never did that to any of us. But when I showed interest in it around my sophomore year of college, I think he was supportive. I planned to be an app developer or something. I never realized my work with finances as numerical identities attached to people was anything more than running accounts for the rich and or famous. My dad showed me that it was when I got to see what he really does.”
“It’s not holdings?” I sip at my tea while he takes down the rest of my beer.
“Sure, in hindsight.”
I can tell he isn’t going any further than that, so I don’t ask. Knowing some of his tells so easily, this soon, is almost unbelievable, but I do. It’s in his eyes when he wants to say something, and depending on what it is, the way he looks at me is chilling or melting.
“I started working for my dad right out of college, and it wasn’t as CFO. He doesn’t let us climb the ranks, those of us who work for him. I started as an associate, then so on until the year he…” His face contorts as he winces.
“It gets worse?” I guess.
He nods, his neck tight.
“There are some things my family doesn’t know. My mom. Things I haven’t been able to get past. The time following his death, the funeral… I barely remember because I tried so hard to forget every single day.”
I nod, I can understand that.
“And I still haven’t. I’m… being around you isn’t what I’m used to. The things I feel, I don’t know how to explain them. When I found out who your dad was…”
“You knew?”
“Not really. All I had was a name. A few weeks ago, I saw it when I was shamelessly Facebooking you. But it hadn’t occurred to me, what happened three years ago. I have a way of telling you, but I haven’t yet because I don’t think you know that he…”
“Know what?”
He shakes his head, his eyes dancing with a cloud of darkness that covers us both. It stalls my breath, makes him seem so untouchable, and all I want to do is hold him.
“I don’t think he wanted you to know. He must have… he knew me, worked under me directly for almost a year before. He knew I would understand.” He exhales and clears his throat, turning to me, he holds my hands and looks into my eyes like he is blind to everything else.
“Forbes…”
“My dad left me a letter. He said I should thank you, and for a while, that meant ‘thank you’ like recognize you as some sort of spark to the fire. But he really meant thank you?” I whisper.
His eyes soften.
“We should table this conversation. For later.” His voice is gruff, drawn from the topic.
My skin is too cold, my blood too hot, and I’m seconds away from feeling sick. Everything from my dad and what I thought was true is called into question. I don’t have the answers, and my head hurts from trying to figure it out. Dylan looks physically in pain from trying to tell me.
The connection between us is more than one emotion turning into the other, it’s all of them existing together.
He knows something I don’t, something he must have promised to keep a secret. The more I think about it, the more sense it makes. Lines that tangle me up.
My father kept the truth of why my mother died from me for years because he never thought I was old enough, that I could handle it. That was his opinion, his right, and I suppose, so is his death. If Dylan did fire him, if everything truly is the way I think it is, then I wouldn’t feel this way.
I’m a lawyer, top of my class, short-listed for the best law firms in the country, for the presidential litigation team. I don’t second-guess the feelings I get, instincts, even without the cold hard facts.
“We should.”
“Your dad wanted to protect you, that’s my guess. The reason I can’t give a moment to remember that time is because it reminds me too much of what I did. My dad had a heart attack before the one that killed him.” He swallows hard, visibly loses some of his darkness, some of his solemnity.
“I was there in his office arguing with him about some sinking company he wanted to buy that I didn’t agree with. Then he’s not saying anything, clutching his chest and everything. He
told me to take him to the hospital. Of course, I did, and he got lucky that it was minor. But he told me not to tell anyone, not to tell my mom. I didn’t agree, but I wasn’t about to argue with him. Again. I kept it quiet. Six months later he dropped dead in my office. I kept wondering why it was me, why I had to be the one… but even more than that, I wondered why I kept it to myself. I could have helped.” His face twists in pain staring down at his hands holding mine in his lap.
“It wasn’t your fault, you know that. Your family would understand.”
“Maybe. But I don’t know how to tell them, and I’m in this position again. My word… my dad taught me it’s all we have, especially in his line of work but most importantly in this world as a man. You keep your word, you make your identity and keep it. I have to do that, or it will all have been for nothing.” His eyes meet mine—blazing, honest, and true.
I’ve lost every saying in my soul that used to burn to hate him.
Now it seems like, for what? I don’t understand where we’ve gone or where we are going.
“Okay, Dylan. I’ll… humor you.”
He tilts his head at me. “There it is.”
I smile a bit. I swallow down the rest of my tea needing the moisture in my mouth.
“What happens now?” I stand up. “I wait for you to get tired of your moral high ground? Get tired of riding the horse?” I curl my lips inward to hide my smile, his eyes raise up to mine, gleaming with the same look from before.
“Forbes.” He stands, his height carrying over me, the look in his eyes eroding my senses and climbing right up to my sex, clenching again, almost more than before.
“Don’t change.”
His lips seal mine before I can think.
Before I can breathe.
With him against me, I don’t want to.
Wilde About Dylon: The Brothers Wilde Series — Book Four Page 13
