Dylan said nothing.
He was getting a little breathless from talking as he ran, but continued nevertheless. “I can send my sister to college. Any college she wants to go to. My father can retire and my parents can go to the DR anytime they want instead of scraping together pennies to go every three years. Hell, they can buy a house there. Or even build one.”
Dylan waited for it, but he didn’t mention a single thing he wanted for himself.
“And all I have to do is show up at a few events, a few meetings, take some pictures and play ball when the time comes. And I can’t wait to play.”
“Then what’s so frustrating?”
“I met someone I really like and . . . but I don’t have the time I wish I had. So she’s off dancing in nightclubs with other guys, and dating lawyers.”
Dylan looked at him, not knowing how to address the last part of what he said. All she knew was that she wasn’t about to make any promises not to go out, or not to dance with guys who wanted to dance with her; because Mark, despite all his attention, had made no promises to her.
“Okay, let’s burn it out,” she said. “Sprint the last hundred yards back to the car?”
“No,” Mark said.
“No? Don’t tell me you’re tapped out already, Mr. Superstar Shortstop,” she teased.
“I want to know first. Are you?”
“Am I what?”
“Hanging out with any of those guys you work with. Or dating anyone.”
“No.”
Mark nodded. “Okay.” Then he smiled at her and unexpectedly broke away into a full-speed sprint.
“Cheater!”
Dylan went chasing after him.
By the time they got to the car, they were both soaking wet with perspiration. Mark draped their towels over the backs of their seats and they got in, pulling away from the curb.
“So remember I said I want to show you something?”
“Now? How about we get cleaned up first?”
“It’ll be fine. There’s no dress code involved.”
They headed back downtown and Mark pulled into an underground parking garage, leading Dylan into a building she recognized but had never given much notice to before. Like many New York buildings, it was fairly nondescript outside and offered absolutely no clue as to what awaited you inside.
The condo was on the third floor, a beautiful, newly renovated unit near Washington Square Park. Boasting pristine dark oak floors, wonderful light and airy, modern rooms, it was fully furnished and looked like something out of Architectural Digest. There were three enormous picture windows overlooking Washington Square flanked by low-slung sand-colored sofas. On the opposite wall was a modern polished marble fireplace that would be beautiful when lit. The dining room and kitchen were separated from the living space by a solid red brick wall that stood in stark contrast to the modernism of the rest of the condo.
“I almost bought it,” Mark said. “Then I choked at the last minute. So it’s just a rental, but I wanted you to see it, see if you like it.”
“I love it,” Dylan said spinning around and taking it all in. “What’s not to like?”
“Maybe you’ll spend some time here,” Mark said, coming toward her.
“I’d like that.”
She looked up at him and he leaned in to kiss her which she wanted. Badly. So, so badly. Then he was running his hands down her sides, and this time she was self-conscious, because she was damp and sweaty and maybe even a little ripe as well. But Mark didn’t seem to notice or care and the next thing Dylan knew, he was pulling her running tights down and over her hips and she was too excited and too surprised to object. She held her breath as he got to her feet and peeled it off one leg at a time, removing her sneakers and socks as he did. This was one hell of a turnaround for a guy who not too long ago was pulling back as he kissed her, just so she wouldn’t feel his erection.
Standing barefoot and in her underwear and t-shirt in the middle of Mark’s brand-new living room Dylan reached out to raise his shirt, over his rippled stomach, over his chest, helping as he shrugged it completely off. His chest was covered in a light layer of the same silky dark hair on his arms, and Dylan couldn’t help but reach out and touch him. And he actually quivered, as though just her touch was pleasure to him. In his face, she saw a mirror-image of the wanting she felt. She slipped her fingers into the waistband of his sweatpants and pulled them down, crouching as she did. When she was face to face with his pelvis, she stopped and blinked. Whoa. Mark pulled her up and kissed her as he stepped out of the clothes she’d removed. Without speaking, he led her to the rear of the condo.
The walls and the floor of the shower were sandstone and built to look like the rocks on a waterfall. Mark turned on the water and jets came alive from all directions. He adjusted the temperature then turned to Dylan again. She remained perfectly still while he stripped her naked, slowly removing her shirt, her sports bra and her underwear and tossing them aside.
For awhile he just looked at her, for so long that she was almost self-conscious. He trailed his fingers over her stomach, down and then up again, finally cupping her breasts in both hands and bending to kiss them, his tongue moving over her nipples and around them, tasting her. They were both breathing audibly now, almost as though they were still on the Central Park trail, just before they hit the crest of the hill. Then Mark raised his head to look at her.
“Is this moving too fast for you?” he asked. But there was a plea in his eyes, as though he was begging her to say ‘no’.
Dylan shook her head.
If anything, it wasn’t moving fast enough. She considered for a second—but only a second—that she should probably play a little harder to get; maybe he would lose interest after this if she was too easy. But in the moment, it was difficult to care. She wanted him as badly as he obviously wanted her. And there was every likelihood that he’d lose interest anyway. She would be foolish to assume that this would change anything. When all was said and done, he would still disappear into his new life, and she would become a distant memory. But for now, she would take what he could give.
When they stepped into the shower, Dylan was immediately drenched from all sides. The water temperature was perfect, and she thought only fleetingly about her hair. Thankfully it was securely braided—she wasn’t sure how she would have felt about him seeing her massive, tangled ‘fro once they got out. But all thoughts of hair or anything besides him were eradicated when Mark touched her once again. His hands were slippery with soap now and he ran them all over her, bathing her, stroking her, feeling her. Dylan submitted, completely transfixed by the look of utter and complete focus on his face. She took the soap and did the same for him, running her hands over his arms, his firm stomach, his sides, his back, his buttocks.
When she took him in her hands feeling him grow harder in her fist, she moved her hand back and forth, watching as his face changed. He allowed her to caress him this way only for a little while but when his eyes closed, and his mouth opened slightly, a low guttural sound emitting from between his lips, Mark pulled out of her reach.
He lowered his head, kissing her as though he couldn’t get enough, his hands rinsing the soap from her body and moving over every part of her, as though he wanted to leave not an inch of her untouched. The cool water, the warmth of his hands, and the lack of friction as their skin made contact was almost too much. But god, there was more . . . Before Dylan knew what was happening, he was kneeling in front of her, the water falling over him in sheets, and spreading her thighs once again. A girl could be forgiven if she passed out at a time like this.
“No,” she said, “No, no . . .” But she meant exactly the opposite.
Mark draped her leg over his shoulder, his hands grasping her buttocks to hold her in place and help her maintain her balance. Then his tongue was on her and inside her, hot and nimble, searching, probing, bringing her to the brink of crazy. Dylan gripped his shoulders and looked down, watching as he angled his head for
better access. The sight of him, knelt before her, pressing his face into her made her tremble, her legs barely supporting her weight. Mark resisted at first when she tried to pull away, holding her against him until she put her hands on his head. He looked up at her and his eyes . . . god, that look her made her feel as though no one had ever wanted her before this moment. Not really. Not like this.
Mark stood and gently shoved her against the shower wall and out of the stream of the jets. He pressed himself against her and Dylan reached down, feeling how hard he was. She wanted to taste him as he had her, which was surprising because she never wanted to before. She’d done it because it was only fair, and because they expected it, but she couldn’t remember craving it like she did now.
But just as she was about to sink to her knees, Mark lifted her and carried her, soaking wet to the bedroom where they tumbled onto the enormous bed. The sheets clung to them and he batted them aside impatiently. He was poised between her thighs when he stopped, his eyes searching hers, asking for permission. He had beautiful, silky, jet-black eyelashes and his eyes, soulful eyes that could make you weep just staring into them.
Dylan pulled him forward and arched her back so that he sank into her. One inch, and then another and another. Then because she couldn’t wait, she grabbed him and pushed upward so she enveloped him as much as she could from that angle. Mark’s chest was heaving against hers and for a moment, she just held him there until neither of them could stand it anymore and he rocked forward until he was buried inside her up to the hilt. There was a moment of indescribable tingling, where Dylan felt her body settle around him and hold him in, fusing them together as though he belonged there.
Mark felt it too, and shuddered, breathing deeply as though trying to catch a breath then moving against her, his mouth covering her own. When his fingers dug into her buttocks as though to lift her, Dylan wrapped her arms tightly about him and Mark reared back, sitting on his heels, holding her up so she was astride him. Gradually, Dylan released her grip about his neck and looked at him. His eyes were heavy-lidded like someone awaking from, or about to fall into a deep sleep. A slow, dreamlike smile spread across his face.
“You feel . . . so good,” he breathed.
Dylan clenched her thighs about his hips and lowered her head, gently tugging his earlobe with her teeth. Mark literally shivered and pulled away.
“Don’t do that,” he said shaking his head. “Not if you want me to last more than two minutes.”
“I can’t help it,” she said. She kissed the side of his neck and his shoulder. “I just want to bite into you . . . your color is like . . . a caramel apple.”
“Then bite me,” he said giving her a sharp thrust.
Dylan gasped and licked his earlobe opening her mouth against his neck, wanting to bite him somewhere where everyone would see her mark. Then she remembered they were going to his parents house and she forced herself not to do anything foolish that would embarrass them both later.
“Ai, dios mío . . .” he said, leaning into her, closing his eyes.
Dylan laughed softly against his mouth. “Speaking Spanish, huh?” Her tongue snaked out to lick his lower lip. “I must be making quite an impression.”
Mark opened his eyes once again, unwrapping her arms from his neck. Placing his hands on her hips, he lifted her up and pulled her back almost in a rowing motion, effortlessly raising and lowering her, at the same time rocking his hips back and forth. The sensation was so overwhelming that Dylan wasn’t laughing anymore; hell, she wasn’t even thinking. Her breath became more labored and she was moaning and panting so loudly, it would be a miracle if the neighbors didn’t hear her. But she didn’t care, and even if she did, she wouldn’t have been able to make herself stop.
Just as she felt herself about to come apart, Mark suddenly pulled her off him and she gasped, her body protesting the sudden void where moments before he had filled her. Then just as suddenly, he had flipped her onto her stomach and with one arm under her abdomen, pulled her toward him again entering her from behind. The pressure, the depth, and friction hit her in a different, more sensitive spot, and she cried out even louder until he slowed and leaned against her back.
“You okay?” he asked, his breath warm against her ear.
“Yes . . . what’re you doing?” she demanded.
“I thought I was hurting you.”
“No. Don’t stop . . .”
So he kept moving against her, reaching around to put his fingers between her legs, spreading the moisture he found there, making slow circles until she felt the pressure building. Mark felt it too and pulled away yet again. Dylan grabbed him, trying to pull him back. The throbbing emptiness was torture.
“Mark!”
“I need to see your face,” he said, turning her onto her back and sinking between her thighs once again.
That slowed her, and Dylan looked at him then, right into his eyes.
God, who was this man?
To work her over in six different ways and then stop because he wanted to look into her eyes? How was it possible that he was out there, undiscovered by some other woman? Dylan pulled him into her and held his face between her hands, kissing him slowly, sweetly, to let him know how much it meant that even in the middle of his pleasure, he remembered to see her.
And this time they moved slowly, almost carefully and in complete synchronicity, their eyes never leaving the other’s. Within moments, Dylan was brought to the brink again, and just as she felt Mark begin to tense and jerk, flooding inside her, she let go, fell over the edge and into oblivion.
4
She had never seen him angry before, and certainly not angry with her. But there was no doubt that he was. And she couldn’t actually see it, so much as sense it. He was pissed.
It had taken Dylan a moment to even remember where she’d gotten the number, but once she did, she didn’t see the point in lying. She’d gotten it that night at Liquid when she’d run into Matt. Giancarlo, the handsome Ethiopian had written it on a napkin and shoved it into the front pocket of her jeans, where it had remained for weeks now. She hadn’t washed the jeans and so the number and his name were as clearly legible as the night he’d written them.
She and Mark were packing for Christmas in the Dominican Republic with his family. After figuring out that they could fit all their stuff into his large suitcase, he’d helped her unpack her smaller one and it was then that the napkin had come fluttering out of the pocket of her jeans. It landed face up with the blue Liquid logo visible and underneath, Giancarlo’s scrawl.
Mark picked it up, looked at it for a moment and then without a word handed it to her. He might have stewed on it privately, but Dylan had been dumb enough to begin an explanation he hadn’t even asked for.
“I didn’t ask for the number,” she said. “He just gave it to me. And besides, it isn’t as though we were . . . you know.”
That was all the opening he needed.
“It isn’t as though we were . . . what?” he asked, almost too casually.
“Dating,” she said meekly.
Mark seemed to consider this for a moment.
“But you’d met my family by then, right?”
“Yes, but . . .”
“And come to my parents’ house?”
“Right. But we weren’t . . . I mean, as far as I knew. . . and I hadn’t even heard from you for almost a week at that poin . . .”
“But I’d told you, when I signed that I wouldn’t be able to call as much. That I would be busy.” “Yes, Mark. But we’d never even had an actual conversation about what we were, or whether . . .”
“So when I called you every day, and talked to you just about every night, what was going on there as far as you knew?”
“Stop interrogating me! We’d only just met a few weeks before that,” she said, exasperated. “And you knew I was at the club. Matt told you. You told me he did.”
“I knew you were dancing at the club. I didn’t know you were picking up
men at the club.”
“Okay, so I wasn’t ‘picking up men’ at the club,” she said slowly. “I was . . .” She stopped, trying to think of the most benign way to characterize what she’d been doing that night. “I was hanging out. That’s all. And . . .”
“Hanging out, and taking numbers.” He shook his head and walked back into the closet, continuing to take things out to pack.
“Should I have given it back?” Dylan asked, her voice rising a little. “Not taken it in the first place?”
“Oh, por supuesto que no! That would be impolite.”
“I’m not apologizing for this,” she said with finality. “I was not with you then. And he was just a guy in a bar who thought I was cute. This is not worth arguing over.”
Dylan turned determinedly away and continued folding her clothes. She’d slept over at his place because they had an eight a.m. flight to Santo Domingo. It was still dark out, and they were going to have to get in a car pretty soon if they wanted to be at the airport the required two hours before flight time.
Mark’s entire family was going on the trip, which he had paid for. It was the first time in years that they had gone as a family, and the fact that she was going along was a big deal. She wasn’t going to ruin it with this non-issue; and she wasn’t going to let him ruin it either.
“Before I get involved in anything, I like to know the rules,” Mark said, continuing to toss clothing into the suitcase. “So maybe we need to talk about our rules.”
“What rules?” Dylan snapped. She turned to the suitcase and began straightening the clothes he’d haphazardly added moments before.
“One rule, actually,” Mark said. He stopped rifling through his clothes. “Look at me, Dylan,” he said. His tone was one he had never used with her before. Commanding, rather than asking.
Dylan stopped fussing with the packing and looked at him.
“I’ll never do anything that puts you in a position where you have to doubt me,” he said. “I want that same promise from you.”
It was a simple enough request. And frankly she’d made variations of that same request with different guys she was dating. Usually, they equivocated on their responses, and she remembered only too well how that felt.
The Seduction of Dylan Acosta Page 6
