Dylan laughed. “Whose idea was that anyway?”
“My mother. She thinks it would be disrespectful.”
“Oh,” Dylan said sobering up. “Well, I wouldn’t want her to feel like . . .”
Mark held up a hand. “No. Not to her. She thinks I would be disrespecting you if I expected you to sleep with me.”
Dylan spluttered. “Seriously? Does she think I’m . . . a virgin?”
Mark shook his head. “It’s not that. It’s just that since we’re not married, not engaged, she thinks of it as . . . unchivalrous for me to expect it, y’know what I mean?”
“But what about Peter and Xiomara?”
“Well, the way my parents see it, they’re already married. Just not married in church.”
“Huh.” Dylan puzzled over that for a moment.
“And with the baby and all, I’d say that cow’s out of the barn.”
“Well if your mother knew what you did to me last night,” Dylan said moving closer, “she would see that that cow pretty much got away as well.”
Mark smiled and leaned in to kiss her softly on the lips, then brushed her nose with his.
“You want to tell me what was bothering you all morning? Was it that phone number?” Dylan asked quietly, taking advantage of his sudden tenderness.
“I was thinking about spring training. I report in mid-February. That’s six weeks. And then the season. I’ll be away a lot.”
Dylan nodded and waited for him to continue.
“I was wondering how we’re going work that out.”
Dylan shrugged. “We’ll take it as it comes.”
“Same rule applies?” Mark tested.
“Yeah. If that’s what you want.”
If she sounded noncommittal, it was only because she didn’t want to pressure him. Once he started playing his star would rise even higher. She wasn’t about to be the clingy girlfriend back home if what he really needed was some latitude to explore other options. As much as it would pain her, she would relinquish her expectations. Because Lord knew, the chances that he would remain this committed once he saw the other fish in the sea were slim to none.
“I want to know what you want,” Mark said, his eyes penetrating hers. “While I’m gone, do you want to . . . see other guys, or . . ?”
Dylan thought for a moment. What was the right answer? The honest answer was ‘no’. She didn’t want to see anyone else. But if she said that, was she boxing him in? And did he want to be boxed in? It was all so confusing. Mark was not like any other man she’d been involved with, so she had no idea. If she went by the way he treated her, the way he looked at her, the way he touched her . . . she would say yes, he wanted to be boxed in. But look at him, he was fucking gorgeous, and he was talented and now famous and rich as well. Why would he even be this into her?
“That wasn’t a trick question,” Mark said, his voice quiet.
Dylan looked at him again. He looked unsure of himself, almost apprehensive.
“No, I don’t, but . . .”
Mark sighed, obviously relieved. Then he looked at her, his eyes questioning. “Wait, why’d you say it like that? You said you don’t but . . .”
Dylan swallowed. Okay, so this was it. She would give him his out. And if he took it, it would hurt, but she wouldn’t be surprised.
“Maybe you want to see other people. I mean, on the road you’ll meet a lot of . . . It’s not like we’ve known each other for that long.”
Mark shook his head and looked down, palms on his thighs. He sighed and looked up at her once again, his eyes fixed on hers as though trying to figure something out. Dylan watched him watch her.
“I was fucking jealous about some guy you met in passing in a nightclub. A guy I know you haven’t seen or spoken to since,” he said. “I was jealous just knowing that some other guy wanted you, even if you didn’t want him. And still you think I would be interested in seeing other people?” He sounded incredulous.
“You might think you don’t want to now, but . . .”
“But what? Some Mets fan in tight jeans might change my mind?”
Dylan shrugged.
Mark moved closer to her on the chaise, tilting her chin upward so she was looking at him. “Dylan, all I think about every day, all day, are two things: playing ball, and you. And not in that order.”
The tension in her shoulders dissipated and she really looked at him this time.
“So let me ask you again,” Mark said, his eyes searching hers. “Do you want to see other people while I’m gone? Or does our rule still apply?”
“Our rule still applies,” she said.
“Good,” Mark exhaled. He nodded as though he’d put something to rest. “Good.”
5
The villa was quiet and dark. Dylan could hear the sound of the surf in the distance and the wind in the palm and banana trees. It was soothing, but she couldn’t sleep. Mark was just on the other side of the house and she wanted to be with him, but she didn’t know if she could find her way through the unfamiliar hallways, and she was afraid of upsetting something, waking the whole house and having an embarrassing scene where she tried to explain to the Acostas why she was stealing out of her room to go have her way with their son.
She took a deep breath, tried again to slow her breathing, and concentrate on summoning sleep. Tonight, Mrs. Acosta had cooked for everyone, shoving aside the chef just as Miri had predicted. He’d been relegated to chopping onions and washing rice, demoted to the rank of sous chef for the evening. They had eaten by the pool everyone speaking loudly over one another, laughing and teasing, making plans for the next day.
Dylan and Miri were going shopping for gifts; Mark and his father and brothers were going to play a couple rounds of golf and in search of a Christmas tree and decorations and Mrs. Acosta and Xiomara were going to prepare for Christmas dinner. The chef was being dispatched to buy a whole pig because the Acostas’ extended family from a town about a dozen miles away were coming to the villa for Christmas eve dinner.
All through the meal, Mark kept his hand on Dylan’s leg, idly running it up and down her thigh as he talked, not realizing how much he was exciting her. Or maybe he did. She had inched forward in her seat, hoping to hint to him that if he slipped his hand all the way up and into the leg of her shorts, she would not stop him. He had big hands which when open could easily grip her thigh, something he often did when they were in bed, one hand on each, holding them like levers, parting her legs. But tonight Mark seemed oblivious to what he was doing to her and she grew more frustrated as the evening wore on. After dinner the men had gone to explore the resorts’ bars and Dylan was stuck helping with the washing up. Dominicans took their gender roles seriously.
Though she tried to wait for Mark in the great room, Miri had lured her back to their bedroom for girl talk and Dylan had gone along with it, because Miri was so cute with her obvious enthusiasm about having another woman to gossip with. When she finally drifted to sleep, Dylan still lay awake, her senses attuned to every little sound, waiting for Mark to come home. She heard the men return, she was not sure at what time, loud and probably drunk. She waited for Mark to open the door to the suite to check on her but he never did.
For what seemed like forever, she lay there, wide awake, horny and hyper-aware, finally turning her back and staring out the window instead, where she could just make out the breakers in the distance. The sound and sight of them finally lulled her into a light sleep, vaguely aware of the persistent aching need to feel Mark next to her.
“Hey.”
Dylan almost jumped out of her skin at the sound of a voice so close to her ear. She made a noise but a hand clamped over her mouth.
“C’mon,” Mark said, his voice low. “You know how long it took me to find you?”
He still smelled like he’d been drinking, so evidently hadn’t waited long before coming to find her. Oh thank god.
He pulled her sheet back and groped until he found her hand, and together they
crept out of the room and down the hall. Dylan couldn’t see her hand in front of her face, so it was a good thing he seemed to know where he was going. When they made it to his suite he slowly shoved his door shut until it clicked and it then it sounded as though he turned a key; and finally Dylan could exhale. She opened her mouth to tell him how long she’d been hoping he would come get her but before she could get a word out, he was all over her, his mouth on hers, his hands under her nightshirt.
“Get rid of this,” he said impatiently, when he couldn’t maneuver it quickly enough.
Dylan obediently shrugged the shirt over her head and then he was tugging at the waist of her panties.
“This too,” he said.
She shoved them down over her hips, let them slide to her feet and stepped away from them. She felt, rather than saw Mark directly in front of her. There seemed to be no moon; the room was an inky black and she could just barely make out his figure in front of her.
Then Dylan felt his hands on her, running down her sides, his thumbs pausing to stroke her nipples until they stood firm and hard. He leaned in to kiss her breasts and her neck, trailing a path down the center of her body, until he was too low to bend, and had to fall to his knees. Dylan felt her breath quicken as he put one hand on each of her legs inside at the knees, spreading them. He ran his palms down to her feet, pushing them apart so she had a wide stance.
“Hold on to me,” he said, and his breath was right there, at the apex of her thighs. His mouth was on her, his tongue parting her and closing about her, gently sucking and then licking, sucking and licking . . . Dylan held on tight to his shoulders because her legs were quivering and she seriously doubted she would be able to stand if he continued. Because it felt so good, she rested her hands atop his head, pushing him away and then pulling him in again, feeling alternately that she couldn’t stand for him to continue, and then that she would die if he stopped.
She tried to keep her voice down, but she couldn’t. She never could when they were making love; he unraveled her, spun her out, drove her close to insane reading her responses so precisely, intuiting what she liked and how much she could take.
Dylan could just make out his figure kneeled before her, his head moving back and forth and that posture alone, the sight—obscure as it was—of Mark on his knees before her like that, did her in and she was crying out, buckling from the force of her orgasm.
Then Mark was pulling away and standing to clamp a hand over her mouth, and he was laughing, trying to keep it down. He picked her up effortlessly and moved her; she couldn’t even see where but the next thing she knew, she was on a bed, recovering her equilibrium, or trying to.
He laughed against her stomach. “You could’ve woken my parents up. Or the whole resort.”
“Don’t laugh at me,” she said, stifling a laugh of her own. “I couldn’t help it.”
He kissed her stomach, moving lower. “I love it that I make you feel like that. Should I go for round two?”
“No!” Dylan grabbed him by the only thing she could reach, his ear. “I’m too sensitive right now. I think it might literally kill me.”
Mark chuckled again.
“But I could return the favor,” she suggested.
“It’s not a favor,” Mark said kissing her. “I love how you taste.”
“But I want you to feel good too.” She pushed him on his back and climbed over him, sliding down until she was face to face with his erection.
This was something she had never enjoyed with boyfriends before, even boyfriends smaller than Mark was. Taking them in her mouth had always felt demeaning, her jaw stretched wide felt like something they were doing to her, rather than something she was doing for them. With Mark it was different.
With him, it felt like a gift; one she was happy to be able to give and that gave her pleasure as well. She grasped him in her fist and hummed softly in the back of her throat when she tasted small doses of his slippery saltiness on her tongue. That, and the smooth feel of him gliding between her lips, caused her to clench, anticipating what he would feel like when he was inside her. She loved the way his fingers laced in her hair, urging but never pushing her. She loved the sounds he made, and when she could see him, the look on his face, like she had slain him, like he was helpless.
Now, as Dylan listened to his groaning and felt him bucking beneath her, she moved faster, her cheeks hollowed, her tongue lashing back and forth. She could vaguely hear him talking to her, grunting, and muttering words in Spanish that she didn’t understand. She placed her hands lightly his hips, allowing him to control the movement as he got closer and closer to his release. Still, Dylan didn’t know how far he was gone until she felt him explode into her mouth, warm, vaguely salty and viscous. After a moment of surprised gagging, swallowed and kept swallowing, feeling greedy for him, instinctively pulling him in and stroking him with her tongue until he was clean. Even when he was empty, she kept him in her mouth until he grew hard again.
Mark reached down to her and Dylan grabbed his hands, allowing him to pull her up so she was on his chest, her head just beneath his chin. She could feel him against her thigh, getting hard once again.
“Get on top of me,” he ordered.
Dylan followed his command, getting up, standing above him on the bed, a leg on either side of his hips. A sliver of lamplight from the pool made it so she could just see a little of his face. He looked in awe of her. She felt powerful; it made her want to tease him. She squatted slowly, lowering herself onto him, holding his hands for balance, feeling him fill her inch by inch, and straining to make out his face.
When he arched his back, she pulled herself up a little until he remembered that she was in charge and would go only at her own pace, not his. But to torture him was to torture herself, so she gave in to the urge to push down hard against him. When finally he was completely buried in her, she remained still for a moment, soaking in the feeling of Mark throbbing deep inside her, so deep it was almost painful. Dylan reached out to touch Mark’s face since she could no longer see it and he caught two of her fingers in his mouth sucking on them. The sensation shot right to her core and she clenched him inside her, holding him tight.
Mark groaned something unintelligible and held her hips as she rolled back and forth, grinding against him until he was panting, his fingers biting into her. Her fingers were still in his mouth and he clenched his teeth, biting them.
“Naughty . . .” Dylan said, moving as though to raise herself off him.
“Don’t,” Mark said, sounding desperate.
That sound in his voice emboldened her, so whenever he tried to control her movement she slowed and stopped.
“Dylan . . . Dylan . . .”
Mark saying, no groaning her name like a plea was quite possibly the most arousing thing she had ever heard. She felt the convulsions begin, the soul-wrenching, sweet descent into nothingness. And just as she was crying out again, Mark did as well. Loud.
Dylan collapsed against him, catching her breath.
“Who’s the big mouth now?” she managed.
“Shit, was that me?” he said.
Dylan giggled and Mark covered her mouth with his own to shut her up.
On Christmas Eve morning, Miri woke early and came to get her in Mark’s room, not remarking on the fact that she wasn’t where she was supposed to be.
“We have to help my Mom with the cooking,” she explained. “It’s a tradition.”
Tradition. Just the sound of the word was alluring. It spoke of constancy, predictability and certainty Dylan had never had in her own small family. In any part of her life, for that matter. She wished Ava were there to experience it with her as well—the odd comfort of being surrounded by a large group of people bound by blood and shared experiences. Tradition.
Dylan rubbed her eyes so she could focus and glanced over at Mark who face down and still dead to the world, one arm hanging over the edge of the bed, the other resting heavily across her abdomen. The evening before th
ey had all gone to a nightclub, dancing and drinking way too much. Some of Mark’s cousins met them there and Dylan had been overwhelmed. There were so many of them, it was impossible to keep the names straight. By the time everyone had arrived, they were more than twenty strong and had taken over an entire corner of the club.
Miri, Dylan, Xiomara and two of the female cousins had taken their own table from which they watched the antics of the men, and cautiously accepted invitations to dance from guys who were brave enough to ask. Dylan danced a few of times, all the while conscious of Mark’s eyes on her. To his credit, only once did he come to reclaim her from a dance partner when he had held both her hands and thread his fingers through hers, trying to pull her closer, Mark had simply walked onto the dance floor and stepped between them, causing Dylan to blush, and her dance partner to pull back immediately, apologetically. Once he had her safely back at her table he’d leaned in so she could hear him.
That’s enough dancing, he said.
Dylan considered this for a moment then nodded.
There was no question that Mark had become much more assertive now that he was sure he understood the “rules” of their relationship. He left absolutely no ambiguity about who wore the pants. Maybe as a modern, liberated woman she was supposed to be put off by that, but the opposite was true—this new side of him was sexy beyond belief. When you trusted your man as she was beginning to trust him, letting him be in the driver’s seat was way easier than she would have imagined.
“Hurry,” Miri said now. “Let’s go get dressed. I promise you, as soon as the cock crows, we’ll be expected in the kitchen.”
Dylan yawned and slid out of bed before remembering that she was naked. Miri discreetly averted her eyes while she grabbed the closest item of clothing—Mark’s t-shirt—and pulled it on. Together, they headed back to their room where Dylan washed her face, brushed her teeth and pulled on a pair of jeans. Miri, who was already dressed, came to stand behind her while she was putting on her Keds, and Dylan felt her hands in her hair.
The Seduction of Dylan Acosta Page 8
