I pause for a second, looking down at my watch once again and seeing that it’s almost five in the morning.
“Come on,” he coaxes, but I don’t need any convincing. I already know my answer.
“Sure.”
My agreement puts the biggest smile on his face, and he assures me that I’m not going to regret this.
I already know that.
We walk for a while, taking a couple of turns down blocks, until the familiar landmark comes into view. Trafalgar Square.
“Been here yet?” he asks as we get closer.
“No… I haven’t.”
I haven’t had a chance to mark it off my bucket list, so I’m feeling a little giddy about being here. Although, I never expected to visit it before dawn. The fountains aren’t even turned on yet. It’s serene. The pools of water are like mirrored glass. We’re the only people around. It’s breathtaking.
“It’s gorgeous,” I breathe.
“I was thinking the same thing,” he says, but his eyes are trained on me instead of the enormous fountains. “You’re gorgeous.”
I’m taken aback by his boldness. There are guys twice his age who fail in this category, never knowing what to say to a woman or when to say it.
Dylan’s timing is impeccable.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel awkward.”
“No, don’t be sorry. It’s the nicest thing anyone has said to me in a really long time.” I feel my heartbeat speed up and swallow thickly. Dylan’s eyes are trained on my lips, and I can’t take mine off of him. In the pale lights of the early morning, he’s even more handsome.
“Can I kiss you?” he asks, already leaning in closer, his breath hot against my skin.
“Don’t ask if you don’t mean it.” I can’t think straight. My mind is a jumbled mess. The only thing I know in this moment is that I want to know what it’s like to kiss this man. Even if it’s just this once. Even if I shouldn’t want it. It’s a ridiculous idea, but I can’t help it.
“Oh, I mean it.”
Dylan’s arm wraps around me and under my backpack, pulling me into him. His other hand reaches up to cup my cheek, his long fingers tangling into my hair at the nape of my neck. His lips brush across mine. They’re soft and patient. When I lean in for more, he tilts his head to the side, pulling me in closer. The kiss deepens and my knees go weak.
I can’t remember the last time someone kissed me like this… Maybe no one ever has.
When he breaks the contact of our mouths, he leans his forehead into mine and then places his lips there. It’s reverent, like a promise or a prayer, and I have to hope it’s not the only time he asks to kiss me.
We sit on a bench near the fountains, Dylan’s arm wrapped around my shoulder and the other hand around my waist. Sitting here in the middle of Trafalgar Square, nestled into his side, feels surreal. I know this isn’t real life. It can’t be… but I don’t care. I’ll just let it be… whatever it is and try not to overthink it.
I must doze off, because I feel Dylan nudge my shoulder, waking me up.
“Watch.” He points over to the middle of the square, where the water lies still.
Suddenly, the fountains hiss to life. Sprays of water whip into the breeze, and the early morning sun shines down.
I wish I could capture this moment and carry it with me always.
“Thank you,” I whisper to Dylan, unwilling to disrupt the peaceful atmosphere around us.
After a few minutes of taking it all in, his lips kiss the top of my head as he draws in a deep breath. “Let’s go.”
Peace.
Contentment.
A new sense of wonder for life.
They’re the same recurring feelings I have the more time I spend with Dylan. I’d like to put him on repeat, multiply the minutes, or better yet, make time stand still. Just for a while.
We make our way back to Notting Hill. Once we’re off the tube, we wave at a few faces that have become familiar over the last week, people who are starting their day. I can’t remember the last time I stayed out all night.
Quietly, we let ourselves into the flat, trying not to disturb anyone who might still be sleeping. Lucy’s boyfriend, Nigel, stays here most nights, and she’s renting out her small office, turned fourth bedroom, to a younger guy from Germany. We’ve got a full house.
Walking into my room, my hopes of a few hours of restful sleep are dashed. The early morning sun is beating in, covering the room in a bright orange glow. I groan when I realize that the flimsy white curtains do nothing for keeping out the light.
“Hey,” Dylan says quietly from the doorway. “You can sleep in my room. It’s nice and dim.” He waggles his eyebrows, but I can tell by his playful demeanor that there’s nothing behind his offer besides a few hours of sleep.
“You sure? These beds are small.”
“You’re small. Let’s get some sleep,” he says, waving me into his room.
I hesitate for a second, questioning myself for the millionth time since I got here last week. What the hell am I doing? But then Dylan smiles at me, his green eyes sleepy, and I can’t refuse.
“Okay.”
Like earlier this morning, Dylan’s palm is flat on my back, and he urges me into the room, shutting the door behind him. I stand there staring at the bed, frozen in indecision. Do I sleep fully clothed? I’ve been wearing these jeans and t-shirt since yesterday.
I hear the small chest of drawers being opened behind me, and Dylan hands me one of his t-shirts and a pair of sweats. “Here. Put these on. I won’t look.”
But I do look.
I watch Dylan grip the back of his shirt and pull it over his head, exposing his chiseled chest. He’s not too muscular, just enough to have a few packs on his abs and a nice ‘v’ shape angling down toward his boxers that are sticking out of the top of his jeans.
Damn. I suck in a much needed breath and wet my parched lips with my tongue.
“You okay?” he asks, balancing on one leg as he takes his shoe off.
“Uh, yeah. Fine. You said you weren’t going to look.”
“Oh, right. Sorry.” He hops on his foot until he’s facing the wall, and I have a nice shot of his jean-clad ass. I wonder what it looks like. I’m guessing as good as his chest.
That kiss must have made me stupid.
It was just a kiss… just a moment. He probably would’ve kissed anybody in that moment, right? What the hell am I doing?
For a moment, I allow myself to have a mini inner freak-out.
I kissed Dylan… or he kissed me… Whatever… We kissed! I kissed a twenty-two-year-old. Does this shit happen in real life? Is this real life? What happens now?
When I hear Dylan shaking his pants off onto the floor, I immediately tense. It takes every ounce of energy I have left not to turn around and ogle the goods, and again, I wonder where my inner compass has gone. Where’s my conscience to draw me back in? It’s like all of my common sense has abandoned me.
I’ve really gotta get a grip. Focus, Meg. It was just a kiss. No harm can come from a kiss. People kiss people every fucking day. Don’t go there. Take ‘fucking’ out of your vocabulary.
I make quick work of changing my clothes, folding my dirties up and laying them beside the door.
“Which side?” I ask, trying to think about sleeping and keeping my mind out of the gutter.
“Right.”
“I was hoping you’d say that.” I smile and climb over toward the wall, crawling under the blanket. Dylan follows me in and does the same. Just about the time I find the sweet spot on the cool pillow, I feel his arm snake around my waist and pull me in close.
“Do you mind if we snuggle?” His voice is lazy and tired. I shake my head in response, unable to make a coherent statement. His proximity and warmth relax me, making me even more sleepy than I already was.
This feels right.
My mind starts to challenge me, but soon sleep takes over, and I fall into a peaceful dream about boyish sm
iles and green eyes.
I stretch my body out languidly, like a cat on a warm window sill. It takes me a second to remember where I am and why I’m here. But the death grip around my waist and the very erect penis at my back is a stark and startling reminder.
I can’t help the giggle that bubbles up out of me.
Like, who am I? Whose life did I steal? Because I’m Meg Williams. I wake up alone. It’s been so long since I woke up next to anyone, except for a ten-year-old, who’s feet are usually jabbing my ribs.
Grant and I haven’t slept in the same bed in over two years and it’s been even longer than that since I’ve been intimate with anyone. The demise of our sex life happened long before the end of our marriage.
We separated, tried to work things out… went to marriage counseling. The result was always the same—Grant making empty promises. He’d say he wanted to fix things… fix us, but when it came down to it, he’d talk a good talk and then do what he wanted. It was like when he wasn’t home, he wasn’t married.
I eventually lost respect and trust for him. There was no saving our relationship. I don’t miss him. I don’t miss anything about what we had. But this… I miss this.
I miss waking up to someone… even if there is a hard length rubbing up against my backside.
The giggles return, and a hand tickles my side, making me laugh even more.
“What’s so funny?” His husky, sleepy voice is beyond sexy.
“Nothing. I just get a little stiff while I’m sleeping, and I need a good stretch.”
He laughs into the pillow, pulling me tighter to him, making sure I can feel just what he’s packing. And it’s nice. I’m not gonna lie. It feels good, and I want more.
“You’re looking for trouble with statements like that.” His words are gruff in my ear, turning me on even more than I already am.
“Oh, yeah?” I ask. “And why’s that?” Apparently, I’m a lot braver and less reserved when I first wake up.
“I think you know why, and I’m pretty sure you can feel just what you’re doing to me.”
“I thought all guys wake up like that.”
“Yeah, but not like this. This,” he says, running his hand down my side to my exposed hip and pulling me into him. “This is all you.”
“Really?” I ask, rolling over to face him just in time to see him prop himself up on one elbow, his muscles flexing at the angle, with his chest right in my face.
“Yeah, I’ve been jacking off twice a day since you got here.”
Holy shit.
“That’s, uh…” I bury my face in his chest so he can’t see the blush I know is there.
“Sorry. I have zero filter in the morning.” He chuckles at his confession with such ease, his confidence only adding to his appeal. “Meg, what are you thinking?” he asks, forcing me to look at him.
“I’m not. I mean, I must not be thinking, because if I was, I’d be running down the hall and barricading myself in my room until it’s time for me to fly home.”
His honesty must be rubbing off on me.
“Why?”
“Because I shouldn’t be here. We shouldn’t be like… this.”
“Why not? Don’t you like me? Aren’t you attracted to me?”
“You have no idea.”
“Well, then what’s so bad about… this?” His hand is back on my hip, and he’s tracing lines up and down and around… making me forget what my argument was.
Shit.
I can barely remember my name.
“I don’t want to be some cougar who’s …”
“Stop right there.” He places a finger on my lips, pressing them closed. His green eyes are locked with mine, and the way his eyebrows are pinched together, I know he’s being serious, trying to make a point. “Age isn’t an issue for me. I’d be attracted to you if you were eighteen or fifty. I’m just as drawn to what’s in here,” he says, placing his hand over my heart, “as I am to how beautiful you are. And Meg, you are so beautiful. I’ve never been so attracted to anyone in my entire life.” He pauses, kissing my nose and my cheeks. “And before you go spouting off something about me not knowing or that I haven’t lived yet, forget that. I’ve lived. I’ve been on every continent. I’ve had girlfriends. I’ve had my heart broken. So don’t look at me like I’m some kid who you’re going to taint. That’s not even the case. This is just two people who like each other … who are drawn to each other. You can’t make that shit up. It either happens or it doesn’t.”
This rant that he’s on has me entranced. His words hit me at my soul. They resonate deep within, and I realize he’s right. When I look at Dylan, I don’t see the same twenty-two-year-old I did on the first day we met. Sometimes he seems older than me. It’s weird. And wonderful.
“Kiss me.”
I’m hit with a searing kiss that rivals the one from earlier at the fountains. My toes curl into the sheets, trying to hold me to the earth, because I feel like I could float away. His hands roam my body, slowly, as if he’s memorizing each plane and valley.
Soon, soft, gentle strokes are replaced with urgent, needy ones.
Clothes are discarded aimlessly.
Words are whispered.
Pleas are made.
Together, we create a perfect ebb and flow, our bodies finding the synchronization we’ve experienced through conversation since the day we met. But this time, we’re communicating on a whole new level—brushes of lips, soft touches, and a deep need like I’ve never known before.
And once again, we’re on exactly the same page.
Later, when we're both sated, allowing the crackle in the air to calm, Dylan is the one to break the silence. “It’s never felt like that for me. Ever.”
“For me either,” I admit. Sex with Grant was good, but it was not earth-shattering or life-changing, and I swear to God, I felt the axis of my world shift. Once again, I’m reminded of Grant’s selfishness. He was self-serving in the bedroom as well. Always out for number one. Sometimes, during sex, it felt like it was a race to the finish line. If he got there first, I was on my own to finish. And once again, Dylan was anything but selfish. He took his time and took me places I’ve never been before. Seems to be a theme with us and our relationship. And I love it. I can’t get enough of it. And in a few days, when I have to board a plane back to the States, I don’t know if I’ll be able to let him go.
“You don’t have to say that,” he murmurs, his lips in my hair.
“I wouldn’t if I didn’t mean it,” I tell him honestly. There’s so much more I could tell him, but I still feel the need to guard my heart. This is a holiday fling. And even though he makes claims about never feeling like this before, those feelings could be fleeting.
He kisses the top of my head and wraps his arms protectively around me, holding me close. Soon, his breaths even out and his grip loosens. I think about getting up and taking a shower, but my body feels like jello when I try to move. So I resume my position from earlier and drift back off to sleep.
Since our midday sexcapade, Dylan and I have shared a room.
My days have been spent out with Dylan, traipsing around London, and my nights have been spent wrapped up in him.
Tonight, we’re going on a date.
He asked me out, and I said yes. I know we’re going backwards here, but it feels right… and romantic. If I haven’t had sex in over two years, I haven’t been on a date, like a real, honest-to-goodness date in ten.
Our relationship feels comfortable and empowering, kind of like my favorite black dress. There’s nothing fancy or flashy about it. It’s understated yet sexy. And it makes me feel like a million bucks.
Speaking of my favorite black dress, I’m glad I packed it, because it’s coming in handy tonight. I check myself over in the mirror one last time before swiping red lipstick across my lips and heading out into the hall. My breath hitches in my throat when I see Dylan leaned against the wall, wearing dark jeans and a black shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.
He has a bulky silver and black watch on his wrist, and I catch a whiff of cologne. It’s intoxicating. He’s intoxicating. I’ve never done drugs, but if he was one, I’d be an addict.
“You look … wow.”
“This old thing?” I ask, smoothing down the front of my dress. I know I look good in it. It’s the reason I’ve had it for so long. Once you find something that works, you keep it around.
Dylan works.
I wish I could keep him around.
But I can’t think about that right now. Right now, I want to go out with this amazing man and enjoy London. My departure is growing near, and I want to enjoy this while I can.
“I could say the same about you.”
“This old thing?” he asks, mocking me as he wraps his arms around me and kisses my cheek, breathing me in. When he does that, my whole body tingles. “You ready?”
I nod and take his hand. On our way out the door, I hear Lucy call out to us to have a good time. Dylan shuts the door behind us and offers me his arm as we stroll down the street.
“Where to, maestro?”
“You’ll see.”
We walk a few blocks, passing dimly lit windows and shopkeepers taking merchandise in for the night. The city takes on a different feel when the sun goes down.
“I love the glow in the sky from the lights of the buildings,” I say softly. “It’s kind of dreamy.”
“It is,” Dylan agrees. ‘Strangely, I think every city has its own glow.”
See, there he goes again, giving me new perspective by sharing his own version of the world. It’s beautiful, just like him.
“Watch the puddle,” Dylan says while he simultaneously lifts me from the ground as he makes sure I don’t step in the water. Chivalry is not dead. It lives boldly in Dylan Harris.
Mentally, I take a snapshot of this moment. The way the smell of wet asphalt and fresh flowers and Dylan swirl around me as the breeze picks up. I want to remember it always, take it with me and use it as a pick-me-up on a day I feel down and lonely.
I’m in such a daze that I don’t even notice the pub, tucked in between two flats, until Dylan pulls on my hand, signaling me to stop.
What the Heart Wants: An Opposites Attract Anthology Page 11
