by S. A. Wolfe
I have to accept Carson’s words as truth. I know so little about him, but if he’s telling me that Dylan suffers from serious bouts of depression and erratic behavior, then I have to honor Carson’s wishes. His brother has an illness and I can either be a hindrance or a help with his wellbeing. If Carson is attempting to scare me away with the reality of Dylan’s prognosis, then Carson knows less about me than he thinks.
I may be a late bloomer when it comes to relationships and people in general, however, in my short time here, I have developed some feelings for Dylan. At first, I thought it was a crush, falling for a handsome guy that I thought was out of my league, although to be fair to myself, I am a cautious person when it comes to men.
Being much younger than my classmates and work colleagues has taught me to be careful when it comes to deciphering the overtures of men. Youth has worked against me in the arena of love and I have had to deal with a greater learning curve than most women.
When I replay the scenes with Dylan over in my mind, as well as Carson’s revelation about Dylan, they have made me see this serendipitous moment for what it is. Dylan does care about me and Carson is making it clear that he sees me as an adult, not a child; a woman mature enough to be with Dylan and to help him. I’m sure I can love Dylan or rather, I can let myself fall in love.
I watch Carson’s back as he does the dishes while, at the same time, I formulate a new resolve to be a different woman, a stronger person.
“You okay there?” Carson asks, watching me daydream in the middle of drying a mixing bowl.
I step towards him to hand off the bowl, catching one rubber flip-flop on top of the other and stumbling right into him. Carson catches me in a tight grip as the metal bowl clangs across the floor.
“Barnacles!” I exclaim.
He laughs. “Yeah, you’re real fine.” He holds me tightly and pulls me back up. “You need to wear real shoes or you’re going to get injured in your own home.”
Home.
“Yeah, yeah.” I laugh and push away from his grasp.
I could berate myself over and over for getting gushy over a man saving me, but I have to look at Carson in a new light. I need him as a friend because he’s right. I have a new home, new friends and a potential new man that is good despite coming with some baggage. After all, who doesn’t have some type of baggage? I have two critical, demanding parents that repel my friends, I have a job that bores the bejeezus out of anyone who asks me about it, and socially I’m not known for my exciting affairs. I was the nerdy wallflower who happened to inherit a couple of good genes; pretty and smart. It’s time to make good on them.
Before we leave for Lois’s party, I take a quick shower and change into a summer dress. Carson waits impatiently downstairs so there’s no time for make-up or taming my hair.
My dress twirls up over my thighs as I run barefoot down the stairs. Carson lets out a low whistle, so I quickly brush the linen fabric down with my hands to cover myself up, although it’s not anything he hasn’t seen before.
“Nice legs,” he says in a sexy voice that I don’t think was intentional.
I will just have to accept that I view Carson as a lusty man. Every time he speaks to me or flips his hammer in his hands, I think everything about his body and gruff personality exudes a dynamic masculinity. I look away from him and search for my dressy sandals in the hall closet.
“I can drive myself to Lois’s house. That way you can go home and change,” I offer.
“Change? Why do I want to change?” Carson’s holding both pies and his keys.
“Because it’s a party. Don’t you want to look nice?”
“We’re not going to a ball. This is how I always look. I think everyone is used to me as I am,” he says. “Why? Do you think I look bad?”
Of course not. He is splendid. However, I can’t arrive at the party with Carson if I want to see Dylan.
It’s as if Carson can read my thoughts as I bite my lip and ponder the situation. “It’s fine,” he says rather forcefully. “This isn’t a date and no one will think it is, so don’t worry; we can go together.”
“I’m not worried what other people think,” I say in a huff. I lock the front door and take one of the pies from him. I walk rapidly to his truck with him right on my heels. Seriously, I feel like one of his big boots is going to crush me.
The pies are still warm as they rest in my lap, making me perspire even more. We ride in silence as I resist the urge to glance over at Carson. I suspect he’s aware of my plan to renew my interest in Dylan. If Carson thought he’d sway me otherwise, his strategy has done the opposite. I’m eager to see Dylan and I’m pretty sure that Carson is on to me. His deep sighs periodically break the quiet tension.
I laugh to myself. I have the world’s laziest dog, Hangover, I have a quasi-boyfriend who is too cute and unstable for his own good—Hotty—and my new protector or guardian, who I can only think of as Lusty. What a cast of characters.
Eighteen
“Why are you so jumpy?” Carson asks when we pull in on the grassy area where everyone else has parked in front of Lois’s quaint farmhouse.
There are guests milling around the front porch and admiring the gardens around the side of the house. I search the unrecognizable faces.
“He’ll be here,” Carson says harshly.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“I know, but you’re jittery as all hell. Dylan will be here.” Carson slams his door before walking around the truck to meet me by my door. I’m not moving towards the house; I’m frozen there, holding two pies.
“How do you know? I wasn’t very nice to him the last few weeks. I wouldn’t even speak to him.”
“He’s not angry at you,” Carson reassures me. “He blames me for coming between you two, but even then, Dylan is a very forgiving guy. Even on his worst day, he doesn’t hold grudges.”
“Good. I’m going to give Lois the pies and look for Dylan.” I head for the party without waiting for him, though I do hear him utter a terse “fine” behind me.
I make my way through the crowded porch and living room, nodding to people who say hello. I am searching for Lois so I can hand off these damn pies, but I’m really looking for any sign of a head with golden curls, any sign of Dylan. Lois comes out of the kitchen and puts out her two hands, reaching for my pies.
“Look at you! How pretty you are! I’ll take these to the buffet table,” she greets. “Where’s Carson?”
“He’s not far behind. Probably on the porch or out in that living room crowd,” I answer, my head bobbing around, looking for Dylan.
“Oh,” Lois starts. “Well…”
“Well, what?”
“Didn’t you come with Carson?”
“Yes. We made the pies together and he drove me over here.”
She looks pleased at that and then I realize she assumes I’m with Carson.
“We’re not on a date, Lois. Carson was my ride.”
“Okay, dear.” Lois sighs.
“Have you seen Dylan?”
“I think he may be out milling around the garden,” she answers, sounding disappointed.
Lois’s garden on the side of the house isn’t your average sprinkling of flower plots. The area of the garden is vast, covering much more land than her home. The entrance of the garden is adorned with abstract stone sculptures and white fairy lights wired through the trees and hedges.
I enter the sanctuary and am immediately dazzled by what I see. A magnificent, old fountain lights up in muted shades of pink arches of water over its three tiers. The fountain is the focal point and large enough that twenty people could climb in it if they got drunk enough and daringly stupid. I imagine my old roommates Kate and Marissa doing this. I realize then that in my mind I have referred to them as my old roommates. Have I decided to stay in Hera?
Various garden paths lead away from the fountain where different beds of roses and lilies are in abundance. There are also a number of herbal plots that send
an aromatic blend of lavender and thyme across the pleasant evening air. I can’t see the entire garden from the entrance, it’s too large. The paths go off into hidden areas where other party guests have settled themselves on stone benches or delightful antique swings. I can’t see everyone, but I can hear laughter and conversation rise up from the tall hedges that create a wonderful mystery maze.
I begin to roam the gravel path, looking for the familiar face I am so desperate to see. Dylan. The thought of his beautiful smile looking down on me and his strong arms wrapped around me sounds like the best antidote to my sexless life. Maybe he’s not just another playboy and he actually has feelings for me. Maybe it doesn’t even matter. I want to be with him, I need to be with someone. It’s safe to assume it’s lust, but my gut tells me that I can get closer to Dylan if I try and perhaps a relationship with him is worth pursuing after all.
I eagerly turn a corner into a secluded alcove of arched tree branches over a marble sculpture that looks like some Greek god. As I consider how much planning and work went into this spectacular garden, I hear a twig snap and the sound of crunching gravel nearby, so I look behind me.
“Hey,” Dylan says. His voice is low and tentative.
I stare at him for a moment; first because I’m surprised to see him after realizing that I did miss him over the last two weeks, and second, because he is shockingly handsome. His curly hair looks blonder and he’s definitely tanner, so he must have spent a lot of time in the outdoors while we were apart.
He steps into the alcove with me where we are alone; far removed from the other guests and the musicians that have begun performing some joyful Mozart sonatas.
“Lois has really outdone herself with this garden,” I say, my hands fumbling at my sides.
Dylan smiles and looks relieved. “It took her a few years and a lot of arguments with architects and landscapers to get to this.”
I wonder how I can continue to be overwhelmed by his sweet beauty when I seem to have the same thoughts about Carson’s lustiness. I have never been like this with any other guys. I could have a mild crush or interest in someone in the morning and by lunch, I’d write them off as a dope. Am I simply so inexperienced in love and relationships that I crumble when I’m around these two brothers? I’m all nerves and adrenaline with Dylan standing before me and it’s only Dylan and Carson that do this to me. There’s no future with Carson, he’s made it clear that he’s around to make sure Dylan and I don’t screw up our lives. Dylan is around because he and I have an unmistakable attraction to one another.
“I owe you an apology.” I find it difficult to look into his soft eyes without feeling a stab of guilt.
“No, you don’t.” He smiles.
“It was horrible of me not to take your phone calls. I could have answered the door, too. I was rude. Thank you for all the flowers you sent. They were beautiful.”
“Lois cut them from her garden. I kept running to Target to buy more vases so I could leave them at your door.” He laughs and the sparkle is back in his eyes.
I step forward, wrap my hands around his neck to pull him down into a kiss and he responds without pause. His soft lips on mine and his tongue circling in my mouth make my desire more intense, so I press firmly into him, aggressively searching for what I was missing. Dylan reacts with the same vigorous force as though we can’t get close enough to one another. One of his hands travels up my back and positions securely on my shoulder blade as he works his kisses down to my neck and bare collarbone.
I wish I were the kind of person who could drop all inhibitions for once and tumble to the ground with Dylan, pulling each other’s clothes off. I have a dreadful, nagging inner voice that warns me of being reckless, though. I push the nag aside. For once I want to be recklessly in love, I want to be naked against him. The hardness from his groin strains against his pants and presses against me while my nipples spring into rigid nubs as his hand fondles my breasts.
“I didn’t see your Jeep. Did you drive here?’ I ask between heavy breaths.
“Yes,” Dylan says wickedly into my ear before sucking on the lobe.
“Let’s go to my house. Now.”
“Yes,” he says again, pulling away. “Now.”
He takes me by the hand and leads me out of the garden maze. We don’t stop to chat or even say hello to people who smile as we stalk by as fast as we can. When we pass the front porch, I see someone turn from a group of men who are laughing loudly. It’s Carson who watches Dylan settle me into the passenger side of the Jeep. I look down and pretend I haven’t noticed him, but as we drive away, I look back up directly into Carson’s unreadable gaze.
Nineteen
My bedroom is stifling. Dylan races around and opens the windows. He shuts off the overhead light and turns on a small antique lamp on the dresser that gives off a yellow glow. He also shoos Bert out of the bedroom and closes the door. I hear a click as he locks it. I stand by the side of the bed, excited and feeling silly at the same time. Dylan strides toward me, pulling off his T-shirt in one fast move. He’s walking and removing his jeans at the same time. I’m impressed with his cheetah-like reflexes and watch him as if it’s a private show for me.
In seconds he stands before me in his briefs and begins removing my dress, which happens in the blink of an eye. Then we are there, together in the darkened room, with romantic lighting, sheer curtains billowing in the light warm breeze and the two of us stripped down to our underwear.
Dylan towers over me, solid, thick muscles, making him look like he has been created to resemble the perfect Romanesque sculpture. He puts his hands on either side of my arms and waits for me. I unfasten the front clasp of my lace bra and wriggle out of it. Dylan’s hands slide down my arms and cup my breasts. The excitement of his touch sends a tremor down to my center where a tingling sensation torments me.
I really have no interest in long, slow foreplay. I’ve waited too long for this and Dylan is the perfect candidate to take my virginity.
“I can’t keep waiting.” I yank Dylan by the hands so he falls with me onto the bed. He is on top of me and laughs as he leans on one arm and pulls off his briefs. I wriggle beneath him and pull off my lace panties.
Even in the dim light, we can see each other’s bodies perfectly. My fair skin against his enormous erection instinctively makes me open my legs and pull my hips up so my thighs can wrap around him.
“Oh God,” he says, looking down at me. He reaches for the nightstand where he has tossed a couple of condoms when he came in. He moves quickly to open one and put it on. I don’t know whether to be impressed by his speed or concerned with his skill and dexterity at doing it with one hand. How many times has this guy been in a condom emergency? How many women has he slept with or should I call it what it is, fucking?
We kiss and I run my tongue over and under his teeth. I want to bite him, but I manage to contain myself. I feel his arms hitching underneath my knees pushing them up higher. I’m a little worried. I have no experience to really base this on, however, Dylan is a tall man, his penis seems unusually large and I don’t see how he can fit inside of me. I glance down as he rubs against me, making me wetter. He looks into my eyes as if sensing my nervousness.
“Don’t worry. I’ll be gentle, the first time,” he says and then smiles. He’s joking, making light that we’ll have several rounds of sex. I wonder if that’s a line men always use with women, pretending they have to tone down their superhero sex powers so they don’t hurt the little lady. He has no idea that his first time with me is my first time ever, and I’m a little too nervous to appreciate his Thor humor.
We kiss again. This time it becomes more frantic as Dylan rubs himself against my soft, wet folds. I groan, never having been this close. Then I reach down and replace his hand with mine. His hand comes up to my breasts, which he palms before placing his mouth on my nipples, sucking them roughly. This alone could be my undoing.
“Now,” I say, trying to push him inside of me.
“Wait,” he whispers. He removes my hand from his body and pins both of my hands above my head with his one strong hand. His other hand probes inside my wet, tender center. I wriggle beneath him, raise my legs higher and wrap them around his back. He keeps my hands and arms locked firmly in place as he continues to suck and nibble on my breasts while pushing his fingers further inside of me.
“I’m so ready, Dylan,” I say, feeling liquid seep out of me. “I can’t get any wetter or any hornier than this.” The desire is completely overwhelming I can’t spare any time to be embarrassed over what I’m saying.
“I know,” he says and pulls his fingers out of me. He looks down between us and positions himself about a half-inch into me before he begins thrusting gently forward.
“Oh,” I moan with surprise rather than pleasure.
“Does that hurt?” he asks, slowing down.
“No, keep going.” I lie. Yes, it hurts a little, but I’m not going to tell him that.
“I’m not about to stop,” he rasps. He thrusts harder and faster and it feels good and painful at the same time. He keeps it slow with short thrusts and the tingling starts in my clit and then sends little signals out to my limbs before it reaches a small crescendo of pleasure. As I begin to want him to go deeper and faster, Dylan does. He lets go of my imprisoned hands and props himself up higher on his hands, driving his pelvis deeper into mine, grinding into me. He grunts as his thrusts become longer and he plunges further into me. My brain goes mindless with a brief spasm of ecstasy until the thrusting actually begins to ache too much. The minor enjoyment I was experiencing is gone and there’s only sharp discomfort followed by Dylan groaning.
I close my eyes and hold him tighter, letting him settle on top of me with all his weight, still inside of me. This togetherness is an extraordinary sensation and so new to me. No pushing a guy off me or rolling away to excuse myself from their reach forever. This is what it feels like to have someone enthralled by your body, mindless and lost in a titillating oblivion. It certainly doesn’t last long and it didn’t have the gratifying end result for me, but I have a sense of satisfaction as Dylan buries his face into my neck and his exhausted body goes limp.
