by Parker Swift
Dylan took out some wool socks and Wellington boots from the shopping bag, just my size, and retrieved his own from a closet. We stood by the back door, and he grabbed a waxed dark coat with a high collar and fitted it onto me—it was far too big, but he rolled up the sleeves. “You’ll do.”
“I feel like a giant gnome.”
He wrapped my new scarf snugly around my neck and pulled its ends down my chest, “You look beautiful.” But he was smirking when he said it. He untucked my hair from the scarf and brushed my bangs from my eyes. “I don’t want you getting cold. I’ll get you a proper jacket for the next time we come here.”
He wore a thick chunky cream sweater and his own scarf, and once again looked like he was stepping off the pages of a fashion spread. So unfair. He opened the door and ushered me out.
We walked for at least three hours. He pointed out spots he loved—a brook and a cropping of rocks—and gestured for me to be quiet when we saw a stag. He loved this place. I could see him come alive before my eyes. A cool breeze swept over the field, and I shivered. He stopped and turned me into him, kissing me on the top of my head and rubbing his hands up and down my arms.
“You’re getting cold. Let’s head back. Let’s get you warm in front of the fire. And naked.”
* * *
Dylan was quick to build a fire in the master bedroom. The space was large but cozy, sparse but with all the essentials, and it had an old roughed-up leather sofa in front of a beautiful fireplace. I nursed a cup of tea while he worked. I could watch him leaning into the fireplace all day. In his t-shirt, his features lit by the flames he was coaxing to life, he was truly beautiful, and I was so fiercly attracted to him, but it was becoming more than that. It was more than that. My intense sexual attraction to him was still present and completely unavoidable, but now, looking at him, my chest and cheeks warmed in addition to the usual places. I cared for him deeply, but I wouldn’t let myself think beyond that—I couldn’t. I’d only known him a short time, and after everything he’d told me in the car, it was clear he wasn’t going to bring me fully into his life. But I was going to go down with this ship, even if its sinking seemed inevitable.
When he was satisfied with his handiwork he returned to me and took the mug from my hand. “Undress, Lydia.” He went and sat down on the low long couch and gestured for me to stand in front of the fire. I would have made a joke about calling him “sire” or something similarly knight-in-shining-armor related, but I thought that might actually be insensitive given what he’d said about his family.
I moved in front of him and immediately felt the warmth of the fire at my back. Dylan was relaxed on the couch, one of his feet resting on his other knee, his arms spread across the back of the sofa. He looked completely irresistible. I was already barefoot, but I unbuttoned my jeans and slowly dropped the zipper. Gripping the sides with my thumbs, I shimmied out of them, letting them rest at my feet. As I kicked them to the side, I became aware of my bare ass warming from the fire behind me. I crossed my arms in front of me and grabbed the hem of my shirt, pulling it up in a deliberately slow move, exposing my bra as I lifted the shirt over my head. Finally, I reached behind and unclasped my bra, letting it fall from my front to my feet. My cheeks were warm from being outside, and now my skin was tingling as its temperature rose from the roaring fire. I reached up to tuck the hair that had come loose from my braid behind my ears and sweep my too-long bangs from my eyes.
“Take your hair down,” he said firmly as he leaned forward and uncrossed his legs, never once taking his eyes from my own. I complied and dragged my fingers through my hair, loosening the braid and letting it fall to my shoulders. “Fucking stunning,” he whispered, eyeing me with total appreciation. I smiled, bit my lip, and looked up in both pleasure and embarrassment.
As he rose to meet me, he removed his own t-shirt. I didn’t think I’d ever get enough of that sight—him, barechested, the light from the fire against his skin. He ran the backs of his hands down my goose bump–covered arms, which was when I noticed the length of soft rope in one of this hands.
“You’ve got a fire in you, damsel. You know that, don’t you?”
I guess I did. He saw right through me. I’d never felt shy before because I’d never felt seen before. He was exposing parts of myself that I didn’t know existed, and it made me feel so acutely vulnerable. I’d always been able to manage what others saw when they looked at me. But Dylan saw through it all, and the kicker? He liked what he saw, or he certainly made me feel like he did.
“Give me your hands.” I held out my palms for him, and he made quick work of binding them at my wrists. Holding me by my bound wrists, he guided me behind the couch to the large modern four-poster, like a canopy bed with no canopy. He leaned me up against one of the bedposts and pulled my hands above my head.
“Tiptoes. Stretch those arms up, Lydia.” I obeyed without hesitation. “Good girl.” He used the loose ends of the rope to affix my hands to top of the bedpost, and I could barely touch the ground, my arms hugging the sides of my face.
Dylan took a step back to appreciate his handiwork, and smirked with a combination of eagerness and what looked like devotion, maybe even more. He took a condom from his jeans pocket before letting them and his briefs fall to the floor. Watching him stalk me like a panther coming for me made me clench, and I could feel some of the dampness release onto my thighs. I was so wet for him, aching for him.
“Dylan.” I felt alive with anticipation, but it was no longer the slightly nervous kind. I was excited, eager, already loving whatever he was going to do next.
“What do you want, baby?”
“You, Dylan, please. I just want you. Inside me.”
He tickled my side, and I shrieked, totally unable to protect myself, but he still maintained his bossy glare when he said, “When I say, baby.” Only now, I caught the adoration hiding in plain sight behind those dominant eyes. His bossiness wasn’t just a turn-your-brain-to-mush level of sexy, it was fun. It had become something we both sought. And I caught myself wondering how that had happened.
He kneeled down in front of me and lifted one of my feet, taking my toe in his mouth and biting. The sensation went right up my leg to my sex, igniting me. He proceeded to place feather-light kisses slowly up my inseam, and I convulsed on the inside, waiting for him to reach the top of my thighs. Because I was stretched so taut I couldn’t gain any purchase to actually move—I simply had to take it all in. His nose brushed my entrance, and a shiver radiated through me. But he retreated.
“No, Dylan.” I groaned. “Please.”
“Patience, my greedy girl.” He released my foot and began his assault anew with my other leg.
I was practically writhing with need. This man owned me completely, body and soul, and I needed him more than I had ever needed anything in that moment. My pussy craved him, frantic for his touch. No, not just my pussy—all of me craved him. This time when he reached his goal, he inhaled deeply and blew a long cool breath over me. I twisted my hips, attempting to manage the sensation.
“Still, Lydia.” He grabbed my hips to still me, and licked me, kissed me, not enough to bring me to the surface, all enough to drive me completely insane. I wanted nothing more than to wrap my arms around his neck and pull him into me. I could feel his lips, dampened by me, trailing wet kisses around the small patch of pubic hair above my entrance.
He stood and pressed me into the bedpost. “Wrap your legs around me.” I immediately did as I was told, and he lifted me, providing relief to my arms and allowing them to bend. He reached under me and put on the condom. “I can’t wait for tomorrow and to be rid of these. To come in you and on you. God, baby. To have nothing keeping us apart.” Were we still talking about birth control? I groaned, and he kissed and tweaked at my nipple between each syllable, and the bites of pain fueled the swirling liquid desire in my belly. I was so close to coming, and he wasn’t even in me yet. He grinned, knowing exactly what he was doing.
“Dylan
!” I groaned his name impatiently, and he impaled me fiercely and swiftly. It hit the ache inside me square on. He thrusted, lifting me on and off of him, and I pulled myself by my arms, dropping myself onto him, yearning for his impossibly deep penetration. He found his rhythm and my body began to deliver on its promise, quaking, convulsing in his grasp.
“That’s right baby. I can feel you. Kiss me when you come.” I molded my mouth to his hard and fast and unraveled in his arms. The pleasure took over my limbs, making them drift away from me, replete with the intense gratification. There wasn’t just hunger there. There wasn’t just fun. And there was no fucking way this was casual. I let him take me completely.
“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this,” he said, more to himself than to me. He deftly unworked the knot at my wrists and brought me down to the floor with him. My legs were in a tangle with his, and he was rubbing my wrists, massaging the indentations from the rope away.
“I wish we could spend the night, but I think it’s best we head back.” The sun had gone down, and it had to be at least seven in the evening.
“Ok.” I was in my own dreamy fog and was so sated and pliant, happy to have him make the decisions.
“We’ll eat here and then be off. Spend the night with me? We can pick up an overnight bag on the way.” I probably should have said no, taken some space, but I didn’t want to. How could I imagine spending the night anywhere else? God, I was in too deep, and it was definitely too quick.
I gave him an mmm in assent and nuzzled into his chest.
“Have I actually fucked you into submission?” I could hear the smile in his words.
“Mission accomplished.” I burrowed just a little deeper into him. “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course,” he said.
“In Canada, when you kissed me…” I paused.
“Mmm hmm,” he replied while lightly kissing the top of my head.
“Why did you walk away that night? Why not just sleep with me and have a one-night stand?”
He stopped the kissing, and I looked up at him. A flash of regret registered in his brow. He ran his hand through his hair.
“I wanted to—god, I wanted to. But I didn’t want to hurt you, Lydia. You’re different.”
“So what made you change your mind and leave me that note?” I said, remembering the hope I felt when Charles had delivered that notecard with Dylan’s number.
“I just couldn’t stay away. I still can’t.”
Chapter 31
When I woke I was in Dylan’s bed, and the sun was pouring through his windows. I looked at the clock on his side of the bed, and it was 5:45 in the morning. How had that even happened? The last thing I remembered had been falling asleep in his car the night before. I looked next to me at Dylan, sleeping soundly, his lips slightly parted, his leg over my own. He looked so peaceful. I laid back down as I had been and put my head on his chest.
Within a moment I felt his hand in my hair. “Morning, baby.”
I lifted my head to look at him. “Did I wake you?” I asked.
“Not at all.”
“How did I even get here?”
“Oh, well, I drugged you, naturally.” The corners of his mouth were tilted up into a lazy morning smile, even though his eyes were still firmly closed in sleepiness.
I grabbed a pillow and hit him in the face. His arms flew up in surprise and he laughed. “I’m serious!” I protested. “The last thing I remember is falling asleep in the car.” I looked and saw my overnight bag by the bathroom door. “And how did that get here?”
“You were dead asleep,” he began to explain, as he inched himself up into a sitting position, rubbed the sleep from his eyes and pulled me with him. “I didn’t have the heart to wake you. I went to your house, and left you in the car—I locked it, obviously. I packed you an overnight bag, brought you back here, and brought you up to bed.”
“You carried me?” I asked, and he nodded and yawned in confirmation. “And I never woke up?”
“It was rather remarkable. You were dead to the world.” He smiled and was thoughtful for a moment.
I snuggled into him. What a surprise this guy was. The idea of him—the same guy who apparently told Sheiks to go F themselves—rummaging through my clothes, packing me a bag. It was just so damn domestic.
“Thank you.” I reached up and kissed him on the lips.
“Well you’d better be well rested.” He smirked, and I hit him with the pillow again, sending him rolling over me to protect himself. He landed atop me, pinning me down, his eyes suddenly wide. “It’s Monday morning,” he added, obviously referring to our deadline for no more condoms. “Time for your wake-up call.”
He reached between my legs and stroked me, and I was instantly aroused. I placed my hands on his chest and took in all his strength. Within moments he was in me, skin on skin. It was my first time without a condom, and I was startled by the difference. I felt so outrageously close to him, so sensitive to his movements. The way we’d both been anticipating it, I would have thought it would have been loud and rough, but instead we made love quietly, and apart from my riotous orgasm, without kink or fanfare. It was lovely, intimate, and felt like we were the only two people awake in London.
Two hours later we were finally out of bed, in the shower, and Dylan’s strong hands were in my soapy hair, but it was as though some part of us were still making love, like we couldn’t fully leave each other. He dragged his fingernails against my scalp and kissed my nose through the water running across my cheeks, taking an extra second just to look at me. I found myself gently squeezing where my hands were resting on his hips.
“You have a busy couple of weeks ahead of you.” he said, looking as though he were making calculations in his head, planning. “The fashion show is next Wednesday?”
I nodded while tilting my hair back into the stream of water. “ And I can only imagine how frantic things will be before then. Hannah said that she may need me or Fiona to go with her to some of the other shows this week, but who knows.”
“Just tell me what your plans are. I want to know when I can see you.”
“Of course.” The water was pouring over us, and as excited as I was for this busy week, I never wanted to get out—something about this weekend felt like a major wall had been chipped apart. He was letting me in, and I wanted to let him in too. “I could just share my work calendar with you.”
“Do it,” he said, nodding.
“Will you share yours with me?” I asked, looking up into his blue eyes.
“You want to know where I am?”
“I like imagining you in your tower, designing, commanding, instructing.”
“I’ll do it as soon as I get to the office.”
I leaned up and kissed him, smiling. “Thank you.”
“And it’s your birthday next Thursday.” I snapped my head up to look at him. “You think I wouldn’t know that?”
“It is,” I confirmed. “Twenty-five. Getting long in the tooth over here.”
He jauntily slapped me on the ass. “Hardly.” He kissed me on the lips, holding my face in his hands. “Ok, you’re clean. Out. We both have to get to work.”
After drying my hair, I examined what he’d chosen for me to wear to work. I giggled while swatting Dylan’s hand away from my breast and removed a grey sleeveless tailored dress with red panels running down the sides from the bag. He’d also picked my one pair of black heels, a reliable workhorse pair I’d had resoled three times already. Looking at them now and imagining Dylan picking them up made me slightly embarrassed—they were scuffed badly and seriously in need of repair. Or replacement.
Dylan turned to me from the closet and looked like the perfectly turned-out sexy millionaire architect he was. A bespoke suit and straight narrow tie. Not a hair out of place. He reached for my hand and pulled me towards the door. “Let’s go get coffee. I’ll walk you to work.”
I raised my eyebrow up at him. He was going to let me walk? And he
was going to walk with me? “We’ll be discreet,” he said quietly, as though he were throwing caution to the wind. He stopped us on the stairs headed towards the foyer and pulled me close against him. “Lydia, where did you come from and what are you doing to me?” He was searching, questioning, looking into me trying to figure us out.
I was basking in this warmth as he shut the door behind us, with his hand at my back. But reality set in the moment we turned onto the sidewalk and that hand dropped away. If someone he knew passed us, it would be easy to make it appear as though we were strangers. I suddenly felt isolated, alone even, walking with him that way. More than I ever had before. The closer we were in private, the harsher this public distance felt.
I shook the lonely feelings aside as we ducked into the coffee shop, determined to revel in the closeness we’d had all weekend. Everything about being out, in public, together called to me—I wanted to smell him out here, feel him. While the barista was turned away, I leaned in next to him, feeling his wool jacket against my cheek. The narrow shop was otherwise empty, and we both took our time eyeing the artisanal coffees and pastries. Dylan ordered our drinks, and we stood waiting, our hands surreptitiously grazing each other. I giggled slightly when he pressed his thumb into my palm, and I could see his smile out of the corner of my eye. It was the closest I’d been to feeling like his girlfriend, to feeling like I was a part of his life.
He was opening his wallet, preparing to pay, when the shop door swung open, the bell above it rang, and a gorgeous well-turned-out couple swept in. Dylan’s head turned towards them, and his face went blank. His hand instantly fell away from my own. By the time I’d blinked, he’d stepped a foot away from me and the air had turned frigid between us. The tall woman walked excitedly towards Dylan, gripped his shoulders, and exclaimed, “Dylan Hale! We haven’t seen you in ages!”
In a flash he was gone. I was gone. Invisible.
Everything we’d built over the weekend shattered like glass, like the illusion it probably was.
