by Parker Swift
I reached out for Geoffrey’s hand. “Duke, it’s nice to see you again.” He had been silent, clearly used to letting his wife handle these awkward emotional family matters. He issued a polite reply. This wasn’t going to get anywhere with me here. I saw Dylan’s sister hanging back, looking shy amidst the tension between her brother and parents. She looked beautiful in an ivory long-sleeved gown, which was startling against her long dark brown hair.
Dylan continued to ignore his parents and reached his free hand towards his sister, smiling at her with an expression I hadn’t seen before. It was almost parental, filled with intense love and caring. He summoned her forward and said, “Emily, I’d like you to meet Lydia.” I could feel him presenting me to her, smiling above my head with pride.
Emily stepped forward towards her brother, and Dylan put his hand on her arm. I noticed the gesture and it occurred to me that perhaps I wasn’t the only one to know his overprotective side. I reached out and clasped her hand. Her face had lit up with her brother’s attention, and it was clear she worshiped him.
“It’s lovely to meet you,” she said. “I know we saw each other in Canada, but I was horribly rude, I’m afraid—”
“Oh no, you weren’t! You were on vacation with your family, and we barely met!” She brightened a little—relieved to be rescued and forgiven. I felt like an intruder with his parents there, and I saw my opportunity to help Dylan smooth things over with his parents, if that was even possible. “I’m dying for another drink. Do you want to come find the bar with me?”
Dylan’s hand resumed its fierce grip on my hip, but I looked up and pried his hand free. I planted a swift kiss on his lips, and could immediately feel the surprise register from his parents. Their eyes wide and glued to us. I whispered, “I’ll be back,” remembering the first time he’d said those words to me, at a different party, and how far we’d come since then. He smiled slightly and let me go.
Emily and I left the awkward threesome behind us. “We haven’t seen Dylan with a girl in a long time. I think my parents are kind of in shock.”
We made the rounds, and Emily pointed out the who’s who of the party, even chiming in with mnemonic devices should I need them. With drinks in hand I turned from the bar, and we began to head back into the party.
As we moved back into the boisterous throng, Dylan emerged, walking towards us with a look of determination until his eyes settled on me. As they did, I felt that familiar warmth spread through my veins. He practically collapsed into me and immediately pulled me into his protective grasp again, replacing his hand on my hip. I could feel his body relax as we settled into each other again.
He looked at Emily. “Are you doing alright?”
Emily nodded and rolled her eyes slightly. Yup, she was definitely used to his overprotective side. Dylan smiled, reassured, and continued, “Mum and Dad are off talking to the Spencers.” He pointed towards a far corner of the room, dismissing her. Lovingly, but dismissing her all the same. Perhaps he’d missed the fact that she had grown up—she and I were practically the same age, after all.
Emily looked less than thrilled to be off in search of her parents again, but she lit up when she saw someone she knew. “There’s Peter Fisher.” And she waltzed off towards a young man with a bored expression on his face. His eyes brightened up when he saw Emily coming.
I glanced up at Dylan, and who eyed poor Peter Fisher suspiciously. I wouldn’t have been surprised if he was making a mental note to check up on the poor guy later. In a moment, his eyes were back on me. I turned in to give him a full-on hug, folding myself into his grasp. “Everything ok?” I asked him.
“Yes. And don’t think I don’t know what you were doing.” I looked up at him and gave his own mischievous smile back at him. “They were bloody shocked when you kissed me.”
“And that was just a kiss.” I was smiling into his chest. He clasped his hands around me and rested them on my lower back, skin on skin. The familiar pleasurable tug was there, always present, but it was also bathed in something bigger and warmer now.
He rested his chin on the top of my head and then kissed it—it started out sweet and innocent. But then his hands slid up my sides, landing at my ribcage, and his thumbs surreptitiously skirted the edge of my dress and grazed the sides of my breasts.
“Come.” He took my hand and led me down a long hallway away from the party. When we came to a hidden corner past a bank of elevators, he backed me against the wall, leaned into me, and spoke softly. “It’s time to get you home. Out of this unbelievable dress. And for you to feel my palm on your ass.” All of my muscles, right down there, tightened, heeding him. “But I can’t wait that long. I need to touch you now.”
His intense desire for me was evident in every fiber of his body—the way he stood, ready to pounce, hovering over me. And his posture registered in my own. I reached my hands into his jacket and gently untucked the back of his shirt, so I could feel his skin beneath it. I lifted my leg through the high slit of the dress and pushed my thigh into his growing erection.
I couldn’t help but look over his shoulder to make sure no one was coming, but he cupped my chin in his hand and turned my face to his. “Look only at me, baby. Don’t worry about being caught—you don’t have to worry. I’ll never let anyone see anything they shouldn’t.” And I surrendered to him.
He looked down and saw my exposed leg. “Fucking hell, I love this dress.”
He reached down to my knee, and slowly dragged his hand up my thigh. Every centimeter closer he got to my bare slit, the wetter I became, the hungrier, the more intense the craving. My heart was racing at the thought of being caught, but I gladly relinquished any fear to him. If anyone passed, we’d just look like a young couple in love. His whole body was protecting the scene unfolding between us.
His fingers finally reached their destination, and he dragged one through my folds. I could feel my slickness, how easily his fingers glided through me. He sank two fingers deep inside me, and I allowed a moan to escape. “Shh, baby. Those moans are only for me. You need to be quiet. And don’t come.” How was I going to stop? And why was he torturing me if he wasn’t going to let me come?
After another riotous moment, he withdrew his fingers and brought them to my lips. “Taste yourself.” Holy fuck this was dirty. I pulled his fingers into my mouth and tasted my saltiness. “Good girl.” He stepped back, and left me panting, leaning against the wall. I would have been happy to collapse right there, but he grabbed my hand and led me towards the hotel entrance.
As we walked it became immediately clear why he hadn’t let me come. The throbbing ache between my legs was begging for him, and I could already feel how being spanked was going to catapult me into another universe. I was already craving the sweet stings that would come and how they would both satisfy and fuel this needy ache in my groin. There was a sheen of sweat forming on my skin in anticipation. I couldn’t wait to get home.
“Ready?” We began to descend the stairs of the hotel, and I realized that the throng of photographers was still there, awaiting our exit.
I stopped in my tracks. “Dylan! I can’t be photographed like this.”
“Like what?” He was whispering softly, so no passersby would be able to hear, “Randy? Ready to come for me?”
I blushed fiercely. “Yes!”
“You look stunning, Lydia. Don’t worry. I’ve told you already—I would never expose or embarrass you. Trust me.”
And of course I did. We walked out, and he held my hand firmly in his. This time we didn’t speak to any of the press, but we both smiled, and his hand never left mine. We ducked into his car, with Lloyd at the wheel, and were instantly protected from the crowd of cameras.
As soon as the door had closed, I tried to haul myself into Dylan’s lap, but he stopped me, and buckled my seatbelt for me instead.
“Since when do you care about automobile safety?” I asked, feeling bereft of his touch and wanting nothing more than to be ensconced in his arms. The
dull throb between my thighs was intensifying with every passing minute.
“I care deeply about your safety. I also know that you want to touch me and want me to touch you, but you’ll have to wait. Thankfully the car comes with a handy restraint system.”
“You’re driving me crazy!” I practically panted the words. My breathing was shallow, and my skin was hypersensitive, anticipating and craving his touch.
“I know.” He reached out and ran a finger from my ear, down my jaw and neck. Somehow, the light touch registered as bolts of lightning headed straight for the growing ache in my belly. The car meandered through the London streets, and I wished I could push Lloyd’s foot onto the gas pedal, make him red run lights and get me to Dylan’s bedroom faster.
As soon as we arrived at his house—at the front entrance—I eagerly unclasped my seatbelt and reached for the door handle. I had it mostly open by the time Dylan had come around to help me out of the car. “Patience, baby,” he admonished gently, and he took his sweet time sauntering to the door, unlocking, and ushering me inside.
But once inside, even his patience had been exhausted. “Aw, fuck it,” he said as he kissed me with all the fervor he’d been holding back and hauled me into his arms, and in record time we were where he’d been leading me all evening. In his bed. And he delivered on every promise.
* * *
I blinked awake to the sun pouring through the curtains and onto the bed. As I rolled over, I saw Dylan propped on his arm looking at me, smiling, and I immediately groaned and shut my eyes again. He seemed way too chipper.
“Look at me, baby.” I turned my head to face him. “Open those pretty eyes.” I reluctantly looked through my lashes up into his face.
“Happy birthday,” he said, with a Cheshire cat grin. I couldn’t help but smile back, but I still buried my head back under the pillow.
“No hiding.” He unearthed me from the pillows and pushed my hair out of my face. “Hey, it’s your birthday.”
“Uh-huh.” I was lying on my side, facing him, and he was facing me, running his fingers up and down my side and looking at me with a sweet reverence that was almost unnerving.
“And we’re celebrating. I’m taking the morning off. I’ve got plans for you.”
Dylan hopped out of bed with an unnatural energy for eight in the morning. He threw me one of his t-shirts, and before I knew it I was being dragged down the stairs towards the smell of coffee and freshly baked croissants.
I looked up at him questioningly—when did he make coffee? “Molly made the coffee,” he said, answering my unasked question as though this explained everything. I looked up at him, even more confused. “My housekeeper? She lives in a flat on the third floor.”
Dylan had a housekeeper? Who lived there? Before I had a chance to ask for clarification, the doorbell rang. We were only twenty minutes into this day, and already I felt like I had no idea what was going on.
“That will be your first birthday present.” Dylan’s grin was that of a teenage kid with a surprise up his sleeve. Oh god. What had he done? If it was one of those singing telegrams or something equally embarrassing I might have had to kill him in his sleep.
I heard Dylan greet someone at the door, and they were making their way back to the kitchen. Then I heard a very familiar female voice say, “Now where is the birthday girl?”
Chapter 39
Daphne!” I shrieked and jumped over to her, gripping her fiercely. “What are you doing here?” My face was huge with delight and the world was spinning as I oriented to my best friend being here in Dylan’s kitchen.
“Dylan flew me over. I just got in. Surprise!” She leaned into our hug and whispered, “Did you know he had a private plane?” I spun my gaze to meet Dylan’s, and he just shrugged.
I broke my hug with Daphne and went to Dylan, burying myself in him and prompting him to hug me back. I looked up, my chin to his chest. “Thank you.” I reached up and kissed him hard. “Thank you so much.”
His eyes looked glassy, and his grip on me deepened. “You’re welcome,” he said. “You two have fun. I’m going to get showered and changed.” I released him and moved to a breakfast stool, encouraging Daphne to take a seat.
“Whoa,” said Daphne, with her eyes like saucers. “You guys are serious, huh?”
“I guess we are.” I smiled.
“Well the press certainly thinks so. Look what I picked up at the airport.” Daphne put the newspaper on the counter in front of me, and there was a large photograph of Dylan and me kissing from the night before. The headline read, “Dylan Hale’s Mystery Woman Revealed.” There was no real story, apart from describing my name and age, mentioning that I was a British-born American, was working in fashion, and was wearing a Hannah Rogan gown, which Hannah would be pleased with.
“Wow,” I said, not fully believing it was anything more than a joke. The idea that there were more copies of this paper besides the one sitting in front of me was kind of mind-blowing. “This was from last night.”
“I’m going to want every. Single. Detail. I mean, that dress! You look incredible.” I nodded with excitement. “But for the love of god, go get dressed. I’m only here for three days, and we have some serious catching up to do.”
“Oh, Daphne, I’m so glad you’re here. So, so glad.” I directed her to coffee, and then hustled upstairs.
The shower was still running, and I quickly stripped and slipped in, roping my arms around Dylan from behind. He held my hands to his front, and I laid my cheek against his back. “Thank you, Dylan. Thank you so much.”
He turned and pulled me into a hug, resting his hands on my bare ass. “You’re welcome. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so happy.”
“She’s my best friend,” I said by way of an explanation. “How did you do it?”
“I worked it out with her when I called to find you. I figured either way—if you never wanted to talk to me again or if you forgave me—you’d want her here. Plus, I couldn’t think of a better birthday present.”
“Thank you,” I said, reaching up to kiss him softly on the lips.
“The real present is me having to share you for three days.” He wrapped his arms tightly around me. “Don’t misunderstand me—I want to meet Daphne, but a whole weekend when I can’t have you exactly when I want you? When we have to be quiet? It’s going to fucking kill me.”
I smiled as I laid my forehead against his firm chest, breathing in the heat of his body in the steamy shower. His hands began slowly stroking up my back.
“She’s probably tired from her flight,” I said, and I laid a kiss on his shoulder.
“Undoubtedly. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’d prefer a few moments to rest before starting her day,” he said, running his fingers through my dampening hair.
“I’m sure.” I sighed, and giggled into his skin. I had every intention of seducing him, of making him moan, but before I had a chance, he leaned down to give me a surprisingly slow, unexpectedly reverent kiss. Not the kind that would lead to my legs wrapped around his waist, but the kind that was a kiss in its own right. He wrapped his hands around my face and made every peck, every gentle laying of his lips count. When I looked up into his eyes, with the water cascading around his shoulders and down his chest, I found myself marveling at what had happened. The dream of it all dawning on me. This man loved me, and I loved him.
We stood in that shower, kissing until the water ran cold. And all the seemingly innocuous moments that had led to that love flashed before my eyes. How he’d brushed my hair from my eyes so he could see me. How he’d look at me when I was unsure. How he made me laugh. How I made him laugh. How he’d cracked me open and made me feel alive. How every doubt and moment of fear was worth it. How he felt like home.
When we finally rejoined Daphne in the parlor, Dylan urged us out the door for brunch. The three of us sat in the lush dining room at the Connaught hotel, during which Daphne grilled him, sized him up as though he were on some kind of job interview. He
withstood the inquisition well, keeping his arm around me the entire meal. It was his way of telling her that he’d be damn hard to get rid of, and I could tell she respected it. He wasn’t going to back down, and I was pretty sure that was all she wanted for me: loyalty and adoration, both of which Dylan demonstrated in spades. Before leaving us he handed Daphne his credit card and told her, “Daphne, if she finds anything she loves, use this.”
“Will do, sir,” replied Daphne, with a hint of mocking in her tone.
“And sorry I can’t join you ladies,” he continued, looking back to Daphne smiling mischievously. “You know, I’m just a formal stuffy Earl doing his Earl thing.”
Daphne’s jaw dropped and she blushed and looked at me like she was about to kill me. I was laughing so hard I nearly fell off my seat.
The day—a day that should have been filled with grief from missing my father—was somehow perfect. We perused Liberty of London, tried on half of Selfridges, and ducked into a dozen boutiques in between. I convinced Daphne that I really didn’t want Dylan spending loads of money on me, but she confessed he’d made her promise to buy me things. Apparently they’d bonded over my stubbornness. So we came to a compromise, and I let Dylan get me a new pair of black heels to replace my old worn-in pair: a pair of Manolos that I knew would please us both.
As I walked her down one of my favorite hidden mews in Mayfair, shopping bags dangling from my arm, I felt calmer, more content, more seamlessly happy than I had in a long time. And I reveled in the fact that I’d have both my boyfriend and my best friend in the same place for three whole days.
* * *
By the end of the day Monday, my first day back at work after what had been a perfect weekend, I sat at my work computer enjoying the quiet. My day had been spent wading through Josh’s insane reaction to the news that I was Dylan’s girlfriend and having a postmortem with Hannah and Fiona about how the gown had been received. Finally, by six in the evening, the office was quiet enough to scroll through the emails that had accumulated over the previous four days.
