by L. V. Lewis
Dylan grins. “Admit it. You want my body primarily. The studio sessions are secondary.”
I grin back and kiss him square on the mouth, our first PDA since the bungalow change. When we come up for air, I find that Eric and few other looky-loos are watching us with interest.
I lean in to whisper in Dylan’s ear. “Don’t look now, but our kiss just drew an audience.”
“Oh yeah?” He stands and offers me his hand. “Then I suppose we should really give them something to talk about.”
We join a half dozen other couples on the dance floor, where we slow dance until Sky and Brody join the fray in their first dance as Mr. and Mrs. Kent per the dee-jay’s announcement. While they do the dancing with the parents, etc. Dylan and I slip back to our seats.
Remaining at the reception just long enough for Sky and Brody to complete all the traditions, both Western and Asian, and a few other of the guests have already left, we finally determine that it’s a good time to bail on the festivities. We say our goodbyes to Brody and Sky, since they will change residences tonight and will retire to the romantic pool residence villa right off the island which you can only get to by boat.
“We’ll see you guys on Sunday for brunch when we prepare to say goodbye to all our guests,” Sky says.
“Okay, chica,” I say. “In the words of my grandma Riley, ‘have yourself a funky good time.’”
Dylan and Brody laugh, and Dylan says, “Oh, it will be funky,” he pulls Sky into his arms, “and an extremely good time.”
We all laugh share a final hug round of hugs, and Dylan takes my hand and we leave the reception.
As much as we’d like to tear off our clothes in a frenzy to get naked, we take our time and remove our fancy duds and hang them neatly in their respective garment bags. When all that’s left is underwear, we attack one another with alacrity. Lunging forward, Dylan grasps my head between his hands and kisses me so hard, my knees buckle. But he keeps me from falling and half carries me to the bed where we fall into the downy soft mattress, our lips still joined.
I gasp when our mouths part. “I can’t wait until we get to wake up together in the mornings, and write songs together.”
He smiles against my lips. “Neither can I. This last year was the worst of my life, and I don’t want to go through that again.”
“We’ve got so much to look forward to in the next year, I’m sure we’ll erase all the bad memories. Starting tonight.” I kiss him again.
Dylan engages and rolls me smoothly beneath him and settles between my thighs. He laces his fingers with mine, pushing my hands up onto the pillows. With a lift of my hips, I rub myself shamelessly against the growing erection in his underwear. He sucks on the sensitive flesh of my neck, and I moan as he pulls it between his lips.
“I think I’m going to spend the next three months with my head between your legs,” he murmurs before his lips claim mine again.
This time when we break for air, I gasp. “Oh, fuck! Bring it baby.” We’ve been apart a year, yet he still drives me crazy with his dirty talk.
He slides down my body, his talented calloused, drummer hands grasping my rib cage, and sliding underneath me to unclasp my bra. He kneads my breasts through the flimsy fabric before he divests me of the bra completely, and his mouth claims one nipple and then the other, giving them an equal measure of attention. I writhe, attempting to give him more of me and his mouth closes over my whole breast. I squirm, not to get away, but to give him better access to the breast he’s devouring.
Before Dylan and I got back together and I was going through that dating ruse with Eric, I’d almost convinced myself that I was never going to have a fulfilling relationship again, particularly not one with great sex. Dylan ruined me for casual dating. Now, he was back in my life and I couldn’t get enough of him.
He scrapes his chin bearing the beginning of a five-o’clock shadow over my belly and zeros in on my navel with his tongue.
“Oh, Dylan. That feels amazing.” I moan again as his fingers simultaneously skim my upper thighs. He slips his fingers underneath the gusset of my panties and slides over my labia, which is hot, wet and ready for him.
“You’re so wet for me, baby.”
“Fuck yes,” I agree. I grin up at him as he pulls my panties slowly down my thighs. We hear a popping sound in the distance, and I glance out the window to see the sky lighting up in a brilliant array of colors, one after another. It is only then I remember that Sky and Brody planned to have a firework display on the beach after the reception. Dylan lifts his head and checks them out as well. Illuminations of red, blue, green and gold continue to clash in the night sky.
“I know I’m good, but I didn’t know I could evoke real live fireworks.”
I push at his chest playfully. “How egotistical Mr. Castle.”
He answers me with a growl, and jerks my panties down and slides them off my feet. He moves back halfway up my body, and his mouth descends on me and the fireworks seem a very fitting backdrop for the sensation Dylan is eliciting from me. I gasp almost in concert with each round of brilliant light and the whistling and popping of the fireworks. Yet, I’m nowhere near an orgasm. With a deliberate kiss, Dylan lifts his head.
“You’re distracted,” he says, and I don’t have the temerity to refute his claim. I’m wondering if it was selfish of us to leave my best friend’s reception so soon.
“If they’d wanted us to stay, they would’ve said so.” God this man knows me too fucking well!
“You’re right,” I say and kiss him, tasting myself on his delectable lips.
He stands up from the bed and takes my hand, leading me to the large window that looks out to the ocean. “Here’s the best of both worlds. Watch while I work,” he says stepping up behind me, nuzzling behind my ear.
“Mmm,” I say. His lips blaze a trail down my throat, as my knees bump against the pane of the window. He works his hand between my breast and the glass, using his thumb to stroke over one hard nipple while the coolness of the window smooshes the other.
He slides his hands down my hips and kneels on the floor behind me. With a palm bracing me across my mons, he adjusts my hips until my cleft is bared to the warmth of his breath. I place both hands on the window, bracing my chest against the cool pane.
Dylan kisses each buttock, then slides his fingers into my cleft in an up and down motion. He inserts a fingertip, grazes my g-spot and I gasp. Finally his nose leads into the space where he’s removed his fingers, and his tongue slides between my folds to circle my clit. I jerk spasmodically, but try not to move too much and lose these fantastic sensations. His rough jaw scrapes my inner thighs as he laps between my legs like it’s the dessert we declined at the wedding. My legs quake.
“Fuck, you taste good,” he murmurs against me, his hands steadying me with my hips. He sucks my clit and I rise up on my tip-toes as his tongue soothes where he sucked before.
He burrows his tongue into my core. “Ooh, Dylan,” I hiss. He fucks me with his tongue until I’m almost unable to remain standing. I push back on him with no shame as my release coils within my belly so tight, I cry out and let go, clenching my thighs around his face so hard I fear I’m going to smother him.
My breathing comes in short pants, my chest and both my palms still resting on the glass. Dylan rises up on his feet behind me, still holding my hips in an act of possession, or to keep his balance, I’m not sure which. He splays his hands over my buttocks.
“How I’ve missed this.” He dips two fingers into the wet, puffy flesh he just feasted on to a spectacular orgasm, and presses against my g-spot until I squirm. “Is this mine?” His inquiry is so sincere, I can only answer with a desperate moan, “Yes!”
“Do you want my fingers, or my cock?” He gently pumps his fingers into me, providing just the proper pressure on my g-spot, and I rock my greedy hips against his hand. I realize that an answer is required of me, but my brain is scrambled. It’s difficult to process thought with what he’s doing
to me, but I manage to pant an answer.
“I want you to fuck me until I see fireworks behind my eyelids.”
Dylan laughs, removing his fingers, and pressing his full front against my back. His hard, thick length presses insistently against my lower back.
He mumbles next to my ear, “I will. Don’t you worry.” He rubs the head of his cock up and down my slit, bending his knees until we are aligned. Having stand-up sex is rather awkward given how much shorter I am than he is, but when he finds his mark, I can only hope his legs don’t give out.
The fireworks finale happens way before ours does. Dylan snakes his hand around to stroke my clit as he moves with smooth strokes into me. I am overjoyed to be back with this man who beguiled me the first time we met. A man who refused to give up on me even though I was too afraid to give him another chance.
We find a rhythm despite the awkward position, and I rock back against him, as he rams into me in a cadence that matches up to our panting breaths. His hard thickness hitting places in me which haven’t been subjected to this type of pressure in quite some time. Dylan surges upward with a powerful thrust and shouts, digging his fingers into my hips. The twitching and throbbing of his cock inside me brings me over again, and I grind back onto him, riding the waves of pleasure until we are both unable to stay standing against the cool window pane.
We stumble together like two drunks to the bed and fall onto it in a sweaty, sated heap. He wraps his arms about me, and I feel safe and cared for. I lean my head on his shoulder breathing in the unique smell of his sweaty skin, mingled with his cologne.
“We just made a memory,” I say with a contented sigh.
Twenty-Six
Hollywood, CA
ALYSSA
Our vacation in paradise, however brief for Dylan and me together, has been great fodder for writing whimsical rock songs full of metaphor, sex, and mayhem. Three things the Savages are known for. The lyrics to our first cut Maldives Chaos is trippy and fun, and I feel like a total badass singing it:
“Hot chicks in tiny string bikinis, Rich bitches in Malé will drain you like a leach. No one else can swim in my ocean, you can’t sun yourself on my beach. It’s monsoon season, baby, it’s your loss. If the rain doesn’t wash away your sin, you’ll descend into Maldives chaos…”
“Let’s try a four part harmony on that chorus and see if it works,” Finn suggests.
We run through it again. I’m getting goose bumps we sound so fucking good.
I grin so hard at Dylan from the sound booth, I feel like my face is about to break. One great thing about singing in the booth is that my back isn’t to him, and I can see his reactions to the songs first hand. He’s been sort of like my barometer. When he cringes or grimaces, I know it’s crap, but when I get that sexy Dylan Castle smile, I know we’ve hit pay dirt.
He gives me a thumbs-up and twirls his sticks, as Finn praises our effort. “That’s how I think we should do that chorus every damn time. That shit was sweet!”
Before we get started again, I see Della waving through the studio door window.
“Let’s take five,” I say. “Looks like Della needs me.”
When I go to the door and open it, I see Della holding the largest cluster of purple African Violets I’ve ever seen resting in a beautiful terra cotta and turquoise pot.
“What’s this?” I ask her.
“You might want to ask Mr. Dylan that question,” she says with a rare grin.
“Thanks, Della,” I say, as she goes back toward her domain. I turn into the room with my gift, my eyes zooming in on the giver, who’s walking toward me with purpose.
I laugh. “What’s the occasion?”
“Oh, this is my thank-you-for-giving-me-another-chance-gift bouquet.”
“You remember my tiny collection of African Violets?”
Dylan winds his arms around me, the African Violets masquerading as a third person in our group hug, it’s such a large potted bouquet. “How could I forget?”
I reward him with an abbreviated kiss which I plan to expound upon when we leave the studio today. In the meantime, I deposit my bouquet onto a small table in the front of the room, and it’s only then I notice that there are several potted violets inside the big pot, being held in place by some green foamy substance, which will allow me to eventually repot them and add them to my collection in the window of my kitchen. Dylan certainly gets points for this one, and not cool ones. These points will definitely be of the hot and sexy variety.
“Thanks, babe,” I whisper on my way back to the sound booth.
We quickly develop a routine. During the week, we hammer out songs that we vote on to decide if they’ll make it into the first album. I defer to the guys on most of the music because they know what their fans like. I have more of an opinion on lyrics because I feel more comfortable weighing in on what I feel I can sell on stage with my voice.
Della is ecstatic to have more guys around that she can mother and feed. She draws the line on allowing groupies in Sky’s home, and Malik and I back her up. George only tries that once, and I suggest they entertain elsewhere, because I don’t want to have to explain to Sky how something in her home has gone missing or has been damaged by someone seeking five minutes of fame, a quick buck, or just fucking shit up.
After Groupie-gate, I feel kind of guilty when Dylan rewards me with kisses after we put the finishing touches on a new song. I mention it when we’re in the room together later that night.
“Hey, babe?”
Dylan looks up from his iPad where he’s working on another song. “Yeah?”
“You know the guys have been really good about what’s going on with us.”
“They have,” he says with a thoughtful smile. “Especially Finn. I think he’s indebted to me for hooking him up with Dani.”
“Yeah. Don’t remind me.” I feign a bit of jealousy, and he sets his iPad on the table next to the stuffed chair he’s reclining in and crooks his finger. “C’mere.”
I go to him and take a seat on his waiting lap, and he kisses me.
“What was that for?”
“Just because.” He has a self-satisfied smirk on his face.
“You sure you aren’t trying to distract me from your mention of your fake girlfriend?”
He puts a hand on his heart. “Who, me?”
“Yeah, you. Mr. not so innocent.”
“You know I only have eyes for you, baby, and I stayed damn-near celibate a year for you, too.”
“Damn near?”
He does a silly jacking off motion with his hand.
I laugh. “You so have to let me watch you doing that sometime.”
“Now why would I do that when I have you?”
“Because it’s freaking hot. That’s why.”
“I thought that was a dude thing.”
I shake my head. “No, chicks can get off on watching her guy pleasure himself, too. You don’t get to corner the market.”
He kisses me again. “I’ll have to remember that when I’ve had my fill of you, but for now I want All Alyssa, all the time.”
I kiss him back. “Oh you do, do you? Well, I think I can oblige for a year, or three.”
“A year or three? Try for eternity.” He gets serious. “You’re it for me, Alyssa. I promise you that.”
“You’re it for me, too, baby.” We share another kiss that stirs us into full-blown arousal. My panties are drenched, and I’m now sitting on a bulge that a few kisses won’t assuage.
I hop up, stand, take his hand, and look down at his lap. “You think we have time to take care of that before Della buzzes us for dinner?”
He stands and pulls me flush to him, his hands groping my ass, so his situation causes my core to throb. “I think we can make that happen.”
“Oh! before I forget. Could we kind of cool it with the PDA around George and Finn?”
Dylan looks like I’ve doused him with a cold bucket of water. “What?”
“You know just while
we’re in the studio during sessions.” He purses his lips as if he’s about to object, but I soldier on. “I feel guilty, because they have to go all week without their lady friends, and all we have to do is walk right upstairs and take care of business.”
“But you’re neither a groupie nor a one-nighter for me. You and I have permission from Sky and Brody to be together in their home. I think Finn and George understand the difference, but if you insist, we can do that.”
I kiss him again. “Thanks, Babe.” Then I move backward pulling him toward the bed.
We were five minutes late for dinner, and Della didn’t have to chastise us at all, because Finn and George did it for her.
Our pact to go easy on the PDA around the guys when we’re in studio sessions begins the next day. They know we’re together, but I don’t want to rub it in their noses while they are forced to go off property to have a little fun.
We set up a regular routine for the next couple of weeks—work in studio four hours in the morning, break for lunch, spend another four hours, and knock off for the day. Although, if inspiration hits, we sometimes end up back in the studio after dinner or separate in our rooms writing songs that we share with one another the next day.
Weekends are free time, so George take off for parts unknown and Finn either flies into Chicago, or Dani flies out to LA, where she consults with Dylan on his nutritional needs, and hooks up with Finn. Looks like Dani might be sticking. Time will tell.
Dylan and I explore the city together in our off times, enjoying our relative anonymity. We might as well do it now because once fans and the paparazzi hear that The Savages are being revived, we won’t get to tool around without Malik and/or some of his team shadowing us. Brody has indicated that an announcement will be made only after we have an album ready (and after they come back from their honeymoon), so we work hard during the week on music, and play hard on the weekend.
