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“Say yes,” Dillan urges, his finger performing the perfect circling motion known to womankind. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I love you.”
What?
Wait.
My heart seems to stop. Dillan never says anything he doesn’t mean.
In all the wild scenarios I imagined, a spontaneous rest-of-life-love-confession in the midst of a spicy moment was nowhere on the list. I’m delightfully caught off guard. He resumes his clit teasing, thrusting into me, fucking me, and I’m a swirling mess, a chaotic dance of too much information and mind-blowing sensations—definitely on the brink of a spectacular mental meltdown. Or the most epic orgasm ever experienced (which, let’s face it, is basically the same thing). Before I can even attempt to tell him how I feel about him, he thrusts deeper and pinches my clit, firing up my need for much needed release.
“Oh, God,” I whisper. “No fair.”
“But I also know you like your independence,” he grumbles, thrusting, “and this will in no way force you to give that up.”
What did he say? His words barely register. I’m still stuck on him dropping the L-bomb.
The pressure builds, his touch becoming torturous.
“I know,” he smirks mischievously, now rubbing my clit along with his deep, rhythmic thrusts. His breathing is more strained. “I’m not going to force your decision. You know that.” He rubs and rubs and rubs. “Just…think it over, all right? And when you’re ready, give me that sweet ‘yes’.”
I can barely think. At this point, he could have suggested I live in a treehouse on Mars, and I would have packed my bags.
Dillan knows precisely how to rub me to orgasm.
One final rub, and I come with a cry. “Yes! Yes! Yes!”
I come so hard that the world around me blurs, my impending meltdown taking center stage in the chaos of my overwhelming emotions.
He follows soon after.
That was so hot. But no fair!
Grinning the cheekiest and smuggest grin I’ve seen him grin, he rolls over next to me, still panting, and yep, still grinning, and trying to catch his breath.
We look at each other in silence for a moment, then he winks.
I grin back.
Suddenly, Isaac starts to cry over the monitor. Perfect timing as always, kiddo! I think and make a move to get up.
Dillan stops me with a gentle kiss. “Rest, baby. I’ll get him.”
“Thanks…” I somehow manage to whisper. I watch him climb out of bed and throw his sweat pants on before going to get our son.
Now that my brain has made it back online, my mind spins with his offer.
Part of me thinks it might be too soon, but considering we have known each other for some time now and have a child together, the concept of “too soon” seems a bit obsolete. Living together would make things easier, not more difficult. There are some very practical, everyday things that make my life more pleasant: I wouldn’t have to take the subway as much or borrow anyone’s car. And with the rent taken care of, I wouldn’t have to work full time at the lounge anymore. I could go part time until I get some classes going, and then, if they do well, I could be done waitressing within a matter of months, not years.
Plus, it would make taking care of Isaac a whole lot easier. I’d feel bad for ducking out on Pippa, but she’d be able to get a new roommate without issue. I would miss Mrs. Loughty’s friendly face, no doubt, but I would visit both of them often. We would all stay in touch, 100 percent.
But all these practical considerations weigh nothing, absolutely nothing, against my feelings. I’ve been falling for Dillan from the first moment, and now…I love him.
No, not now.
It feels like my love for Dillan has always been inside me, just waiting for the right moment to make itself known. That’s the now I mean.
What really scares me is how I’m not afraid of moving in with him. Does that make sense? Having been on my own for so long, the idea of sharing my life with the man I love makes me tremble with fear and smile happily in the same second.
It had been a dream to wake up in his arms.
