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But when his mouth brushes over mine again, the doubt and the fear fade, my body straining up to touch his again.
“Fuck,” he whispers, his gaze travelling down to my cleavage, then lower, to my bare legs. He shifts uncomfortably, his cock swelling bigger against my thigh.
I reach between us, needing to feel him. I cup his erection through the cloth, and he gasps, his eyes widening. His hand covers mine as I unzip his pants and reach inside. His cock is tenting his white briefs, and when I pull the fabric down, Dylan makes a soft growling sound in the back of his throat.
“You’re killing me,” he mumbles, then he’s kissing me again, pushing me to lie down on the sofa, rolling over me. He lifts my nightgown up and up, and I help him pull it off me. “God, you’re beautiful. So much more beautiful than I remember.”
His voice holds a note of awe, and heat washes through me—he’s really looking at me, seeing me, and his gaze is scorching. Making me believe that maybe I am beautiful, right here, right now.
I tug on his sweater. “Off,” I say, because he’s still dressed, and the need to see and touch him is overwhelming.
He complies. He reaches behind his head and pulls off his sweater and T-shirt in one move. The garments land somewhere on the floor. I don’t notice where, my mouth going slack at the sight of his muscled chest.
God, the boy is ripped. He has grown more muscular over the years, his chest a landscape of sculpted pecs rolling down to a spectacular, rippling six-pack. Tattoos swirl over his smooth, tanned skin—dragons and spirals. Another dragon encircles one arm. His biceps bulge as he leans over me again.
I run a hand reverently over the dark tat, but he doesn’t give me more time to admire and explore. Instead, he bends his blond head and takes the tip of my breast in his hot mouth.
A moan escapes me as sensations erupt along my nerve endings. Heat pools between my legs, a mad throbbing that demands release.
I arch my back and grab his head, burying my fingers in his short, silky hair. “God,” I hiss. Can’t recall the last time someone kissed me and touched me like this. Can’t recall this kind of pleasure, ever. “Yes.”
He switches to my other breast, sucking and licking and tugging, and I shift restlessly, the pressure inside me mounting again.
“Dylan, please…” I can’t take much more of this, or I’ll go crazy. The need to come is near unbearable, bordering on pain. “Please.”
“I’ve got you,” he whispers and pulls something out of his pocket—a condom, I realize vaguely as I hear the crinkle of plastic. He reaches between us to roll it on.
I lick my lips, my mouth going dry. His cock stands large and flushed between us, and it’s so hot I’m about to self-combust.
A memory of Sean flashes through my lust-addled brain, and I shove it away. Not letting him spoil this brief moment of goodness. No way.
So I reach for Dylan and pull him down to me. Pressing my mouth to his, I clutch at his broad shoulders. His eyes grow hooded, his thick lashes hiding the blue. The blunt head of his erection nudges my entrance, and I hook a leg over his hip, drawing him in. Letting him in.
Just this once. Please, at least this once, before reality returns.
His mouth goes slack against mine as he enters me, the slow, burning slide of his hard flesh inside me. It hurts in a good way as he stretches me wide, pushing deeper, always deeper.
Then he draws back a little and thrusts back inside, startling a cry out of me.
“Okay?” he whispers, and I nod frantically, the words having deserted me. “You’d tell me if I hurt you? If you want me to stop?”
Again I nod, and lift my other leg, trapping him against me, inside me.
God, yes. As he starts moving in earnest, my eyes all but roll up in my head with the pleasure of being so full with him, so completely taken and overwhelmed by him. He slides out, then back into me, his breath catching, his face twisting.
His movements grow frantic, his flesh slapping against mine, and I hover on the razo
r-sharp edge where pressure crests, making everything in my body go taut and tight. My mouth opens in a silent scream.
Oh, Jesus… Violent shudders rip through me, and my hips snap up, meeting him thrust for thrust as I come, the pressure breaking and sweeping me away in a flood of pleasure.
Dylan’s watching me, his gaze dark and unfocused as I writhe, his breathing ragged. He snaps his hips again, and I do cry out then, unable to stop myself as I tremble, pinned underneath him.
“Tess…” He buries his face in my neck and groans as his own orgasm hits. I feel him swelling bigger inside me, I feel the spasms as he pulses again and again. I feel everything.
I’m holding him inside me, in my arms, I feel his hot breath on my neck, feel the muscles shift in his chest as he tries to lift himself up.
I feel him, warm and solid. Right here. With me. Where I’ve imagined him to be every day.
