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The way he trembles is completely gratifying.
“We should get out. I brought food. It's going to go cold.”
“I don't care.” I kiss him again, feeling him grow harder against me. I move against him, needing the friction of the hard ridge of his erection against me.
“Claire, you're killing me.”
“We can eat later. Let's just enjoy what we're doing now.”
I feel his hesitation, but I know the moment he gives in. One hand travels up, cupping my breast. My head falls back and I let out a short, sharp noise of approval.
There's no more talking. He kisses me, touches me, all the while I'm stroking my hands over a body that has brought me nothing but pleasure over the past month and a half, until I'm so slick with need I think I might die if he doesn't touch me down there. When he finally slides his hand into my bikini bottoms and touches me, I can't contain my excitement. I move backwards and forwards, desperate for more, even though I know it will never be enough. The ache inside me won't be abated with anything but him inside me.
“Dylan. Please.”
“Tell me what you want,” he demands, kissing my neck.
“What do you think I want? You. I want you.”
I've always wanted you.
The words are like a whip of barbed wire across my heart. I push the thought away, try to untangle my tender heart – desperate to forget those words ever popped into my head.
I moan and rock as his fingers circle the hardened nub between my legs before he frees himself from his boxers and pushes my underwear to the side. When I feel him underneath me, the large head of his engorged cock pressing against the heart of me, I'm more than ready to drive myself down onto him.
He whispers my name as I take him inside, kissing him as his hands travel all over my body. Then they are at my hips, helping me ride him with a speed that feels more frenzied than anything I've experienced before. It doesn't feel fast enough, and yet I'm hurtling towards my climax quicker than I wanted to. I want to slow down, enjoy it, but I might break apart if I do.
He explodes inside me, pulsing and thick, triggering orgasm after orgasm, and I let myself lean on him, needing to feel his solid presence around me.
When I finally pull back and look at him, his gaze is full of intensity – echoing the confusing and overwhelming feelings circling inside my head.
“That was fun.”
My voice doesn't sound as carefree and light as it should, and Dylan continues watching me. The silence between us feels heavy and full, my heart not just beating fast, but beating hard – a slight ache breaking out behind my breast plate. Thank God he can't see inside me – see what our being together is doing to me. I can't fall for him. He won't be there to catch me if I do.
Eventually, he gives me a lopsided grin. “I told you I'd show you fun. You ready to eat?”
“Yes. And while we do, you can tell me more about New Zealand.”
He looks surprised for a moment but then he nods. Good. Talk of New Zealand is exactly what I need. If hearing how excited he is to leave the country will keep me from floating away into fantasy land, then the pain of listening to him talk about going will be worth it.
23
Dylan
“So, what do you have planned in India?”
I scratch the back of my head. Who would have thought I'd get tired of talking about all the things I want to do? For the past half an hour, Claire has shot me question after question about what I'm going to do in every country I visit. She's like an interviewer on speed. Does she really want to know all this stuff?
I study her, taking my time chewing my food. Ever since we climbed out of the water and sat down, my trip overseas is all she's talked about. I've tried to change the topic a few times, but remarkably she's stayed on point. I don't understand how she's so happy to talk about it. Weeks ago, at her mother's house, she had nothing but disdain for my plans to travel.
Now, though, she seems to be embracing it – the idea I'm leaving in a couple of months doesn't seem to bother her at all. Logically, I know it's a good thing. The lack of expectations for the future is what I wanted and asked of her. It's just that...I didn't think she'd be quite so okay with letting me go. Even Diana told me that my leaving would be a blow to her daughter. And in the beginning, it appeared it was. The Claire sitting in front of me now seems to be more than comfortable with what's about to happen.
Will she go straight back to her list the moment I leave? Is she hanging out for the moment she can start focusing on her future and dating men who are more her type?
The thought cuts through me like a knife, threatening to rip me apart, but there's no way to sugar-coat it. In October, I'll be gone, and she'll be looking for the man she wants to marry – the guy who's everything she wants.
“I really didn't think you'd be that interested in my plans overseas.”
