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The strain from me is more than my boxer briefs can even bear. The minute my thumbs flick the elastic, her head angles to the side so she can watch. Her lips don’t turn up into a smile this time, but her eyes are doing it for her. I open the drawer on my bedside table and reach inside. Dylan holds out her hand. “Will you let me do it?”
The thought of her hand wrapped around me again turns my hand into a fist so I can release a fraction of the tension. I drop the foil packet into her hand. She takes the corner into her mouth, tearing it with her teeth. For a split second I close my eyes and dream of the next time, so I can have that mouth wrapped around me too.
I crawl onto the bed, straddling at her hips. Dylan pulls up to her elbows. My cock is like an arrow pointing directly at her. She rolls the tip between her fingers, lining it up perfectly, drawing it forward with her right hand. With each fraction of progression, my core tightens.
As her hand reaches the base, she lies back flat with her tongue darting out to coat her lips. That’s it. That’s my limit. I retreat behind her knees as I lay her legs across my thighs. I rotate my tip at her apex. I want to tease her for a split second like she’s done to me from the instant we met.
Her arch toward me tells me she’s as hungry as I am. In one smooth motion, I slide inside her. Dylan inhales deeply through her nose as her arm reaches up behind her to grip the blanket folded beneath her body. It wrinkles in the weight of her touch. I loop her right leg over my left arm and rise up. She gasps, pullingme closer. Her fingers dig at my shoulder as I slap my right hand down next to her head. I need the balance. I want the leverage. I crave her release.
I drive carefully into her body. My lips fall to her chest at the swell of her breast. The pattern of noises she’s making is like the most erotic song I’ve ever heard in my ear. I pump harder and faster. Each breath I take becomes deeper and more labored. I can feel this lava-like heat begin to build where we’re connected.
We begin to grunt and groan octaves apart in unison. She makes me feel deviant and powerful in the best way. I angle up and her octave drives even higher.Come on, Dylan.Each passing second brings us closer.
“Oh fuck… Yes,” she cries.
“God… Viper.” I use her call sign instead of her name. It just feels right. The same fire and emotion we had at the club is being reclaimed. I rest cradled deep inside her as we race to our climax, first me, then her. Her subtle screams morph into the deepest, longest moan.
She muscles us over, so I’m pinned beneath her. Her golden locks hide both our faces as she strokes my cheek with hers. “Being bad feels good, doesn’t it?” she asks.Yes. It absolutely does.
Chapter Fourteen
Elijah
The sun is finishing its slow descent behind the skyscrapers, casting an orange glow that’s fading to the purples of twilight. I turn the stove back on and begin working on dinner again while Dylan showers. While taking slow drags from my wine glass, I stand inside the same doorway she was in a couple hours ago.
The nights are becoming crisper. I don’t mind the sweltering heat, but this is my favorite time of year. Football, fall, and family. Now I can add a couple more ‘F’ words to that trio. Even the street noise and U2 on the wireless speakers can’t drown out the pads of her bare feet behind me. I turn my back to the frame, leaning casually against the open door.
She’s in white again. Only this time, it’s the white of my T-shirt, which nearly comes to her knees on that petite frame. Her hair is about two shades darker when it’s wet. It falls in perfect waves against her face and down her back.
“Better?” I ask.
“Mmm hmm. On several fronts.”
“I have a fresh glass of wine out here with your name on it, if you’d like.”
“I’d love actually. For some reason I could use a glass, along with a big plate of pasta.”
“Luckily, I have both.” I motion for her to come outside.
She nearly prances toward me like a cat that’s gotten a special treat. Instead of weaving through my legs to show her affection, she grazes one hand along my left hip, the other on my chest over my gray T-shirt while reaching up to kiss my cheek.
Dylan crosses out to the balcony for the first time and instantly bends to sniff every flower. “These are gorgeous. Not to be an ass, but this surprises me.”
I smile. “You’re not an ass. They surprised me too. My friends, Lauren and Stacey, are interior designers. They just remodeled my whole place. The plants were all them. I told Lauren she’d have to teach me how to care for all this shit if she expects it to stay green.”
“Pretty nice friends,” she responds, as she curls up on the padded bench facing Central Park.
“I’ve known them for about eight years. They live across the hall. They work and play together.”
“Well, the style they gave you suits you.” Dylan takes one of her famous slow sips off her glass. I had sex with her a little more than an hour ago, but the sight of that instantly makes me think about going for it again.
“We can eat out here or at the table.”
“Here’s good. I’m not picky.”
She’s refilling our glasses as I bring out our bowls of angel hair pasta, covered in my homemade marinara, topped with my grandmother’s secret recipe meatballs, and a basket of bread. This is the first time I’ve even remotely seen her seem surprised.
“Since it seems we have the other kinks worked out,” she smirks, “should we try a bit of conversation? Maybe get to know each other while we aren’t connected.”
