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The full, long strokes of my hand build another peak I want to climb before I reach the summit that is her. I slowly twist left. Over and over. My hips begin rolling in slow clockwise circles. There are only two things that would be better right now, her fingers in place of mine, or finally fully feeling her for the first time.
The second option is what I crave. I obsess over it as my mind goes to another place. My breathing goes from deep full breaths to slow steady pants. “Eli…” Her voice washes over me in the dark. “Come. Here.”
The moonlight from outside beams across her eyes. They’re dancing in anticipation. I gently let go of myself. The edge was close. Too close. We both knew it. I take a deep breath as I walk my hands down the bed by her sides. As I lower toward her, our bodies align without us having to do a thing.
I can feel my tip ride along the line of my personal utopia. She feels it too. The slats creak under the grip of her hands as she arches her back. As she does, I slip a fraction inside. She’s so inviting; I could easily drown inside her.
I rest my head on her chest as the room spins for a fraction of a second. “Don’t fight it, Eli. Just don’t. I know you know how to be nice and slow. Show me your other side.”
Dylan’s eyes narrow in a challenge. It’s one I will accept on behalf of the part of me who is starving to taste her. I clamp my hand around hers and thrust inside. The room fills with our own music. She’s this side of a scream every time I plunge deep. I’m this side of a roar each time I claim her completely.
We ride this wave over and over. My free hand plays down her chest with each roll and arch of her body. I’m still fighting. Even with this power, I don’t want to go too hard or too fast. I want to reach the finish line, but I’m not in any hurry. The thrill of drinking her in like this, the way she’s stroking my every need, is the ultimate desire.
She tenses her thighs, and it sends us to another level. My hand that was once free has now joined my other over the top of the footboard. Even in her relentless pants, she marries it with a wicked smile. She knows what she’s doing, always.
My new restrictions inside her are my fingertips on the edge of a cliff. The harder I try to hang on, the more futile I know it is. I use my fingertips to leverage my last bit of power and push as deep as I’ve ever been. Her cries are the sweetest music I’ve ever heard.
“Oh. God. Dylan.” Each crack of the wood, and loss inside her, brings a different word. I’m on a train that won’t stop. Her climax rushes in before mine. Her whole being cries out as her nails dig into my skin. Our combined pleasure consumes the air around us.
I’m completely frozen as the pulses move up and down my spine. With each shake, shiver, and sigh from her lips, I slowly lower my body down to hers. My hands are unwavering on the bed frame, even as my arms resemble Jell-O.
Dylan reaches over to my shoulder with her lips. “You can let go now.”
“I don’t know if I can.”
She smiles. “Let me.”
I do. I am. I will.
Chapter Nineteen
Elijah
I’m in the mood for steakis our new code when we’re around other people. She’s even dared to use it at the end of a meeting when we’re all filing out of the conference room. The first time she did it, I choked. I think Anna picked up on it. It’s becoming apparent we’re not as skilled at hiding our connection as we once were.
Dylan’s always been able to read me. I’m still not certain if I’m that transparent, she’s that intuitive, or both. I do notice everything about her. What I’m noticing lately is her spark is just a shade dull. As we wrap our final meeting for the Roark Foundation brand relaunch in a few weeks, I ask Dylan to stay behind.
She stands back toward the top of the room while I close the door. “Will you sit with me?” I ask.
“Sure. Is something wrong?”
“I’m not sure. That’s what I’d like to talk about. As your boss, you’re forgetting details I’m not used to seeing you forget. You’re about a half step behind where you usually are. As someone whocares about you, you’re not smiling as much. On the Dylan scale of one to ten, you’re at an eight when you’re usually consistently an eleven. Talk to me please.”
She sits down while wrapping her hands around her neck in a vain attempt to rid a bit of her evident anxiety. “Right after the Hamptons, the day after my marathon rehearsal, I found out my unicorn dance company’s director is going to attend the showcase at the end of the month.”
“Holy shit. That’s great, right?” Dylan doesn’t respond instantly, so I prompt her again. “Right?”
“No. I mean yes, it is. Except yesterday I had to let one of my best male dancers go because the school found a banned substance in his things. He’s on probation. I can’t have that near me, and neither can the school. His understudy has like a week to get up to speed and my alternate has to take his place.
“I’ve been doing so many extra practices before class, during my lunch breaks, and some nights after I leave you, instead of going home. My piece could fall apart, and I could lose a real shot at an audition. This is everything, Eli, everything.”
“Hey. Hey. Don’t panic.”
“I don’t panic. I just marginally lose my shit.” I don’t mean to, but I burst out laughing. “I’m glad you’re finding humor in this, Eli.”
“I’m sorry. Truly. First of all, you should have said something before. Second, let me help you.”
“What are you going to do? Put on some tights and learn the choreography?”
