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He’ll go back to his life in this tower in the sky he lives in.
I’ll go back to my two-bedroom condo in downtown Buffalo.
“I’m stating the obvious.” He shrugs out of his jacket, hanging it on the back of a chair that faces the window. “Let’s not bring up the other women I’ve been with.”
I’m fine with that.
Dylan’s number in high school was higher than my number to date.
He never outright told me that he slept with seven different girls in senior year. I heard about it from my friends, or in one case, one of the girls he took to bed blurted it out during a study session.
I stopped her from sharing any details by reminding her that she had an exam the following day that she couldn’t afford to fail.
I bounce back to the subject of my clothes because I have no intention of spending the night.
“Why didn’t you just throw my shirt and my skirt in your washing machine?”
His hands fall to the leather belt at his waist. “That sauce is going to be a bitch to get out. I have talent, but it only reaches so far.”
“You’ll just have to spend the night.”
Pointing at his hands, I shake my head slightly. “I’ll wear this shirt home. That belt around my waist will make it look like a dress.”
“This belt?” He slides it from his pants in one smooth motion. “What if I tell you that you can’t borrow the shirt or the belt? You won’t parade around the streets of Manhattan in a bra and a pair of panties.”
Maybe it’s the attorney in me, but I take the statement as a challenge. I unbutton his shirt and slide it off, revealing the white lace bra and matching panties underneath. “I’ll do it.”
His gaze is riveted to my body. “You wouldn’t. Not you.”
I reach behind me to unclasp the bar, sliding the straps down my arms until it falls to the floor at my feet. My hands drop to my hips. “You don’t know me anymore, Dylan. You’d be surprised at some of the things I’ve done.”
He steps out of his pants. “What have you done?”
“Let’s not talk about the men I’ve had sex with,” I whisper. “You don’t want to hear about them, do you?”
His right hand disappears inside his boxer briefs. I watch as he grips his erection under the fabric.
Envy shoots through my veins. I want to touch it, kiss it, and lick it until he shudders from pleasure brought by my hands and mouth.
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“How many?” he asks with a deep rasp in his voice.
“Men have I fucked?” I ask back, my hands sliding over my stomach to the waistband of my panties.
“How many men, Eden?” His gaze is transfixed. He can’t tear his eyes away from the path of my fingers as they dive under the lace.
I moan loudly when my hand parts my folds.
“Jesus,” he hisses loudly. “How many men have fucked that sweet cunt?”
I close my eyes against the rush of raw need I feel. I circle my clit, bringing myself closer and closer to the edge.
“Eden.” My name lashes off his tongue.
I open my eyes slowly. His boxer briefs are pushed down to mid-thigh. His fist circles his thick cock.
It’s the most erotic thing I’ve ever seen.
