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Her defensive walls are back up, and I know only I am to blame.
“I’m sorry—”
“You don’t have anything to apologize for!” She gives me a fake smile and a half laugh. “You’re fine, Cade. I’m going to bed.”
Dylan turns, and I step around the fire pit, reaching for her hand to stop her.
I use that leverage to pull myself toward her, not caring that I’m about to go within her personal bubble.
We breached bubbles over the weekend.
I refuse to let her put her walls back up.
Once my body is flush to hers, unintentionally bringing my growing cock to rest against her lower back, I switch hands so I’m holding one and place my other protectively over her stomach. I want the little guy to move, but he’s apparently resting.
She drops her chin to her chest in a move I saw too often last Saturday, and I dip my own, bringing my mouth as close to her as I can, given our height difference.
“I’m sorry, Dylan. I meant to call.” I hate that it sounds like I’m making excuses. “It was busy. But the moment I heard about Grant, the only place I wanted to be was here.”
“We’re hardly more than friends,” she finally says, not moving. “You have nothing to apologize for, Cade.”
I shouldn’t be crude. I shouldn’t be crude.
But the words are out before I can stop them. “Does it feel like we’re hardly more than friends, Dylan?” I ask, pushing my lower half harder against her.
Her body shivers against mine, and I decide to go all in. “I want you, Dylan. I want to get to know you. I want to be your friend, but I also want to be more than your friend. I want you to turn to me. I want to stand beside you. I want to be whatever you want me to be, when it comes to however this ends up with Grant. I want to prove to you that there are good guys. Let me be your good guy.”
Dylan is still.
Neither of us moves.
But then her hand is on my wrist and she’s removing my hand from her stomach. “Good night, Cade.”
