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Chapter Eighteen
Tessa
“I’m sorry. What? Did you say you invented a sex toy?” My mouth is hanging open because oh my god the irony here is thick. At least he doesn’t know about the lack of orgasms which would make this conversation even more awkward.
“Well, sorta,” he now says, his cheeks flushing red, and this is a side of Dylan I did not expect to see. I would’ve thought he would’ve been shouting this from the rooftops and trying to lure women in with his story, but he seems a little embarrassed.
“You sorta invented a sex toy? How do you sorta invent one?” I ask, now extremely intrigued by this new development. I could care less about the money and now all I want to know is how this invention came to be. “I can’t even believe this. You couldn’t make this shit up,” I mutter, my words quiet but clearly heard by Dylan, because now instead of looking embarrassed, he looks a little offended.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks, his words holding a bite.
So instead of filtering myself or at least attempting to do this with some class and his feelings in mind, I blurt it right out.
“I have no idea how you invented a sex toy when you haven’t ever made me come,” I announce, my hand immediately going to cover my mouth, but the words are out already and talk about so damn careless.
First, I see the hurt in his eyes and then it turns to anger, which I guess is warranted. But in my defense, I thought we were just fuck buddies and it’s not like I didn’t enjoy the sex. I just figured it didn’t matter much since it was never going to materialize into anything more. Yet here we are.
“Tessa, what the fuck?” he calls out, his hands tugging at his hair. “I’m pretty sure I have made you come. You were calling out my name like I was fucking god.” He begins to pace the room and I have no idea how to respond. “Are you still mad at me about the marriage and babies thing? Are you trying to get back at me?”
I could see how he views it that way and I wish that were the case, but it’s not. It’s legit and something we should probably talk about, but I’ve definitely gone about it the wrong way. Now he’s pissed off and defensive, his ego bruised, his reputation as a god in bed is shattered. And some of it is my fault, well actually, most of it is my fault. I led him to believe he was making me come with all my moans and writhing and oh my gods. It was cheap and shitty of me.
“I’m not trying to get back at you, if that’s what you think,” I tell him, trying not to get too angry at his accusations. I may have gone about it wrong in telling him my big secret, but I’m not using it against him. “Are you mad?” I now ask, a stupid question that will probably only add to his embarrassment.
“Am I mad?” he echoes, letting out a hard sigh. “I don’t know, Tess. I guess I am. You kept it from me and then—”
“I didn’t tell you with much tact?” I say, questioning my words and wondering if that’s what he’s thinking.
“That and you haven’t given me a chance to prove to you that I don’t suck in bed,” he spits out, that wounded ego shining through. That’s more what this is about than me keeping it from him.
“I never said you suck in bed,” I say, my words coming out a little louder than I expect, my hands on my hips.
“You pretty much did, Tess. You said I couldn’t make you come and that’s kinda the whole point of sex. Why did you keep sleeping with me?” Again with the hard sigh as he walks away from me, returning a few seconds later even more fired up.
“It’s not like it was bad. I mean,” I look down at the crotch of his pants, “you’re pretty well-endowed,” I say, trying not to laugh at this teenage boy conversation we’re having. He doesn’t need me laughing right now.
“Well, I’m obviously not well-endowed enough to…” he stops short, gesturing at me with his hands, and my attempt to not laugh is gone. I giggle, making this serious conversation suddenly not so serious, but also adding to Dylan’s embarrassment.
“I’m sorry,” I murmur.
“If you’re sorry, you’ll let me show you that I can make you come. I’m pretty damn good with my tongue and we never got that far,” he accuses, blaming me for our basic vanilla sex life. You’d think we’d have been all hot and heavy and into kinky shit given it was no-strings-attached hook ups, but it was as vanilla as it comes.
“Dylan, I’m not jumping back into bed with you just to fix your battered ego. We still have some unresolved issues, and now it feels like you’re deflecting from them by trying to get me to sleep with you.”
“I’m not trying to get you to sleep with me. I’m trying to get you to give me a second chance to show you I can make you come. Fuck sleeping with you because I suck at that.”
Oh shit, he’s making me feel terribly guilty for even telling him, but I still don’t think it’s the right thing to do even though I’m getting kind of desperate to sleep with him. It’s been a while and my body is wondering what the hell is wrong with me. There’s a guy standing here telling me he’s going to do everything he can to make me come and I’m turning him down.
“You don’t suck at it, you jerk!” I shout, shoving him as he walks by me, pacing the room still.
He grabs my wrist, pulling me against him, and I crash into his chest. He smells like pine needles and cinnamon, a scent that will forever be linked to him and the cider house, and as much as I want to tell him no, I so badly want to tell him yes too.
“Then tell me,” he murmurs, his mouth next to my ear, “why I can’t eat your pussy right here on my counter until you come in my mouth?”
Fuck my life.
Where was this dirty talk all those months ago? I’d have been coming in my pants just hearing his deep, sexy voice whispering things like this in my ear. But that’s the issue here. We don’t talk about things like this. We don’t talk about our future. We don’t talk about what makes us happy. We live in the now and while it’s been fun, we need to get to where this relationship is going and if we have a future together.
“You tell me, if I were to tell you I was pregnant right now, how would you feel about it?”
