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“I’d be pissed off, Tess,” he answers, and I feel him smile against my cheek. “My dick hasn’t been inside you for so long and that would mean you’d found someone else to make you come.”
I can’t help but giggle at his comeback. He’s good. Damn good. And if just this simple dirty talk can get me turned on, I can only imagine what it will be like if I tell him I like it way dirtier than this.
“There’s been no one else, Dylan,” I murmur back, my hand sliding down to cup him through his jeans. He lets out a low groan that has my panties wet and me wanting to say screw the conversations and head to the bedroom.
“And there won’t be, Tessa,” he growls, his hand tangling in my hair as he pulls my head to the side, his mouth connecting with my neck, sucking hard.
It’s an admission, but it’s not him saying he isn’t afraid of something more serious. It’s his possessive side coming out, wanting to keep me for himself and I worry that this is all this is.
“You never answered my question,” I press, feeling breathless and struggling to maintain some distance between us.
“And what question is that?” he replies, being cheeky. He bites hard on my neck, certainly leaving a mark. He’s winning this whole thing because I’ve nearly forgotten what this argument was even about.
“Babies,” I mutter, lost in the way his mouth feels on my skin, loving the sting of his bite and the warmth of his tongue.
“Babies, huh,” he says in response, his words quiet, but deep. I feel them vibrate against my throat, sending a jolt of electricity through my entire body. I want him so bad, and he knows it. “Let me make you come, Tessa. Let me fuck you so hard you forget that I ever couldn’t make you come. Let me mark you. Let me come inside you.”
“Dylan,” I moan out, grinding against him, his dick hard as I rub my hand over him. “I want you. I want you so bad.”
My admittance sounds desperate and needy, and I don’t want him thinking that he’s off the hook when it comes to discussing everything that seems to be plaguing this relationship.
“I can fix that,” he whispers, his hand sliding under my shirt, pulling the cup of my bra down, his fingers find my nipple and I arch into him, pushing my breasts closer.
He slides his leg between mine and I move against it, needing relief, but knowing this is solving nothing, I still can’t stop myself.
Just when I’m about to haul my ass onto his counter and spread my legs, I see it, the bottle of wine we opened earlier.
“The wine,” I call out, startling Dylan and he jumps back, attempting to catch the bottle as it rolls off the counter and onto the floor.
The bottle shatters, sending glass scattering and red wine splattering on Dylan’s gorgeous white cabinets. In all our grinding and heavy breathing, we must have knocked the bottle over, and obviously too wrapped up in the idea of us fucking, we didn’t notice.
“Oh no,” I wail, grabbing for some towels, but as I do, I step on a piece of glass. Nothing like spilled wine and an injury to ruin a hot and steamy dirty talk session. “Owww,” I whine, hopping up on the counter, my ass, sopping up some of the spilled wine in the process.
I lift my foot, looking at the shard that has conveniently wedged itself in the center of my foot. “Get it out, Dylan,” I yell, shaking my foot at him. “I can’t handle blood so if I see it, I might puke,” I now announce.
“Hang on, Tess,” he says, gingerly walking toward me, avoiding the mess of the floor. He wraps his hand around my ankle, steadying it as he plucks the offending piece of glass from my foot. “All done.” He holds it up for me to see and with his hand still wrapped around my ankle, he presses a kiss to the top of my foot.
“Thank you,” I say, leaning forward so I can kiss him. “You’re my hero.” I smile against his lips, and he chuckles. “But now your kitchen is a mess. It looks like a murder scene in here.”
“You stay right there. I don’t need you stepping on anything else. I’ll grab your shoes and my vacuum and we can get this cleaned up.”
I wait on the counter, my legs swinging as Dylan rushes back, sliding my shoes on my feet for me, before placing his hands on my hips and lifting me off the counter.
“Maybe you should wait in my bedroom?” he teases, winking at me. “I don’t think we’re finished with what we started earlier.”
“I think I’ll stay out here and help you clean up,” I tell him, narrowing my eyes at him and his cheeky suggestion.
It’s a good thing that bottle of wine fell over and interrupted us or we’d probably be in his bedroom right now with nothing resolved yet. I guess I’m not even sure what I’m looking for. I don’t want to force him into saying he wants to marry me. That’s certainly no way to go into a relationship. I guess I’m just looking for some more reassurance that he isn’t going to change his mind. But again, I’m the one who changed my mind before, suddenly wanting a relationship over casual sex.
This whole thing is fucking with my head. There are no guarantees and I need to start accepting that I can’t control everything in my life. If Dylan makes me happy, which he does, that should be enough.
I’m wiping down the cabinets and Dylan’s cleaning the floor, both of us quiet and I see it as an opportunity to set things right.
“I am sorry that I faked my orgasms with you. I just never thought we’d be anything more than fuck buddies and I saw no pointing ruining what you were obviously enjoying.”
“And I’m sorry that I couldn’t make you come, but I seriously want to redeem myself, Tessa. This isn’t over,” Dylan says, pointing at me, his eyes narrowed.
“Maybe.”
“Maybe? Maybe?” Dylan chides, huffing out loudly. “There is no maybe. The next time you say my name it’s going to be because you can’t hold back.”
