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"Of course you have control, and if you don’t, change things."
Dylan looks at me and makes a soft sound of derision. "That’s why I came here, but I can’t run forever."
I want to hold him, but his body language creates a barrier I don’t want to cross in case he rejects me. Gently, I stroke the back of his hand. "Then enjoy the freedom and control you have now, and when you go back change what you can."
"Yeah, maybe." Dylan runs a hand across his head and turns to me, sliding his arm around my waist. My scalp tingles as he nudges his cool nose into my hair, and I place my hands on his chest, desperate for his kiss, even though I’m filled with trepidation about what happens next.
"I want to kiss you again, Sky. But I don't think I can stop at a kiss and I don't want to spoil tonight," he says, voice muffled in my hair.
"How would you spoil tonight?" I ask, pulling back.
Dylan releases his grip on my waist and quietly says, "Because once I fuck a girl, I’m never interested in anything about her afterwards."
Anger flashes across my mind and I shove him hard in the chest. He stumbles backwards. “You wouldn’t get the chance. I don’tfuckrandom men, you arrogant bastard!"
Dylan straightens, blinking away his surprise. "I told you, I’m a dickhead."
"And now I believe you," I snap, shaking with a mix of anger, disappointment, and arousal.
"Sky," he says, softly, closing the charged space between us, hovering his mouth close to mine in his annoying seductive way. "If I took you upstairs to bed, I wouldn't fuck you. You’re worth so much more than that. You have no idea about the things I want to do to you."
The heat from my anger dives straight to my core, and the arousal from his words takes me by surprise. But I keep a grip on myself and don't meet his mouth or touch him.
"And if you’d let me finish what I was saying," he continues, "I would’ve explained how the situation would fuck with my head. That’s the problem."
I step back, to reinforce the impression I don't want him anywhere near me. "I think we’d better stop now. You’re right, this is going to spoil…whatever this is. Forget the kiss."
Rubbing both palms across his face and down to his neck, Dylan appraises me one last time. "I’m going for a walk."
I huff as his hunched figure strides away, hands buried in his jeans pockets. Typical male shutdown response. But I watch him go, guilty about my overreaction to this troubled guy.
I already have a problem caused by 'whatever this is': the inexplicable need to be around Dylan.
Returning inside, I grab my book and a glass of water, and then traipse upstairs to bed. I can’t be wrapped in Dylan’s arms, but I am wrapped in his hoodie. I drift to sleep, arm across my face, his scent following me into my dreams where we do more than kiss.
Much more.
And he doesn’t use the word ‘fuck’ once.
