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15
Several more glassesof wine later, I pay a visit to the bathroom and come downstairs to the humorous sight of the rock god and the washing up.
"I said I'd do that. You cooked."
The sink is practically overflowing with the soapsuds spilling out. Several of Dylan's rings rest next to the sink. His arms are covered in soapsuds up to his elbows, his face a mix of confusion and amusement. "I think I put too much soap in?" I giggle at him and he frowns. "So I don't wash dishes often. I have a dishwasher."
"I bet you don't load the plates."
"Sometimes." I raise an 'I doubt it' eyebrow. "Okay, no."
The childish Dylan glint enters his eyes, one I'm becoming all too familiar with.
"Twenty-four years old and you have no kitchen skills? You'll never make anyone a good wife," I tell him.
Scooping up a handful of bubbles, he wipes them down my face. "You'll have to teach me."
"Hey!" I wipe them off and scoop a handful of my own.
"Don't you dare!" Dylan steps back, fighting a smile.
Grinning back, I wipe the bubbles down his freshly shaven face. Dylan growls and grabs my wrist dragging me to his chest. Holding both wrists with one hand, he scoops a handful of bubbles with his other and rubs them into my hair. Shrieking, I wriggle from his grip, ducking away from him. Before I can move two steps, he grabs me from behind, powerful arms holding my waist. I lean away from him, dragging at his fingers.
"Okay, no more bubbles. Sorry!" I gasp.
I'm not sorry he wants to touch me again.Definitelynot sorry to be held against his hard, muscled torso, with his hands touching my skin where my T-shirt has ridden up.
Dylan pushes me towards the sink. We're both facing the bubbled water but I can't reach any because my arms are trapped. I tense, waiting for the soaking.
"No, please!" I'm gasping with laughter. "Let me go."
"What if I don't want to let you go?" he whispers, and then nips my earlobe. Dylan releases my waist and runs both hands beneath my T-shirt, palms across my stomach. "What if I want to apologise for the bad snuggling?"
I can't move, his hips pinning me to the kitchen bench. "I don't know..."
He kisses my neck, running his tongue along my shoulder before nipping my collarbone. I hitch a breath as he pulls my hips towards him, his arousal against my back surprising me.
"Oh..."
Dylan turns me around and pushes aside the items left on the kitchen counter. "I stopped because the selfish, spoiled Dylan wanted you." He holds me around the waist and lifts me onto the bench. "But if I make this about you instead, that’s not selfish, right?"
"Oh..."Jeez,where's my power of speech gone?
"Can I kiss you again?"
"You're right—you do need to find a new way to relate to women," I say breathlessly.
Pressing himself between my legs, hard muscled thigh against mine, Dylan pulls my hair into a ponytail and wraps it around his hand. "Currently, this is the only way I know how." Placing his mouth close to mine, he runs his tongue lightly across my lips, setting a soft buzz across my face.
"Okay, the meal and chat are a good start to a new way, maybe next we can—" I begin, clinging to rational thought.
"Tell me what you like," he interrupts, resting his forehead on mine.
Dylan's sudden change of pace disarms me. Two minutes ago we were playing like kids; now we're back to adult territory. With a capital A. I wrap my arms around his neck, tracing the short hair at the nape. His eyes darken, reflecting my desire and rewinding us back to the 'snuggling'.
"Dylan, I am stupidly and incredibly attracted to you to the point of needing an asthma inhaler when you're close but—"
"But I put you off with talk of fucking. How about we don't fuck? There’re plenty of other things we could do…" The suggestion in his low tone sends my mind in a million directions, non chaste. "All I can think about is you; I’m obsessed by your mouth." I allow Dylan to place his lips on mine, a tentative touch as he waits for my response.
