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He loops a finger through my jeans and yanks me toward him, closing the last tiny gap between us. “And when I realised there was a smart girl behind the hot as fuck body, well, life suddenly improved.”
Dylan’s mouth brushes mine, and then he hovers his lips close, waiting for my reaction. I close my eyes, drawn back to the spark between us the first time he said he didn’t want to kiss me then when he later undoubtedly proved he did. Pushing down the urge to respond, I inhale the moment: Dylan, the place we are, the energy we carry that keeps us both going. The man holding me close now has stripped away the hurt and anger I held for the world. Dylan showed me I could give myself to someone and not lose myself at the same time.
“Kiss me with your sarcastic mouth,” he whispers.
“I don’t do rock stars.”
I run my tongue along his lips and he sucks in a breath as I draw back instead of continuing. His grip on my waist tightens. “Don’t tease me.”
“Pizza?” I ask in a low voice.
“Snuggling?”
“Or skip both?” I sneak a hand under his T-shirt, tracing the shape of his muscled stomach with my fingers.
“You just said you don’t do rock stars.”
Unbuttoning his jeans, I slide a hand inside, smug at the fact I don’t need to touch him and he’s aroused by me. “No, but I do Dylan Morgan. All the time.”
A low growl escapes his throat and he grabs my head, pushing his mouth to mine so hard it drags the air from my lungs. The familiarity of Dylan’s taste, the scratch of his stubble on my cheek wipes away anything, but the desire to be in bed with this man and never get out again.
Dylan turns me around and presses me against the counter, igniting the memory of the last time we kissed in this kitchen. When his hands go to the button on my jeans too, I slap them away.
“No?” he asks, pulling his mouth away and running a fingertip against my lips.
“Last time you refused to take your jeans off or make love to me. You owe me.”
“Ah, okay. You want me to take you upstairs?” The way he grips my waist, and his tiny kisses creating a trail of heat across my neck could change my mind and let him do whatever the hell he wants to me right here.
Legs weakening, I hold onto the counter, ready to give in. He clouds my brain, pushing out anything but us whenever we’re this close.
“Sky? Tell me what you want?” he asks, voice low. “Otherwise, I’m going to do what I want. Repeatedly. Until you’re begging me to stop.”
Dylan grabs my T-shirt and roughly pushes the material upward, and my nipples harden under his hand as he encircles my breasts. He presses me to the counter with his hips, the heat of his hard length against my stomach. I make the embarrassing whimpering sound he loves.
“Fuck, Sky.”
Without another word, he lifts me up and I wrap my legs around his waist, hanging onto his neck. Dylan’s hot breath meets mine as he moves in for another kiss.
I pull back and lick the taste of him from my lips. “Not the kitchen?”
Dylan carries me towards the stairs and I burrow my face into the hollow of his neck as he says, “Not tonight. Come with me, summer Sky. Apparently, I owe you.”
