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For moments, our mouths hover close, Dylan holding my face softly as I hold his in return, as if we know that the inevitable is about to happen and this is the final surrender. A surrender to honesty, to trust, and to overwhelming, painful love. Dylan doesn't need to kiss me to express what we see on each other's faces now the outside is stripped away. But when he does kiss me, my world splinters. The remaining parts I've held together are torn apart by the intensity of the energy coming from Dylan, expressed in a natural return to who we were four months ago.
I need to be naked, to be surrounded by Dylan, body engulfed to match my mind. I pull at his T-shirt, and when he helps tug it over his head, my hands go straight to the button on his jeans. My fingers tremble, the desire to reconnect to the man who tore me apart consumes me. Before I get further, he slips downwards, pushing my shirt upwards and kissing my skin. I feel him exhale against my stomach; his stubbled cheek pressed against me and breath coming in bursts. Connecting.
I move against him, tugging his hair. "Dylan..."
He lifts his head, and everything in Dylan's face blows apart any last doubt about what this means. The look he gave me, months ago, when we ate ice cream outside the house in Broadbeach is there but a thousand fold. Looking into Dylan's eyes is like looking in a mirror, my thoughts and fears reflected back. The desperate need to enmesh returns. There is more intimacy in the look we share than any kiss, his heart and soul open and raw.
I don't want to cry, can't cry. He touches my face as if reading my mind. "I love you."
The tenderness of his words is followed by a rough passion, a desperation to get skin on skin as he pushes the shirt to my shoulders. I wriggle, tugging the clothes above my head and he slides a strong hand under my back, arching me toward him as his mouth closes around my nipple.
I cry out, holding him to me. He's holding his weight away, cautious and all I want is to be pressed beneath him, obliterated from anything but our coming together. The world shifts further away with each item of clothing we remove from each other, and each new taste and touch of each other's skin. Dizzied by his lips and tongue on each newly revealed place, I'm a trembling mess as his thumbs hook my panties.
"This is okay?" he says against my ear but my only awareness is the thin material as the last barrier between us.
I don't answer, instead freeing his hard length from his boxers, enjoying the barely concealed noise of pleasure as I curl my fingers around the base of him.
"What do you think?" I whisper back.
"I think," he says huskily, "that you aren't looking for civilised."
In a swift movement, he pulls my panties and I tense waiting for his hands on me. Instead, he pauses and strokes gently from my ankle upwards, circling his thumb against my inner thigh teasingly close to the apex. As he slides a finger along my heat, my body fires the memory of every time Dylan has touched me and I ache for more. As if sensing this, he eases his fingers into me and I make a soft sound I try to hide.
In response, Dylan sucks in a breath and tenses. “I want you so much, Sky, but I don’t want to fuck this up.”
“Don’t talk,” I whisper, “just let this be us.”
Dylan’s mouth crashes onto mine; his kiss and fingers send shockwaves into every nerve ending until I’m spinning back into his stars. I moan into Dylan’s mouth, grabbing his hair. His chest slides against mine as he grips my head, holding me tightly, and I can barely breathe.
When he pulls away, the steady intensity in his darkened eyes fuels my lust for him and emboldens me. “I presume you have condoms?” I ask.
He leans toward a drawer and pulls out a packet. Before he gets the chance to ask, I grab one and roll the condom onto him enjoying the way he closes his eyes and is lost in his own lust.
This can’t be slow—next time this can be slow, all I want now is the very last part of him. Dylan doesn’t hesitate, and slowly guides himself into me until I’m completely surrounding him. Holding himself up on his arms, Dylan gazes down at me, gaze moving hungrily across my breasts before he roughly takes a nipple in his mouth and sucks. I cry out at the movement of his tongue as he moves inside me, building the intensity.
“Kiss me,” I whisper, “I want all of you.”
Mouth back on mine, we kiss with the fervour to match our lovemaking, moving from gentle teasing to harsh and frenzied. Dylan moves his hand to my clit and I close my eyes, almost pushed over the edge of our world.
“Look at me, Sky,” he says.
I open my eyes and see more than the reflection of us in his; I see the whole of the world we lost and how we’re going back there. The fervour of us, the pleasure pushing me further toward the precipice where I’ll lose myself in Dylan forever consumes, and I flood with the overwhelming love he took away. The tears fight from my eyes as I hold his gaze and let go—let go of the hurt, the need, and the wall I rebuilt against him.
When the orgasm hits, the intensity tingles from my scalp to my toes then becomes a shockwave tearing into my soul. Dylan watches me the whole time, as if soaking up my pleasure with his eyes. I wrap my legs around him to grip his hips, digging my fingers into his shoulders as this movement against me builds the tingling again.
Eyes closing, Dylan’s mouth parts in his own ecstasy, and the pleasure at seeing the effect I have on this man knocks away the little breath I have left. As he comes, he buries his face into my hair, groaning and pushing himself to the hilt. For a moment he stills, then moves to brush my tangled hair from my face. He stares down at me as if I might disappear if he blinks.
“I love you. I can’t even begin to give words to how much, my brain is broken,” he says breathlessly.
I laugh and pull his mouth to mine, bursting to tell him the same, but the words stay buried in the one last part of me that can’t let go. Instead, I trace the lines of his face, and smile hoping I’m the mirror Dylan once said I was and he can see the words instead.
