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“No, I need this,” I panted against his open mouth and dropped to my knees before he could respond.
Months before, in all the times Dylan and I had been intimate, he had never taken off his pants. It never bothered me then; I had known he was guarding what he saw as his greatest weakness. He didn't want me to judge or be disgusted, as if I ever could be. I respected him, and I never made an attempt to push or pressure.
But on this day of infidelity, while I was on my knees inside his studio and staring at the V-shaped patch of his underwear, the craving to have him in my mouth cloaked me in rebellion. I wanted to see him vulnerable and exposed, just as he'd seen me several times before.
My hands held tight to his jeans and briefs as I tugged them down, baring his skin, hard and soft, his erection standing proud and ready. Inches of tattooed thighs I’d never before seen were presented to my hungry, hooded eyes, and I wanted to press my mouth to it all, to see if his legs tasted different than his chest or arms or stomach. It was silly, but, God, he was so perfect and stunning, and I wished he saw himself the way I did.
But as I tugged the jeans down further, his body tensed, and the guilt of pushing him past his bounds pressed against my heart.
“Are you okay?” I asked, glancing up to him.
He nodded. “Yeah,” he replied, but I couldn't mistake the way his voice had quivered.
His right knee came into view then, but on the other side, just above where his left knee should've been, was a solid, dark mold on top of a mechanical joint.
My breath stuttered at the sight.
“You're shocked?” he asked, voice tight with the need to defend himself.
Swallowing, I licked my lips, letting his jeans drop and pool at his ankles. “I am,” I admitted, whispering as I took in both unidentical legs. “But only because you're so much more beautiful than I already knew you were.”
He snorted, amused. “Beautiful, huh?”
“What about hot? Or sexy?” I asked, leaning forward and wrapping my hands around his erection, hard as steel. “Is that better?”
Dylan groaned, flattening his back against the door. “Fuck, Lennon,” he moaned, hanging his head and keeping his eyes on me. “Yeah, that's … better …”
“Good,” I said, then dragged my teeth over my bottom lip while keeping my eyes on his. “Now, how is this?”
My mouth salivated as a fire burned bold and bright between my trembling thighs. How had I gone this long without him? How stupid had I been to think I could give this up forever, when nobody else held the power to make me this brazen and bold?
“God, yes, baby,” Dylan groaned with approval as his big, strong hand lay against the back of my head.
I opened my mouth, ready to take him to the back of my throat and give him something to think about on those long and lonely months away. His soft, smooth skin touched my lips, and I sighed with a coalescence of relief and anticipation when he spoke again.
“Fuck. Wait. No,” he said with urgency, wrapping his fingers in my hair and gently tugging me away. “Lennon, stop.”
Blinking my eyes open, I stared up at him, disbelieving. “W-what?”
“We can't do this. Youknowwe can’t do this.”
He was already bending and reaching for his pants while I sat there, on the balls of my feet, wondering what the hell was going on.
“I … I don't understand,” I stammered, shaking my head and watching as both of his bared legs disappeared from my view, replaced by his jeans once again. “I thought you wanted this. I thought you wantedme.”
“Oh, I fuckin' want you, Lennon,” Dylan said, chuckling a little. “Don’t you dare think for a second that I don’t.”
It was a condescending chuckle, and it pissed me off.
“Well, I'm here,” I spat as I clambered to my feet. “I'm giving myself up to you. So, fucking take me.”
His expression was flat as he replied, “You want me to take you?”
“Yes!”
“And what about Peter?”
What about Peter?
