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It was wonderful, and I loved every delicious second of it.
But when another week went by and I still hadn't heard from him, the thrill of knowing him began to lose its luster. Then, another week passed and another, and the memories of being with him had dulled all the way down to something filthy. Thinking of the times I’d spread my legs for him brought me nothing but shame and humiliation, especially the second time in his car. The first, I could chalk up to ignorance and being starstruck, but the second? I had walked right into it. I had known he was using me, and I’d let him.
“I don’t get it,” I said to Tarryn one night over the phone. “He went out of his way to find me. It wasn’t the other way around.”
“I guess he was just that desperate,” she replied with a yawn. “Those artsy guys go to stupid lengths for inspiration. Like, remember that guy I hooked up with from Midnight Supernova Kings?”
“Vaguely.”
“Oh God, no. You’ll remember this one,” she said with a cackle. “This guy, Trek, was so inspired by the way I looked while having sex that he legitimately sat there, typing out the lyrics on his phone, while I did my thing on top.”
Snorting, I laid a hand over my eyes. “Oh my God, yes.”
“And the worst part was, I actuallydid it,” she said, laughing so hard that she wheezed. “In the moment, I was like,Oh, yeah, baby, sure. But afterward, it was like,Um … what just happened?And he had the freakin’ audacity to thank me too.”
“I mean, at least he was polite,” I offered, shrugging. “Dylan didn’t thank me for shit.”
Tarryn sighed into the phone. “Look, babe, was it at least good?”
“Yeah …”Gooddidn’t even begin to cover it.
“And you got your second chance with him too. He has your number. The ball is entirely in his court. So, just let it be and move on.”
I knew she was right; Tarryn usually was about stuff like this. But she made the act of moving on sound as mundane and simple as taking a shower, and it never could be.
Because this wastheDylan freakin’ Pierce.
He hadn’t been just a couple of quick lays. We had talked. We had connected—or so I’d thought. And while he still didn’t know a whole lot about me, that didn’t appear to matter when my soul seemed to know something my brain didn’t.
So, when he showed up at my parents’ door four weeks after I’d last seen him, I let him in and up the stairs to my room, as if I’d forgotten how much it hurt to be left.
“I’m surprised you even remember me at this point,” I teased, only half-joking, as I closed the door behind me.
“You say that like forgetting you would be easy,” he replied, already prowling toward me with only one intent.
“Then, where have you been?” I asked as my back pressed against the door and his arms caged me in, his hands on either side of my shoulders.
“Writing,” he answered, tracing the length of my nose with his. “Talking to my manager.”
I rolled my eyes and turned from his single-minded pursuit. “It takes four weeks to write a few songs and talk to your manager?”
One of his hands grasped my chin, guiding my gaze back to his. Soft, hooded eyes searched mine, his brows tipped with hurt and regret. “I didn’t mean to ignore you,” he replied, his tone gentle and soothing, quelling my irritation and luring my soul back toward his grasping fingers. “I just got wrapped up in my shit.”
There was too much sincerity in his eyes for him to be lying. Tarryn had called him an artist, and she was absolutely right about that. Who was I to assume what his process was? And why did I think I had the right to demand his attention when the ground rules for our … thing had never been laid out?
So, I accepted his excuse and pressed my hands to his chest to stand on my toes and kiss him in my bedroom, where I had imagined scenarios just like this for years. A rumbled moan rose from his chest as our lips parted in unison and my tongue reacquainted itself with the taste of his. Minty. Sweet. Fresh. My God, he was such a good kisser, better than any I’d had before, and I savored every languorous swipe of a tongue or bite of a lip.
Dylan’s hand came down to cup my breast through my shirt, and my back arched, pressing into his touch. He groaned at my eagerness to comply, then nipped at my neck and demanded that I get on the bed. My little twin-size bed, barely big enough for Ernest, the one-eyed cat, and me.
“Are you sure?” I asked, letting my hand drift downward to the steel rod straining against the zipper of his jeans. “Because I could always get on my knees and help you out with this.”
His chuckle was hoarse, as if scraping against his throat, while he took my hand away from his groin. “Let me make you feel good first,” he said, kissing my palm. “Now, go lie down.”
I walked to the bed and did as he’d asked. Then, he stood over me, hungry eyes raking over the length of my body before he instructed me to remove my yoga pants. I watched him as I lifted my ass and pulled them off, revealing a pair of underwear imprinted with music notes. He laughed and said I must’ve known he’d be stopping by.
“Must’ve been my subconscious,” I replied, propping up on my elbows. “Because I honestly didn’t think I’d see you ever again.”
“Baby, you’re not getting rid of me that easily,” he muttered as he got down on his knees.
