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Life had brought many different people in my direction. Friends, family members, and fleeting relationships with various men. All who'd made me the center of their attention until something better came along.
A more important social obligation.
A prettier girlfriend.
A friend who didn't need a ride or a hand.
I had spent my life acting as nothing more than a stepping stone for too many people, and I was sick of it. Absolutely one hundred percent sick of it, and being treated that way by the very man who had composed the soundtrack to so many tear-filled moments of rejection served as the sour cherry on top of the crappiest sundae.
But what hurt the most was how I could still feel his hands on my skin. His callous fingertips tickling over my stomach and dipping between my legs, playing my body like the strings of his guitar. His heated breath warming my neck while his lips connected the dots between my collarbone and ear.
I hate him.
The moment the thought crossed my mind, I just as quickly shook it away. I didn't hate Dylan Pierce. The man had saved me. He had changed my life, for better or for worse. How could I ever hate him?
But what I hated was that he hadn't replied to my damn message.
And I hate what he does to my body.
Groaning quietly, I kicked the blanket off and left it draped on the floor before tiptoeing past Tarryn, asleep on her air mattress, and hurrying to the bathroom. I closed the door behind me, yanked my pants down, and before I could sit on the toilet, my hands were between my spread thighs.
With my eyes closed, I could imagine him there. Keeping his gaze on my hands and whispering his illicit instructions into my ear.
“Touch yourself, just like that. Good girl. That's it.”
But not touching, never touching, just watching, only ever watching …
“Let go.”
“Do it for me.”
My fingers worked quicker, and my body grew stiff as my teeth dug into my bottom lip to keep any unwanted sound from escaping. Tipping my head back, I rode the waves alone with Dylan on my mind, and after, I opened my eyes to slump against the back of the toilet and catch my breath and settle my heart.
Then, I checked my watch.
Two and a half minutes.
That was all it had taken to bring myself to climax to the thought of Dylan's voice. And if he were here, I knew it would've taken even less time and persuasion than that to coax me into his bed or onto his lap. The amount of power the man had over me was enough to bring tears to my eyes, and the injustice of knowing nothing more than a roller coaster of fleeting sexual escapades would ever come of it opened the floodgates.
I deserved more than this. I deserved a better life and a better man. One who would text me back and want more than just my body to fuel his songs. I knew it, and as I wiped my eyes and tiptoed my way back to bed, I decided I would jump at the chance of having it the second it was presented to me.
But I wouldn’t look for it. I’d let it come to me, and in the meantime …
It was time to make myself happy.
***
The man came two days later during dinner.
Dad had made his famous cottage pie with the leftover mashed potatoes, and while listening to Eric Clapton'sJourneyman, the three of us made easy conversation out of the latest Stephen King novel Mom and I had just read. Dad joked about not having the smarts to get wrapped up in that shit, and I joked back that if Connor could manage, so could he. Then, just as Dad was about to reply, my phone pinged with an incoming message.
Mom looked up from her plate and asked innocently, “Who's that?”
I picked it up, squinted at the screen, and replied, “Uh … it's Cassie.”
“Cassie? Didn't you just go to her wedding recently?”
“Yeah,” I said with a nod, crumpling my forehead with confusion at the,Hey, girl!!!Cassie had sent.
