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Swallowing and realizing my own appetite had disappeared yet again, now replaced by another swarm of butterflies the size of jet planes, I forced a smile. “Dylan, believe me,” I said, shaking my head, “you haveneverseen me before.”
“Hmm,” he grunted with a slow nod, never allowing that assured smirk to leave his lips. “No, I definitely have. But if you won’t tell me, I'll figure it out eventually.”
His adamance was firm while the heat of his gaze covered my body in shivers and goose bumps. We had been alone for over thirty minutes while he called in the Shake Shack order to his manager and led me to his room. But somehow, the seclusion seemed more apparent now as his lustful eyes traced the silhouette of my body with a touch more intimate than any hand I'd felt before. None of my fantasies had predicted this—the sensuality emanating from his pores and drawing me closer and closer until his slender, tattooed fingertips whispered over the length of my neck and plunged into my blanket of hair.
My lips parted as I shut my eyes to the touch I'd imagined thousands of times, determined to etch it onto my skin. To remember in the days and years to come, knowing a dream wouldn't hold a candle to the real thing and hating that there wasn't a way to bottle it up to savor at a later date.
“You're shaking,” he said, his tone low and whispered.
“And you're very observant,” I whispered back, followed by a nervous giggle.
“Why?” he asked as I opened my eyes to find his concern written in the lines along his forehead. “Do I scare you?”
The question was so absurd that I faltered in shaking my head, and he tipped his head in reply.
“I just want to remember this,” I admitted, choosing honesty.
He grunted an insouciant chuckle and stretched his lips in a smile I had a hard time believing was directed toward me. God, he was stunning, even to my photosensitive eyes under the bright lights of this room. My fingers were desperate to touch him, to know for certain that he was real, but I was frozen. Only possessing the ability to answer the command of his hold on my hair, tipping closer to him until his sweet breath danced across my lips with the most anticipated promise of my life.
This is it. It's really happening. Don't fuck it up. Whatever you do, don't. Fuck. It. Up.
The first touch of his lips was barely noticeable, no more pronounced than the dance of a feather against a gentle breeze. But it was there, just enough to make my heart skip a handful of fluttering beats, and I released a pathetic whimper from my clenched throat.
Without warning, his fingers curled tightly against my scalp and tugged at my hair. His mouth opened, sweeping his tongue over the length of my lips and demanding an entry my pulsating lust would never deny.
And that was when I truly knew what it was like for Dylan Pierce to rock my world.
CHAPTER FOUR
Dylan
What the hell?
Startled by the strength of the passion rampaging between our open mouths, I pulled away from Lennon’s lips, leaving her panting and confused. Her tight grasp remained against my black button-down, open to my navel, as her eyes searched mine for any clue as to why I might've stopped.
Fuck, whyhadI stopped? Wasn’t this the very thing I’d been hoping for the moment I saw her walk into that party upstairs?
Yeah, I had wanted sex. It’d been a long four years since the last time I’d indulged in my favorite pastime, so of course, I had wanted to partake with her.
But was I also looking to have the entirety of my soul shaken, shifted, and molded into a new shape altogether?
Abso-fuckin'-lutely not.
“Sorry,” I uttered sheepishly, my gaze fixated on her lips, as if I could find my own answers written in the rosy tint, now faded from the last ten minutes of intense making out.
“It’s, um, it’s okay. If you want, I can—”
She started to release me from her hold, but my hand was quicker, wrapping around her wrist and stopping her from even thinking about leaving.
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “Don’t go.”
“Okay,” she replied, soft and unsure.
“Let’s just …” I swallowed and licked my lips, savoring the taste of salt she’d left behind. “Let’s just take this a little slower. I want to enjoy it.”
The statement was forced, and, fuck me, was it a load of bullshit. I didn’t want totake it slow—I never did. The sheer thought of taking it slow was as foreign to me as not wanting cheese on a burger. But if we rushed through this to the finish line, I wouldn’t have the time to figure this woman out. The monumental weight of the emotions she had brought forward in only minutes. The zing of life, flicking at my stony heart and reminding me that I wasn’t dead yet. The pulse of inspiration that scratched at the back of my head.
I hadn’t felt this way in a long time, not since before the accident. Maybe not ever, not like this. Not this powerful and strong.
