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His forehead creases slightly between his brows, and his expression etched with agony practically screams of a broken boy within.
He nods silently. A painful admission for a man of his strength and success.
I pull him into my chest, weaving my fingers into his hair as I hold him against me, my chin resting on his head.
After a moment, he pulls back and grabs my face in his hands, resting his head against mine.
He kisses me softly and I feel his heart racing, his mind right behind it.
So I give him what he needs now, and I kiss him back.
50
Lake
Iwaketoaloud, spine tingling shriek.
Blinking and orienting myself, I quickly realize what we've done.
“Fuck, Dylan,” I murmur, running my hands down my face.
She's up, running around my room, frantically searching for her shirt and panicking, as she should.
She's not supposed to be waking up here. I was supposed to drive her home last night, but one orgasm turned into dinner and five more, and fuck my life. We fell asleep. We got caught up in the passion, the sex, the wild night we couldn't seem to end.
Colin.
“Did you call him?” I ask immediately, standing as she slips into her sweatpants. I help her search through the tangled sheets.
She lets out a huff. “He didn't answer.”
I feel the anger and tension radiating off her as she runs her hands through her hair, her nostrils flaring as she does it. She's fucking infuriated with herself, and that scares me.
Dylan mad at Dylan means the dictator comes out. She's about to retreat into her shell of safety, and the idea is terrifying.
“It's alright D, Katia checked on him after work. Everything was fine last night. Just try to call—”
“You don't get it!” she yells, interrupting me.
I pause in place, staring cautiously as she finds her sweatshirt.
“Sorry.” She takes a quick breath to calm herself. “You just don't get it, Lake.”
Slipping it over her bra, she heads out of the bedroom towards the living room.
“Fuck,” I grumble to myself, angrily tossing the comforter to the floor and scrambling to keep up with her.
I should've never put her in this situation. She told me to take her back. I kept telling her only a few more minutes. I could hold her a few more minutes, and my alarm would go off. I'd take her back to her apartment before Colin ever woke up. Now it's almost seven in the morning and she can't get a hold of him.
Control is the only thing that keeps her feeling safe and secure. And selfishly, I've taken that from her. Today of all days.
Racing to get clothed, I slip my arms through a sweatshirt, the hem of it rolled up and barely covering my abdomen, as I grab my keys and she slips into her shoes.
Her attention locks onto her phone as she texts and calls him repeatedly. I lead her by the elbow down the hallway to the elevator, sloppily slipping on the heel of my shoe, only to be met by the eyes of Dr. Clark Shelby, our new director of sports medicine, opening his door down the hall.
I stare for a second in disbelief as we make eye contact.
He catches a glimpse of me in all my glory, my torso hanging out of my sweatshirt, my sweats barely above my boxer briefs, slipping a shoe on in the frantic escape, but I don't address him. Practically shoving Dylan into the elevator, I immediately follow her inside, closing the door.
