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Not happening, grizzly bear, I think as he pulls away. I surge forward, grabbing the front of his shirt and yanking. He’s not expecting it, and that’s the only advantage I have because damn this man has more muscles in one arm than I do in my whole body, and he stumbles, joining me on the floor.
I give myself a split second to revel in my success, feeling pretty proud of the desperate move considering it worked, and then I’m closing the distance between us. Winding my arms around his neck, our knees brushing since we’re both kneeling now, I press my lips against his again. I kiss him hungrily, letting him know that I, for one, don’t regret his moment of weakness.
“Dahlia,” he groans against my mouth instead of kissing me back. The way he says my name—low and raspy and a little shaky like he’s right at the edge of control—makes me shiver.
“Dylan,” I whisper back, his name sounding like a moan on my tongue.
“Don’t say my name like that,” he warns, sounding like it pains him. One of his hands comes up to cup the back of my neck, threading my hair through his fingers. He holds me still with his grip on me, but he doesn’t pull me away from him.
“Why not?” I arch into him and brace my hands on his thighs so I can lean closer and kiss his neck, flicking my tongue against the thumping pulse point. I’m surprising myself as much as him with how forward I’m being, but I swore to myself that this was a new chapter of my life, a chance to figure myself out. That means not shying away from what I want. It means embracing my desire instead of being ashamed of it.
And, well, I’m so turned on that there’s a heartbeat pounding between my legs I’m literally desperate to ease.
“Because it makes me want to hear you scream it,” Dylan growls, tightening his grip on my hair so that I have to stop kissing him. I look up at his face, finding his eyes dark with dangerous desire. I shudder again, hypersensitive.
I am so on board with screaming his name. I open my mouth to tell him just that, but he interrupts.
“And that’s not the kind of thing I should be letting myself want, petal,” he grumbles.
Nope. Not letting him go down that road right now. What could be wrong about this? I want him. He wants me even if he’s fighting it. We’re both adults. I smile at him, running my teeth over my bottom lip as my thighs press together, searching for friction.
“But you do want it?” I ask.
Dylan shudders as though the question wears down his fight as he admits, “I want it so fucking badly I can’t think about anything else.”
“Touch me. I want you to touch me, Dylan.” I force myself to not shy away from the admission even though it makes my face burn. “I need it.”
My voice is little more than a whine and his grip stays strong as I move, spreading my thighs and using my arms still looped around his neck to help lift myself onto his lap. I can feel the hard length of his cock against me now, and my eyes flutter. I may be inexperienced, so despite Dylan’s gruffness, I trust him to guide me through this.
“Please, Dylan, please. It aches,” I whimper, hips jerking when he tugs at my hair again. I’m putty in his hands. “Make it better. I need you to make me feel better. You’re the only one who can. Please, please—”
“Fuck!” Dylan snaps, and our teeth clash as he kisses me hard. I press closer to him, loving the feel of his muscular body against mine, wild for him. “Are you wet for me, petal?”
That’s an understatement,I think as I nod against him, sparks flying along my skin as his hand slips under the waistband of my sweatpants. The material is stretchy, offering no resistance as he cups me between my legs. I gasp at his boldness.
“Does this pretty pussy need something?” he asks darkly, turning my head so he can nip at my earlobe when he speaks. My answer is a strangled moan. There’s no way I can form words right now. “God, you’re soaking, petal. Is this all for me? For just one kiss?”
I nod again, burying my face in his neck as embarrassment catches up to me. It’s not enough to stop me from pressing against his possessive touch, unsure of what to do but needing more. I want this so badly. Everything he has to give.
He chuckles at my surge of embarrassment, holding me close to him. “This is a fucking terrible idea,” he mutters, more to himself than me, before adding, “But fuck I can’t leave you like this.”
Thank God.
Once again, there’s no teasing or toying with me. No, in one movement, he tugs the damp gusset of my panties to the side and plunges a finger into me. I gasp, body clenching around the intrusion, hips bucking.
Dylan hisses, sucking in a sharp breath. “Holy shit, you’re tight.Fuck.”
The heel of his hand presses against my clit, his finger still buried inside me, and already I can feel that tight coil of warmth brighten. My body moves, hips rolling, chasing the sensation with uncoordinated desperation.
“That’s it, petal. Ride my hand. Fuck, that’s so hot,” Dylan encourages, and every word makes my mind spin. He thinks I’m hot. He wants me to use his hand for pleasure. He wants…
I moan loudly, finding a rhythm as I rock into his touch, and he adds a second finger. There’s a stretch now, but the feeling of fullness that comes with it is dizzying. I’ve never felt this kind of pleasure before, and I think I might actually die from it. It’s barely been two minutes but he curls his fingers inside me, pressing against something as I rock on him and fuck—
“Oh! Oh my—” I gasp, stuttering, head falling back and lips parting as that coil unwinds in a blissful rush.
I come hard, back bowing and eyes closing as white stars spark behind my lids. He said he wanted me to scream his name, and I can’t help but do just that. His name is the only coherent thought in my head.
“Dylan!”
