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“New rate,” she says, toggling between two laptops on her desk.
“Is he okay with that?” I clench one hand at my side, digging my fingernails into my palm, hoping he doesn’t cancel, because after everything we’ve been through now I cost too much.
“He didn’t hesitate. He didn’t skip a beat.”
Holy crap. I’m going to see Dylan McAlister again.
***
20
Las Vegas
LAS VEGAS
I fly out a few days later and catch a ride to The Wolfe, the luxury boutique hotel where I’m supposed to meet Dylan. The irony’s not lost on me. It’s a weird coincidence that I’m reuniting with the guy I helped heal at a hotel carrying the same name as the boys I helped break.
I pause along a cascading water wall at the far end of the lobby and pull a compact from my purse to apply a coat of lipstick, check my reflection, and run a hand through my hair. I’m wearing it down. Dylan loves my hair. He likes to tug on it during sex. He likes how it drapes across his body, tickling him when he’s naked and I’m straddling him, holding tight to his shoulders when we have sex.
I’m nervous. I haven’t seen him since that horrible, heart-stomping evening. We haven’t talked since I left him high and dry at that game in Dallas after I was blindsided by creepy Fast Food King’s bullshit one-upmanship and Patrick’s need to be in charge.
I pinch the acupuncture spot on the web of my thumb to ground myself, take a few calming breaths, and gather my courage before I walk through the door of the darkened bar. The bar is crowded with people of all ages. My heart flutters in my chest like a teenager’s, my pulse building. But I don’t see Dylan.
What if he doesn’t show? What if for some twisted reason this is some kind of revenge plot? There are so many people here. I crane my neck but I still don’t see him. What if this is a way to get me back for leaving him with no explanation? Where is he? My palms break out in a sweat and I glance around the bar.
‘He’s not that guy,’ Hope says. ‘He’s not petty. Keep moving. One foot in front the other.’
I resume walking, past a bottleneck of people clustered at the bar, and that’s when I spot him. Dylan’s sitting at a small table in the far corner checking his phone, a lock of hair falling over his forehead. A bouquet of flowers rests on the table. Goose bumps sprout on my arms. I don’t think I’ve ever been so excited to see anyone in my entire life.
I toss my hair over my shoulder, count three, two, one, and make my way toward him, my heart beating fast, practically carving a hole in my chest. “Hey, old man.”
His eyes light up and he springs to his feet. “Evie.” He pulls me into a tight embrace. My breasts press against his hard chest, our hearts thump-thump. “God, Evie. You’re finally here.”
“Finally.” I cling to him. He smells like hope and dreams. He feels like love lost and love found. I want to disappear into his arms forever, and it’s all I can do not to burst out crying.
“I missed you,” he says.
“I missed you back.” I inhale his scent and draw a hand over his neck. We fit together like long-lost puzzle pieces snapping into place. He wraps one broad, protective hand around my shoulders, the other around my head. He weaves his fingers through my hair and kisses me. He explores my mouth with his tongue, tasting me, claiming me, devouring me.
I’m home, Dylan. Oh, sweetheart, I am home.
He kisses me, tangling his hand in my hair. He shuts the door of his penthouse suite behind me with his foot. “God, I missed you, baby.” He feathers kisses on my forehead, face, lips and neck, and pulls at the zipper of my dress.
I unbutton his shirt. My breath comes quicker. He shrugs off his shirt and I run my hands over his muscular chest, and shoulders. I’m getting turned on by every muscular rip and swell. My cocktail dress falls to the floor and I step out of it. He palms my breasts through my lace bra, rubbing a broad thumb over first one nipple, then the other. They pebble under his touch. His breath comes faster. The muscle in his jaw ticks as he unhooks my bra. I inhale. My bra gapes opens and I shrug it off.
He runs fingers down my neck, my chest, tracing circles around my breasts, pinching my nipples between his thumb and forefinger. I moan, electricity spreading in bursts to my arms, my fingers. He unzips his pants and kicks them off, then yanks off his underwear. His hard dick springs free, bobbing up toward his abdomen.
He’s bigger than I remember. Dylan McAlister’s got a gorgeous cock. Tight balls. Flat stomach. Muscular shoulders. Be still my fucking heart. He pulls my lace panties down my legs and kneels in front of me, his breath warm on my abdomen. “Spread your legs, Evie.”
I do.
“So good.” He kisses my stomach, running a hand toward my core and I grow wetter. He reaches between my legs and circles a finger around my pussy. “My mantra,” he says. “Evie’s wet pussy.” He strums his thumb across my clit and eases two fingers inside me.
I groan. “Your cock inside me, now, Dylan.”
“I’m in charge tonight, baby.” He drops his mouth to my sex. He scrapes his teeth over my clit, the scruff of his beard tickling the sensitive skin on the inside of my thigh. He thrusts his fingers in and out and I moan. “Come for me. I want to watch you come.” He looks up at me. That muscle in his jaw ticks again. His eyes are heavy with lust, his cheeks flushed. He runs those talented fingers over my clit as my breath comes quicker.
“Yes.” I grab his hair, threading my fingers through its thickness. I arch my pelvis, riding his hand that’s fucking me and I gaze down into his brilliant blue eyes. My orgasm circles and I’m panting by the time it hits me, strong in my core, tingles shooting down my legs, up my stomach to my breasts, my arms, my heart.
