Something More Than This (13 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

O
verwhelmed, I need to pull over to the side of the road after leaving Conner’s house. It’s when I’m parked on that side street that I break down and really lose it.

How stupid am I for letting this . . .
all
of this . . . get as far as it has? Not only with Dylan, but also with Conner. I should have known better than to bring up the letter. I should have left things as they were. He’s leaving next week and he could have gone on his merry way without a thing being said or that kiss happening, which could have led to who knows what.

And oh God, the look on Conner’s face when I told him I had to leave was one I’ll never forget. I start to laugh a little maniacally at this because it must be the same look I had on my face when I left him in Bayview Park almost nine years ago.

So I sit here and think. And think. And think some more. Trying to plan out my next move like a game of chess. Then in slow motion, my hand darts out and reaches for my cell phone.

As if on autopilot, I text Dylan, hoping that he’ll answer. Not noticing until after I press Send that it’s almost midnight and he could very well be sleeping. Or worse, tied up with Rachel.

Are you home?

I stare at our text exchange, looking for the telltale three running dots that indicate he’s typing something back.

They don’t come.

I chuck the phone onto my passenger seat and rest my head against the steering wheel in defeat. Because what was I going to do if he said yes?

But right then, my phone vibrates and I snatch it up to see his response.

Yes. Are you?

Quickly, I text back:

No. Are you alone?

The three dots string together until I see his answer.

Yes.

I smile as a tear rolls down my cheek in relief. But it’s not enough, I need to see him in person and hope that he doesn’t think I’m absolutely crazy for asking.

Can I come over?

It takes more than a minute for him to answer. I know this because I stare at the phone the whole time, and when it starts dimming before it auto-locks, I touch the screen to bring it back to life.

Then finally, his answer comes and it terrifies me and thrills me all at the same time.

Yes.

I get to Dylan’s condo in about ten minutes. I wasn’t racing, but I definitely wasn’t doing the speed limit either. And it’s times like these I remember that my brother’s a cop and could probably get me out of the ticket. I’ve never ever used that crutch, and never would under any other circumstances, but today is different.

Today, right now, is something I never saw myself doing.

If someone had told me last week that I’d reject Conner in any scenario, I probably would have said they were on drugs. But more than that, if someone would have told me I was in love with Dylan and would be on my way to his house in the middle of the night, I’d tell them they should be committed.

But here I am. No turning back now.

And I don’t want to. I need to see him like I need to take my next breath to survive.

I park my car and leave everything in it, only taking my keys, which I throw into the pocket of my hoodie sweatshirt. With each step away from my car and to Dylan’s door, a weight slowly lifts from my shoulders.

I reach up to knock on his front door but it swings open. Dylan is standing on the other side without his eyeglasses, propping the door open with his arm and wearing nothing but drawstring pajama bottoms that hang low on his hips, leaving nothing to the imagination. His long, sleek, and muscular torso is on full display, and my first instinct is to reach out and run my hands across all that skin. A thrill runs through me as my eyes canvass his strong jaw, his neck and shoulders, and the smattering of hair on his tan chest that runs down and disappears into his pajama bottoms. But I hesitate, because there is a storm brewing in his normally brilliant eyes.

We stand there for a few seconds not talking or moving. I’m barely breathing and afraid I made a monumental mistake in coming here, so I take a step back to leave, second-guessing myself. Dylan grabs my arm, pulling me inside. Then he slams the door behind me and takes a couple of steps forward until my back is pinned against it. It takes me a moment to gather my wits, but when I do, I’m hyperaware of his body pressed against mine.

His hands bracket me against the door. “What do you want, Katy?”

I can’t answer right away because I want so many things at that moment, but in the end it’s just him. He’s what I want. But I don’t know how to tell him that, so the words get lodged somewhere in my throat.

His jaw ticks in frustration at my silence, and he leans his head in closer and closer, until his cheek runs alongside mine. The day old stubble rasps against my skin and brings a thrill up my spine. Then, when he reaches my ear, he whispers again, “What do you want?”

When I don’t answer, he asks just as quietly, “Why aren’t you with him?”

“I don’t know.” My heart twists with the lie since I know that I want to be here with Dylan. Be consumed by him.

“Did you let him touch you?” he asks after searching my eyes, my lips, my soul.

“Yes, but I could only think about you,” I say. “Did you touch her?”

He shakes his head slowly, bringing a relief so great to my heart and mind that I blow out a long breath. He asks, “Does that bother you? The idea of Rachel and me together?”

“Yes,” I admit quietly.

“Why?”

“Because I didn’t know until recently how you felt . . . how much
I
felt. I’ve been so confused since I left your office the other day and I didn’t know how to act around you. But then I saw you with her tonight . . . it bothered me. I wanted to be the one at your side, Dylan.”

Then he brings one of his hands to cup the side of my face. He drags his cheek along mine again until his lips are but a breath away from mine, his eyes now pinning me to him. “Did he kiss you?”

I nod, not wanting to lie to him. If he’s upset or disappointed in my answer, he doesn’t let it show. He moves his other hand away from my head and slowly brings it underneath the hem of my sweatshirt, where his fingers lightly brush against my skin as they inch higher. When he touches the skin just below my breast, moving his fingers side to side, barely grazing me, my body comes alive and reacts immediately.

“Did he touch you here?”

“No,” I answer, gasping for breath.

His hand moves higher until it’s covering my breast, while his mouth presses a kiss on the corner of mine.

“Did he touch you here, Katy?”

My back arches off the door and into his warm touch. I shake my head, not able to string together a thought, much less a word right now.

“Do you want
me
to touch you?” he asks, moving his head back so that I can see clearly into his eyes. Looking back at me is pure, unadulterated lust on the cusp of being unleashed. And while his fingers now toy with the lace of my bra, he asks, “Do you want
me
to kiss you? Is that what you want?”

I nod again.

“Tell me. I need to hear you say it. I need to hear you ask me.” He licks his lips, then says, “I’m afraid I won’t be able to stop myself. I’ve wanted this . . . you. I’ve wanted
you
for so long.”

Taking a gulp of much needed air, I answer him by pulling my sweatshirt over my head and tossing it to the ground behind him. The need for me to feel his bare skin against mine is overwhelming, so I reach behind me and unclasp my bra, sliding it down my arms as if it were on fire, until it hits the floor.

I bring my hands up to loop around his neck, luxuriating in the feel of our bare chests against each other’s for the first time and look into his stormy eyes. “I want you, Dylan . . . I need you.”

His hands rope around my back and he holds me to him tightly. Then, as if remembering I’m a real living and breathing thing in his arms, he pulls back slightly. His mouth is on mine before I can blink. The kiss is ravenous and full of hunger and amazing. Then, as if a switch trips in his head, his tongue plays with mine slowly and teasingly until I groan into his mouth, which spurs him on even more.

Dylan bends at the knees and hoists me up his body, wrapping my legs around his waist and walking us, I assume to his bedroom. But he stops and puts me down on his kitchen island. We’re both breathing rapidly and it’s as if we aren’t sure where to even start with the other one.

I’m thirsty for more of him, so I run my fingers through his dark hair and trail my mouth along his jaw and down his throat. He tastes indescribably delicious: like a summer’s day melting against my tongue. He moans my name out loud, and it nearly destroys me. Because the way he says it is like a prayer that has been finally answered.

He then takes my ponytail and wraps it around his hand. Yanking it lightly down to expose my throat, he ducks his head and starts to kiss a trail to my breasts. The farther he gets, the farther my body slides down the island until I’m lying on my back completely.

He laves my breasts with long swipes of his tongue, gently sucking on my nipples, taking turns with each one as I grip his hair and try to pull him closer to me. Then Dylan looks up at me as my nipple pops out of his mouth and is about to say something, but I put my finger to his mouth to keep him from talking.

“Don’t stop. Please,” I say, squirming underneath him.

He reaches for the button and zipper of my jeans, undoing them deftly, and quickly pulls them down my legs just after I kick off my sneakers. Leaving me in my underwear, he drapes his body completely over mine. He’s kissing me for all he’s worth and pressing his hardness against where I need it most. I don’t know where to put my hands or my mouth, because I want them everywhere all at once. And by the way he touches, kisses, licks, and nips at me, I know he’s having the same problem.

But then he’s on the move again, going down my body, using his mouth as his compass until he reaches the lacey trim of my panties. He looks up at me as his thumbs hook underneath on either side of them, slowly peeling them off of me. Then, without any fanfare, he’s placing my feet on the island and spreading my thighs with his hands. His vibrant green eyes are staring up at me when he takes his first taste of me; a long, teasing lick up and then down my center. It’s enough to make my eyes roll into the back of my head. And before long, with his tongue and hands working my body in unison, he’s bringing me to climax and I’m shouting his name out loud.

As I’m coming down, my body already knows it wants more from him. I need to have him inside me . . . it’s like a life-or-death situation. So I sit up and kiss him, tasting the remnants of myself on his tongue, which turns me on even more. I reach down in between us and slide my hand inside his pajama bottoms. Taking him in my grip, I move up and down while watching his expression turn to one of ecstasy. It’s beautiful . . .
he’s
beautiful.

Dylan rests a hand on the middle of my chest and pushes me until I’m lying flat on my back. Slowly he pulls his bottoms off and is standing before me completely naked for the first time. He’s perfect . . . everywhere. From the finely sculpted muscles of his chest, to the line of his hipbone, and finally to the happy trail that leads to where he’s slowly stroking himself.

He leans over me, bracing one arm on the side of my head while rubbing his hardness across where I’m still very sensitive . . . once, twice, three times. Then he stills at my entrance. And with one strong stroke, he pushes inside of me.

The feeling of wanting him to move is so great that I pull my legs up higher and wrap them tighter around his waist. He slides out of me slowly, and then pushes back in hard and fast. I grip his shoulders for leverage, trying to hold on to him and this moment for much longer than it will last.

Dylan groans into my neck and slides his hand down my throat until it rests on my breast, where he plucks at my nipple with his thumb and forefinger. The sensation ricochets to my core, where his rhythm is now at a perfect pace, sensual and smooth. And then he rams into me so hard that my back bows off of the kitchen island in pure bliss.

Within seconds, with each powerful and calculated thrust of Dylan’s, I’m on the brink again. Wanting so badly to fall over that cliff but not wanting it to end at the same time. He suddenly picks his head up to look down at me underneath him. As if for the first time he’s realizing that it’s really me—Katy,
his
Katy—that he’s inside of and bringing to climax for the second time tonight. He freezes all of his movements and cups my face with his hand. Tenderly, he presses his lips to mine, kissing me like he has all the time in the world and the night will never end.

While his tongue dances with mine, he starts to move again. In and out, faster and harder, building us both up until neither of us can keep up with the kiss that has slowly unraveled into this mesh of bodies and sweat and hands gripping on to each other and my nails scraping down his back. And that’s when my body pulls at him, climaxing around him, making him rear his head back and groan loudly as he finally reaches his peak.