Forget (27 page)

Incessant ringing vibrates against the kitchen counter.
Seriously!
I shut my eyes, groaning in annoyance. My initial thought is to ignore it, but then I remember that I haven’t talked to my sister in over twenty-four hours. I look up at him, laughing and shaking my head.

He looks just as exasperated as I feel.

“Hold that thought, for the love of God, hold that thought,” I say, before walking into the kitchen.

Another missed call from Lindsay. She wins the award for World’s Biggest Cock-Block today. I send Ember a quick message, letting her know that I’ll call her tomorrow. And then, I text my whore of a best friend.

‘For fucks sake, calm your tits. I need more patience and less clitorference.’

Before I can turn around to head upstairs, Dylan’s hard chest is pressed into my back. My hips dig into the table. “The world seems hell bent on interrupting us, yes?” he asks, a soft laugh playing at his lips. He presses himself against me, hard and straining against my ass. “I don’t care if your phone rings a million times . . . if my flat is on fire . . . if the police are banging at my door . . . I’m not letting anything stop us.”

I giggle, glancing over my shoulder. “Don’t worry, I put it on silent.”

“Brilliant plan.” He brushes the long strands of my ponytail off to the side. He places kisses along my skin. “You have a freckle on your neck. It’s right here,” he says, his thumb brushing across it. “Did you know that, love? It’s rather cute.” His mouth turns heated, kissing and sucking a path along my neck.

My grin is erased off my lips with a moan.

“Even when you’re sound asleep, you’re quite the tease.” His English accent gets thicker as desire creeps into his voice. “I woke up this morning and there you were, lying next to me in nothing but your lace knickers and shirt.” His hands cup my backside. “This perfect ass was pressed against me . . . Christ, my cock was straining for you.” Lips move to my ear, growling, “It took every ounce of strength I had to let you sleep.”

My eyes fall closed, savoring the idea that he woke up hard for me.

“And then I got back from the market, only to find you in my shower. Were your hands really that careless with the curtain or did you secretly want me to see every inch of your naked, gorgeous body?” He asks but doesn’t wait for my response. “I think you secretly like to tease me.”

His hands move to my lower back. Shivers roll up my spine as his fingers brush under the hem of my shirt. I’m intensely aware of every small touch, every soft kiss he places across my skin. And I’m desperate for more. I need his hands and mouth all over me, his cock inside of me. I start to turn around, but his hands grip my hips, holding me in place.

“And then I had to watch you walk around my kitchen, in
my
shirt, and every time you’d move your arms, I’d get a glimpse of your bare breasts through the opened sleeves. I’m starting to wonder if you’re hell bent on driving me mad.” He punctuates it with a tiny thrust of his hips, rubbing himself against me. “How wet did it make you, knowing that I came in the shower to thoughts of you?”

I whimper. “W-what was I doing? When you were stroking yourself, and thinking of me, what was I doing?” My voice is breathy and desperate.

I feel his smile on my neck. “My face was between your legs, you were grabbing your perfect tits and coming against my tongue . . . Do you want to fuck my mouth, Brooke?”

Is that even a question?

“Because I’m quite fond of the idea of you spread across my face, coming in that wild, savage way of yours.”

“Yes,” I moan. Desire pools deep in my belly. His large body towers behind mine, the warmth of his skin seeping into my pores. And I thought I was turned on last night . . . Good God, I’m trembling with need. I want to crawl out of my body and into his.

He reaches down, removing my hand from the table, and tugs it behind me, pressing it firmly against him. I curl my fingers around him, stroking him through his briefs. “Is this from
me?
”

His body arches into my palm with a rough thrust. “I’ve been like this since I got out of the shower and saw you shaking your little ass to The Strokes. I want your hips to move like that while you’re riding my cock,” he whispers into my ear. “What part of last night turned you on the most?” His tongue licks along the lobe, and then sucks it into his hot mouth.

My breasts grow heavy, nipples straining against cotton. This is too much, the way he’s drawing this out and making me crazed for him.

“Answer me, love.” I love the way he sounds so demanding yet entirely sweet at the same time. He’s a dangerous combination of alpha and beta, all seductive bad-boy and tender lover.

“Pressing myself against you in the dark corner of the terrace . . . Tasting your lips with my tongue . . . The way you knew just the right way to touch me . . .
Everything . . .”
I moan, head falling back against his chest.

“Are you wet for me?”

“
Yes,
” I purr. “I’m dying for you to touch me.”

Large hands span my waist, gripping the material of my shirt and pulling it over my head. His fingers make quick work of my jean shorts, and they fall to the floor. Dylan groans. “Fuck, you’re even wearing my briefs.” His hand slides between my legs, feeling my arousal that’s soaked the cotton material. “And you’re drenched,” he admires, sliding his fingers over my clit and dipping down into my wetness.

“Touch yourself, Brooke.” He grabs my hand and slides it inside the briefs.

I
am
wet. It’s becoming painful how wild I am for him. I stroke myself roughly; feeling frenzied when his hands move across my breasts.

“Stop,” he demands. “Let me taste you.”

I pull my hand free and lift it to his mouth. Trembling fingers paint his lips, my arousal glistening on his skin. He sucks two fingers into his mouth. His tongue curls around them, warm and soft.

“Oh fuck, I need . . .” It’s torture, the way his tongue flutters and licks at my fingers. My hips thrust on their own accord, my body searching for relief. I want his mouth between my legs. I need his tongue doing that against my clit.

“Tell me what you need,” he whispers into my ear. And then he resumes the sweetest torture of my life.

My body is aching, downright frantic. In an instant, I’m pulling my hand away, turning my body and pressing myself against his hard chest. My fingers slide into his hair, gripping the ends and slamming his lips to mine. I slide my tongue against his, kissing him deep, tasting myself. My nipples grow harder, rubbing against his hot skin.

He grips my ponytail, wrapping it around his wrist and pulling my head from his. “Tell me what you need, love,” he says, eyes fixed on mine.

“Touch me . . . Taste me . . . I want to fuck your mouth.”

He releases my hair and pushes the briefs down my legs. “Get on the table.”

On shaky legs, I obey. The wood is cool against my burning skin. Dylan sits down in front of me, setting my feet on his bare thighs. His fingers run a smooth path from my ankle to inner thighs. “Please,” I beg, looking down at him. My body is restless, shifting and squirming and trying to find release.

“Shhh . . .” he admonishes. His fingers grip my thighs, holding them in place and spreading me open. He leans forward, blowing hotly against my center. His tongue starts a blazing, tortuous path along my inner thighs, moving slowly towards where I need him the most. “Christ, you’re wet. Are you aching with need, love?” His eyes fixate between my legs.

My body blushes at how utterly exposed I am to his hooded stare.

He looks up at my face, his eyes laced with appreciation. “I love that fucking blush of yours.” His thumb brushes my cheek. “The way your creamy skin flushes the sexiest shade of red . . . You’re like a little peach. And you taste just as sweet too. Like fucking candy on my tongue.”

Pleading noises escape my throat when he sucks at a spot above my pubic bone. It’s hard enough to leave a bruise. “
Dylan,”
I whisper his name like a prayer. I’m beyond anxious, but not in the normal way I’ve known myself to be. I’m anxious for his mouth. I feel starved, hungry for what only he can give.

He noses at my pussy, pressing, kissing, and with teeth bared, glides across my hips, my thighs, my lips, and my belly. I’ve lost all rational thought, solely focused on what he’s doing and where I need him and how positively wet I am. Hips rise, my body shakes, and pleading words spill from my lips.

“Say the words again, and I’ll do it. I’ll do whatever you ask, Brooke.”

My mouth opens, but only a whimper comes out. My hands attempt to brace themselves behind my back, fingers searching for something to grip.

Leaning back, he eyes me with a sharp look. “Tell me what you need,” his voice growls for my response.

“I need you . . . Please . . .”

“Oh,
ma belle
Brooke . . .” He shakes his head, tittering under his breath. “I need you to be more specific than that.”

I need you to stop teasing me!
My pulse speeds up, turning into a crazy rhythm, all cymbals crashing and obnoxious kick-drum, the complete opposite of slow and steady. Everything inside me is pulsating and striving for release. “I need your mouth on me.” My tone sounds pissy. His teasing and delicious torment have driven me mad.

He laughs softly, visibly enjoying my reaction.
Bastard.
“Let me hear that dirty little mouth, love.” I can’t deny that I get a thrill from seeing this side of him. That clever mouth has the power to seduce this uninhibited side out of me.
And fuck, I want to be wild with him again.

My reticence is gone, only urge and desire and suffocating need are in control.

I lean towards him, gripping his chin. “Put your mouth on my pussy, Dylan, before I lose my fucking mind. I want you to suck and lick at my clit. I want you to slide your fingers inside of me.” I crush my lips to his, sliding my tongue into his mouth. “I want to fuck this pussy-tease of a mouth until I’m coming all over your lips.”

He smiles against my lips. “Lay back, Little Wing.”

I do as I’m told, lying back on the table. A shaky breath escapes my lungs when his hands run up my thighs, spreading me as wide as I can possibly go.

“You are the sweetest contradiction. One minute you’re blushing because my eyes are staring at your perfect cunt and the next you’re demanding to fuck my mouth.” He leans forward and licks a long firm line against me, directly, exactly where I need him.

Oh God, yes

He moans against me. “I thought your mouth tasted sweet, but your pussy tastes even better.”

Dylan’s mouth is all over me. Sucking and licking at my clit. All of the teasing and torment have me so riled that I’m chanting his name over and over again, loud enough that’s it’s echoing inside his flat. I feel the pleasurable build start at my belly, pooling and magnifying by the second. He’s moaning against me, whispering praise of how good I taste, and how sexy I am, and how he can’t wait to slide his cock inside of me.

The instant he thrusts two fingers inside, I scream. Loud pants and whimpers spill from my lips. It’s too much. My hands grab at the table, trying to hold myself together because surely I’m going to burst into a million fucking pieces. I run my fingers through his hair, gripping the strands, as my hips start moving on their own accord.

“
Yes, Brooke,
” he growls against my clit between intense sucks and pulls.

It builds higher and higher, rising to a level that borders on pain. A level that has my legs tensing up and attempting to pull closed because
the feeling
is consuming nerve endings that I didn’t know existed.

Good . . . So good . . . Too good . . .

Dylan holds me open, continuing the wet slide of his tongue and the deep thrust of two long fingers. “It’s too much.” I panic for a second, worried about what will happen once this intensity peaks.

“Just let go, Brooke. Let yourself fall.” The vibration of his voice pushes me over the edge.

Holy hell.

I’m shaking and screaming, and my body feels suffocated from my orgasm. Waves and waves of delirious pleasure wash over me. They are never ending, seemingly infinite in length. My lungs can hardly keep up.

Holy fucking hell.

I’m still shuddering and panting as Dylan rises to his feet, swiping an arm across his mouth. I’m blissful and dazed as I lean up, on my hands. He’s standing in front of me, his neck tense and erection
very
visible beneath his boxer briefs.

“Bloody hell, Brooke. I need you in my bed. Now.”

In an instant, he’s pulling me into his arms, wrapping my still-trembling legs around his waist, and carrying me up the stairs. He kisses me deeply, roughly even, as he strides towards the bed.

“Sit,” he tells me, setting my feet on the floor. In two steps, he’s out of his boxer briefs, leaving him deliciously naked. I stare at his golden skin, the taut V of his hips, and his jutting cock. He’s
straining,
skin stretched tight and swollen at the tip. Is he as hard and smooth and silky as he looks?

I have a fleeting thought of wondering how this man has turned my world on its side. He’s got me so ready, so willing to do
anything
he tells me. Losing control and letting someone make all of the decisions where sex is concerned has always been a shameful experience for me, dirty even, and not in a good way. It’s the way that no amount of showering can scrub off my skin. It’s why one-night stands have always repulsed me. It’s why I’ve never had a healthy sexual relationship. And it’s why Jamie is such a safe place.

Dylan has weaved some sort of magic, putting me under his spell. He’s the perfect combination of attentive and dominant lover. It makes me feel safe while encouraging me to let my walls down.

The music is still filtering from downstairs; it’s been on continuous shuffle since he first played The Strokes, one song blurring into another. I didn’t notice it when he had me spread across his kitchen table, everything around me had faded, the music a mere white noise compared to what he was doing with his mouth. But now, my ears hone in on Jesse Rutherford’s soulful voice as it fills the otherwise quiet apartment. The heady beat of The Neighbourhood’s
A Little Death
is pumping out of the speakers.