Love Emerged (20 page)

“That was nice.”

“Yeah, my grandma knew her daughter. She knew if something should happen to herself, my mom would sell everything, and my grandma wanted me to have it. In addition to the house, I had a small trust at eighteen. My uncle handled all the paperwork, so my mom couldn’t flirt her way through lawyers and judges.”

“Where was your dad during all of this?”

I scoff. “Filming a reality show. In all honesty, his family ignored my existence. He took me on a few vacations over the years. I spent a summer break in Chicago with him, but it wasn’t until I was eighteen that he really started contacting me regularly. He’d come up to Michigan, surprise me. Sent me gifts, paid my tuition, and gave me spending money.”

“So, your relationship is better now?”

I nod, remembering when I despised my father. “Yeah, it’s not anything like your or Piper’s relationships with your parents, but it’s the best it’s been.”

“I’m sorry he’s sick.”

“Thanks.”

We sit there in silence, each of us sipping our drinks. I’m already feeling a little buzzed, making all this rehash of my life easier to discuss.

“What about the last two husbands?”

Should have known he’d do the math and realize that was only five.

“Well, the sixth one, she married when I was seventeen. Lyle Devereugh had a son a few years older than me.” A little bug in me gnaws at a demand that I tell Dylan it was the man sitting with him at that table. To reveal the whole sordid past, the reason I can’t trust a man. That Austin stripped me of that natural trust instinct when he took my virginity and then threw me to the curb.

But I don’t because I could only see the pity in Dylan’s eyes for so long.

“She was with him for two years or so, but I was at Michigan at the time of their divorce. She married her seventh, William, the same year I graduated college. She was his midlife crisis, and he recently left her for his first wife.

“My mom marries for money. She doesn’t love those men. She loves their bank accounts, their mansions, their servants. It’s pathetic.”

I place my drink down on the table and pull my knees up to my chest, feeling pried open by Dylan’s insistence that we share shit most would care to forget. I feel the mattress dip as Dylan moves closer to me.

Soon, his arm is swung over my shoulder, and his head is leaning against mine. “Thank you for sharing.”

For this, I’d pick at my scab more. I’ve never had a guy be so sweet with me before.

He brings his hand over and up to my face, turning it so that we’re looking straight at one another. “Bea, can I kiss you?”

“What happened to us staying friends?” I can’t help but ask because I think I’m feeling what he’s feeling, but I’m not hanging myself on the line only to endure more heartbreak.

“I think I want to be more.” The corner of his lips creeps up, and he looks at me through his eyelashes.

“For only tonight?” I ask, my boldness and insecurity ruining our moment.

He shakes his head. “I’m going to put myself out there. I like you, Bea, and I’ve denied it since the first time I met you. At first, I chalked it up to something physical. I mean, you’re insanely hot. But after this trip and seeing this other side of you, I’m feeling something more. I can’t do friends with benefits. I tried, but I can’t keep hiding these feelings for you. So, I guess the ball’s in your court. Can you do more than friends with benefits?”

I close my eyes because I honestly don’t know. I almost tried once in college, and that ended terribly with me breaking up with him over something stupid.

But Dylan . . . I seem to want him fully in my life. He’s been stuck in this limbo and I’d be lying if I said I haven’t thought of us as more. Of movies and dinners and holidays shared with him.

“I could, but I’m scared.”

His mouth widens with a smile, and his dimples indent more than I’ve ever seen.

“You’ll try?”

With the image of his green eyes oozing happiness, I realize he’s worth the risk. The fight within me dies and I softly say, “yes.”

“Can I kiss you now?”

I nod.

His hands take my head in them, his thumbs rubbing along my cheeks, as he stares into my eyes. “You’re a tough egg to crack,” he says, “but I’m glad my perseverance has paid off.”

“Shut up, and kiss me.”

“Gladly.”

He lowers his mouth to mine, tentative at first. My mouth parts slightly, giving him an invitation to deepen the kiss. And he does, sliding his tongue in, exploring my mouth. My own hands reach behind his head, massaging the short strands of his brown hair.

He urges my body to lower down, leaving me on my back. He half-covers me, his mouth not leaving mine. Our kiss becomes more urgent, more demanding, as though we can’t fulfill the desire of each other.

Dylan’s hand slides up my dress, his palm cupping my breast. He closes our kiss, and his lips cascade kisses down my jaw to my neck.

“You’re beautiful,” he says, bringing his other hand down to bare skin, pushing my dress up.

My breathing stutters as I feel the graze of his palms slithering up my stomach. I help him and pull my sundress over my head, leaving me in my pink bra and panties. His mouth lowers, kissing the spot between my breasts. He snakes his tongue under the cup of my bra, and my back arches, wanting more.

Reaching beneath me, he unhooks my bra like a pro, and the thought of how many partners he’s had compared to me flickers to mind. You’d never guess I was the more experienced one. But that thought is quickly forgotten as his whole mouth sucks in my nipple.

“Oh,” I moan and my hands fall to the back of his head.

His tongue swirls around my nipple before his mouth is sucking, nibbling, and teasing.

I wiggle under his touch, wanting more. He glances up to me with seduction shining in his eyes. He’s going to make me work for this orgasm. I can see it already.

His fingers trail down the sides of my stomach finding the edge of my panties. His lips leave my skin, and he rises to his knees to help me dispose of the silk fabric. Once they’re off, he stares down at me, as though I’m a Victoria’s Secret model.

“Man, your body is just . . .” He stops talking.

I love that I’ve turned his mind into a jumble of thoughts. Nothing could make me feel sexier and more wanted than his smoldering eyes.

I rise up on my knees, matching his stance, and my fingers move to manipulate his shirt buttons. His hands wander over my ass, and he squeezes and molds it in his large palms. I push his shirt open, blessing myself with a view of his artistic tattoos. I bend down and kiss the matching star on each of his pecs, and he sucks in a breath.

I look up to find his eyes closed, spurring on my own arousal more. My fingers move down to open up his pants, and his stomach indents from sucking in a breath.

God, there’s nothing better than making a man come unglued from your touch, and Dylan is transparent.

I unzip his pants, snaking my hand inside and gripping his hard cock. He fists my hair into his palms, and I rub him up and down. He grunts when I take my hand out from his pants and link both of my hands on either side of his pants, I slide them down his legs, letting them pool at his knees on top of the hotel bed.

My mouth waters to be around him, but he swiftly maneuvers my body, so I’m on my back once again. My legs part open, and he shuffles off his pants, leaving him in his boxers. I spot at least ten tattoos, most centralized to his arms and chest.

“My way tonight,” he says.

As I’m lying there, bare in front of him, he inches up, and his mouth covers mine again while his hand slides up my thigh.

My body arches, waiting for his fingers to touch me, but he teases me, moving around my body, purposely dismissing the important parts. Just when I can’t stand his teasing anymore, his fingers slide between my folds, and I calm down from his touch.

“I need you,” I softly say.

He smiles against my lips. “In time.” He centers himself on top of me, allowing my hands to push his boxers down, freeing his dick.

“Do you have anything?”

“Yeah.” He chuckles, standing up and digging through his suitcase.

I sit up, admiring his body. He grabs the condom from his suitcase and sits down next to me, his back against the headboard. His hand slides under my ass, urging me up.

“Straddle me,” he instructs.

I figure we’re talking now. No missionary-romance crap. I’m going to ride him.

He slides the condom down his long length, and I move on top of him, my two hands holding on to the headboard. He gently releases my grip from the bed, making me place my hands on his shoulders. I ease down on him, and his hands are firm on my ass.

He pushes inside me with small thrusts, and I match his slow pace.

“I have to see your face.”

He thrusts, and I moan.

His mouth dips down, kissing my skin. Being more needful of contact, he sits up, and I swing my legs to go around his waist. I feel myself emerging to the edge of bliss with each grind. My hands clamp on to his shoulders again for more leverage to be completely filled by him.

He begins sucking my neck, whispering how much he needs me. How much he loves fucking me. By the time he’s describing how good my pussy feels, he tips me over the edge, and I scream out.

“Damn, I love the sounds you make,” he continues, grabbing ahold of my hips and taking charge of our rhythm.

He positions my head, so I’m staring into his eyes. I swear, he’s promising me his trust as he moves inside me until he stills, thankfully before tears escape my eyes.

His eyes don’t veer from mine and when I start to rise from off of him, his hands grip my hips. Inching up, his abs constrict under my hands as his lips claim mine again. His tongue slowly and lovingly strokes mine until he gently closes the kiss with another peck to my lips.

“I’ll be right back,” he murmurs against my lips and his hands free my hips.

Dylan returns from the bathroom a minute later and slides under the covers. “Are you joining me?” he asks.

I sit on top of the covers looking at him, unsure of this uncharted territory. “Do you want me to?”

“I expect you to.” He raises his two eyebrows.

He throws the sheet open for me, and I slink under the covers, staying on my side. He slides closer, and his finger runs figure eights along my stomach.

“This is a relationship, Bea,” he clues me in, like I didn’t know that.

“I know.” I wiggle around, getting comfortable in his surroundings. “Tell me about the tattoos. Do they have meanings? Why did you get them?” I pry, mostly to change the topic of relationship.

He shifts around, clearly uncomfortable with the line of conversation. “There isn’t much to say, except that I got one my junior year and wanted more after. They are all stupid things, but they mean something to me.”

“So, you don’t want to tell me?” I turn over onto my other side and rest my head up with my hand.

“No, I don’t care.” He sits up, pointing to the car tattoo on the side of his stomach. It looks identical to his actual car, except it has an eight on the hood. “This is for the model car that took the longest for me to put together. The eight is for the hours I sat down and did it for.”

“It’s awesome.”

The artist did an outstanding job with the details.

“I love how the car is tilted, like it’s about to drive down your stomach,” I say.

He laughs. “You like that, huh? I have to admit, that was the artist’s suggestion.” He holds out his arms, pointing to a few others. A ribbon for ADD and other symbols for strength, loyalty, and perseverance. Each one brings a smile to his face.

“No girls?”

“No. I don’t put names, not even my mom’s.” He lies back down on the bed, pulling me to him. “Tell me about yours.”

“Mine are mostly all swimming-related. Michigan tat on my hip bone. A few vacation ones I should have put more thought into.”

“Like?”

“Like, you can explore and find out for yourself.”

“Happily.” He slithers under the covers, his lips leading the way.

Dylan’s phone blares the next morning, disturbing me from my restful sleep. Ignoring it, I wait for him to turn it off, which he doesn’t. Instead, his hot hand splays over my body, and his breath hits my neck. This position is terribly intimate. Like a dating couple, a married couple.

Oh God, I can just imagine Tanner and Piper waking up like this.

My stomach gnaws from the gooey touchy-feely act, so I slide under his arm, escaping. I almost choked when he mentioned a
relationship
last night, but still, I slid under those covers because I crave the foreign feeling of safety he offers. With the morning light, my fears of being not enough rise with the sun, and this relationship idea sounds like an impossible feat.

Dylan rolls over, turning off his alarm since I awoke him with my abrupt departure from the warm and cozy nest. He sits up, and the sheet pools down to his waist, showing off his impressive chest. Instantly, he rubs his eyes and then spots me across the room, putting my underwear back on.

“Are we late?” An expression of panic flickers over his face, and he swings his legs over the bed.