Authors: Lara West
We leave The Lion just after ten o’clock and hail a cab on West 9th Street.
Dylan holds my hand firmly like he thinks there is still a chance I might disappear. When we climb into the backseat he tells the driver to drop us at the south end of Central Park.
“Um, where are we going?” I ask playfully.
“My apartment of course. Don’t worry I won’t take advantage of you.” He leans down closer. “Unless you want me too.”
I feel his breath on my lips, his fingers stroking the inside of my arm. It soon becomes too much and we both seize the moment, making out impatiently like we are teenagers all over again. He tastes of gin and the Crème Brûlèe we had for dessert - lush and moreish.
I do not want to stop.
I feel like I could kiss Dylan McCormack for eternity.
“We’re here,” he whispers, gently breaking away.
I become restless, yearning to have his lips again but I have no choice but to get out and follow. I think about Einstein’s Theory of Relativity and how in this moment it makes perfect sense. A steamy 15-minute cab ride has felt like merely a second…it is all relative.
Dylan’s apartment is unlike anything I have ever seen.
It is centered along the south end of Central Park and is complete with polished pine wood floorboards, high ceilings, white leather lounges, a marble coffee table, a pastel grey settee and a 180-degree panoramic view.
And that is just the main living room.
Through the glass windows the city twinkles with life.
It is like an elegant sanctuary high up in the sky, grandeur at its most exclusive.
“You actually live here?” I ask rhetorically, completely in awe. “How did you afford all this?”
“Let’s just say I have some very generous clients who pay big for keeping them out of jail.”
“It’s legal though, right? Please don’t tell me this was purchased with blood money.”
“No,” he laughs, “Nothing like that! I had a few cases of tax evasion and clients laundering money from investors’ accounts. I’m quite good at my job, I’ll have you know.”
“Okay, I believe you,” I tease. “This is very impressive.”
He grins. “Thank you. Now, dare I ask if you would like a drink?”
“I can handle my liquor…mostly. I’ve only had water since our entrée, remember? What have you got?”
“Champagne or gin?”
“You always stock champagne in your fridge?”
“No, it was meant for you.”
“So you do have motives?” I smirk.
Dylan laughs and walks toward what I assume is the kitchen.
“Okay you got me,” he calls out. “A guy can hope though, can’t he?”
It is sometime toward the end of our second glass of champagne when my desire for Dylan excels at an astonishing rate.
The hunger must be mutual as I suddenly find myself being swept up into his arms, and carried down a long half lit hallway that smells of vanilla bean and lilies.
The door to his room is already open, a small antique lamp on the bedside table casting a carpet of light over the four-poster king-size bed, whilst a scented candle burns on the dresser by the far wall.
“I want you, Ella,” Dylan purrs into my ear, laying my head down carefully on the pillow.
My pulse is racing, my heart and my mind still battling it out as to whether I should even be here.
How do I know he has really changed?
How do I know this is not some ego boost that he wants to see if he can get away with?
“Give yourself to me,” he murmurs, opening up my blouse. “Completely.”
His lips on my bare breasts feel just the same as they did that night in the pool house, the sensual sucking and biting creating sensations that no other guy has ever come close to.
For the first time in my life I believe that Dylan McCormack has ruined me.
That no matter what happens after tonight he will still be the only one to have total supremacy over my body.
He owns me.
He stops and kneels over me, taking down his trousers.
I take him in my mouth, his thick, extended cock with the same purple vein filling it entirely, tickling the back of my throat.
I suck him slow and then hard, going faster until he can no longer take it and he throws me back down onto the bed, pulling off my jeans so he can ravage the rest of me.
I help take off his shirt, his set of impeccably toned abs making me wetter as I run my hands over them. I kiss him wildly, moaning as his hardness once again presses between my thighs.
“Oh Ella,” he groans. “You have no idea how long I have been waiting for this.”
“Me too,” I whimper, crying out as he thrusts himself all the way inside.
I move with him, squeezing his buttocks tightly with my hands, unfolding with how incredible it feels.
I lose all track of time. I do not know the difference between minutes and hours.
It is all just endless.
“You make me feel so amazing, Ella. I never want to stop making love to you.”
“Then don’t,” I pant and let him flip me over.
I rock myself on top of him, riding him tenderly at first, and then rougher, gripping the bed head with one hand to get a faster momentum.
“That’s it, Ella. Ride me. Ride me hard!” Dylan huffs.
I feel myself getting close, the climax building even more each time my clit rubs against his skin.
I clench my pussy around his cock, letting the muscles tighten and relax, repeating the exercise over and over.
It does not take him long to peak then, both of us making sure we cum together, sighing in ecstasy before we collapse side by side, trying to catch our breaths.
“That was worth the wait,” Dylan says, pulling me into his chest.
Dylan kisses my forehead and hugs me tighter.
I cannot remember the last time I felt this happy.
I cannot remember the last time sex was ever so good.
I lie for a while and listen to Dylan’s gentle snores. I wonder about how strange life is and how it can loop around, bringing certain people back to you that you would never expect.
Please be true, I whisper as I fall asleep.
Please don’t take him away again.
I awake to the sound of blissful silence, taking a moment to observe my surroundings. It all comes streaming back: the restaurant, the kiss in the back of the cab and the amazing sex.
I smile and roll over, expecting to still see Dylan lying there.
But the bed is empty.
“Dylan?” I sing out, sitting up.
Where the hell is he?
I try everywhere: kitchen, bathroom, spare room and laundry, even the pantry.
But Dylan is nowhere to be found.
Maybe he just went out to get something?
I make a pot of coffee and go and stand by the windows.
The view is even more amazing in the daytime.
Central Park is rolled out like a giant green carpet. On the horizon I trace the line of the Atlantic Ocean and over to the northwest is the gentle bend of the Hudson River. I imagine moving in here, witnessing countless dawns and sunsets from this very spot; pure happiness in a glass box floating far above Manhattan.
But time slowly ticks past and Dylan does not return.
I feel the happiness wilting as quickly as it had bloomed.
I am 18 years old again and abandoned, only this time my “shining white knight” did not even bother to leave a note.
Not even a note!
I cannot believe he has done this again and that I fell for the suave restaurant, the seductive advances and this magnificent apartment, which had been the final key to my undoing.
He always planned to do this. He even had the champagne on ice waiting for me.
I gave myself to Dylan McCormack blindly like he had asked.
And now, once again, I am left the fool.
I do not know what is worse.
The fact that I am sitting in my cramped little apartment daydreaming about the one overlooking Central Park, or the fact that Mel is coming over to drown my sorrows with Indian food, ice cream and rom coms.
But Mom did always say that the best way to get over a guy was to watch as many romantic movies as possible. That way you could pinpoint all the ways that each ‘Prince Charming’ differed from the jerk that dumped you.
The end result was that the jerk had actually done you a favor because you deserved someone far nicer. Speaking of Mom, she has tried to call three times today which is odd.
Our weekly Skype call is usually on Wednesdays but she has not left a voicemail so I guess whatever it is can wait. I am not in the mood for talking right now anyway. Well, at least not until Mel comes over that is.
I do not know how much time has passed, but I am still staring at my phone.
It has been over ten hours and still no word from Dylan.
Why am I even hoping that his number will flash up?
It is obvious why he has not called. He had woken up and realized what a huge mistake he had made. I was not the woman that he had fantasized about in prison.
He had put me on a pedestal, thinking that when he finally met me again I would embody all that he had dreamt of.
But no, all he had found in the end was simply me: pretty yet plain, ambitious yet still agonizingly insecure.
“Special delivery from the ‘All Guys Are Jerks Association’,” Mel suddenly calls, banging on the front door. I roll my eyes and toss the phone onto the other side of the couch.
“Thanks a peach!” I shout, walking down the hallway. “I don’t think the neighbors heard you!”
I open the door to find Mel grinning enthusiastically.
“Oh, lighten up. I’m here to turn that frown upside down!” She vaults around me, heading straight for my tiny kitchenette.
“Lamb or chicken?” she sings out.
“Chicken,” I sigh, closing the door behind me.
“Sweet. I wanted lamb anyway!”
For the next hour I tell Mel all about Friday night. Her eyes widen with enjoyment the minute I confess that I slept with Dylan.
“I knew he would have killer abs!”
“Mel! That is not the focal point of this conversation.”
“Fine, get to the bad part then.”
“Well, after that I fell asleep and then when I woke up he was gone. End of story.”
“What do you mean gone?”
“I mean vanished, missing, absent, an empty apartment! Just like the time in the pool house, only this time he did not even leave a note.”
“Are you sure? I mean, did you look around?”
“Mel, I looked everywhere! I waited over five hours for him to come back. It was pathetic. Not to mention desperate.”
“No it wasn’t,” Mel says caringly. “But I don’t buy it. There must have been a reason why he left.”
“Yeah, he’s a jackass!”
“I don’t think so.” Mel sits back, clearly deep in thought. “Maybe something came up, that’s all. Have you tried calling him?”
“Ah, no way. I feel stupid enough.”
“I think you should. Don’t write things off just yet.”
“Are you serious? The guy has a track record,” I say angrily.
“Yeah when he was 18, Ella. From what you have told me about Dylan now, he seems to be really into you, minus the disappearing act. He has been thinking about seeing you again for years, even when he was in prison. He just probably hasn’t been able to contact you yet. There has to be an explanation.”
“Well, I disagree and this whole conversation is just making me madder so I don’t care. I’m done. He hasn’t changed, so screw him.”
“Well you certainly did that!” Mel teases, shoving me with a cushion.
I look at her warningly, but just end up laughing.
“See there you go. I knew a good bashing would do the trick.”
“Barely,” I say, my mood already sinking again. I curl my lip up into the side of my cheek.
“Look, just sleep on it and see how you feel in the morning.”
“I won’t change my mind.”
But Mel just shakes her head and hands me the tub of ice cream.
“Eat this,” she says spiritedly. “It’ll make you feel better.”