“It was quite hard to miss.”
His lips turned up into a cocky smile as he drew his finger further up my arm, over my shoulder to the strap of my bra. He fiddled with the thin elastic, so leisurely, so carefully, that I thought I might explode when he finally touched me for real.
Once more, I tilted my hips back and then forward, tracing the stiff length of his cock with the damp crotch panel of my panties. I’d meant it to hurry him up, urge him into kissing me, but it felt so good that I was the one who threw my head back and sighed.
Next thing I knew, I was on my back, on the floor, my hands pinned above my head with Dylan stretched out above me.
Wow. That move was...wow. So manly and take-charge-like. So alpha and swoony.
Somehow, he was even more good-looking from this angle. His expression was serious and heated, the creases near his eyes intense as he focused on me.
My heart thumped against my rib cage, pounding, pounding at the possibility of what was to come next.
“You don’t seem to need any lessons in the art of seduction,” he said sternly. Fatherly, almost, except for the sexy, rough edge to his voice.
“You’re right. I know how to seduce a man.” I spread my legs, making room for him to settle in between my thighs. His eyes closed briefly as the ridge of his erection sunk down across my center. “What I don’t know is how to tell a man what I like. How can I if I don’t know what I like myself? If no one has ever shown me anything worth repeating.”
He studied me silently for a moment. Every second felt like thirty as I measured time with the rapid lift and fall of my chest, waiting for him to make the next move, waiting for him to agree.
“And you think I can show you what you might like?” His gaze shifted to my mouth then back to my eyes.
I licked my lips in anticipation of the kiss he was obviously looking forward to as much as I was. “You’ve already shown me more than you can know.”
His expression said he doubted that. “Assuming that’s true...how do I know you won’t fall for me in the process? You don’t have a track record to prove you can separate sex from love.”
Wasn’t that a killer of a question?
He had every right to ask. I wasn’t the least bit upset about it, though it did make me feel like the wind had been sucked out of my chest. Made me feel dizzy and unsure when just a moment ago I’d been drowning in confidence.
“I guess…” I started out tentatively, formulating the answer as I gave it. “I guess you don’t know that. I guess I don’t really know it either. I could try to convince you it isn’t your problem—I’ll be gone at the end of the week, and you’ll be on the other side of the ocean—but I have a feeling you’re the kind of guy that would very much think it was his problem, no matter where he was. You might not be fond of the love emotion, but you do recognize it in other people. That you acknowledge the weight it can carry might be what makes me feel so safe with you.”
That was a revelation. I hadn’t quite realized why I trusted him to be the guy to take on this task. We’d only just met. I shouldn’t be this sure about him. But, just like he was afraid of how I’d react to this arrangement because I’d shown enough of myself for him to know it was a possibility, I also had seen enough of him to know I trusted him.
“I trust you,” I told him. “I trust you to be careful with my body, and I trust that you won’t lead me on in any way. That’s a good start, isn’t it?”
Before he could say anything, I pushed forward, my words tumbling out rapidly. “And what I can tell you for sure is that I don’t have any intentions of becoming emotionally wrapped up in you. I am attracted to you. Crazy attracted to you. Turn-my-insides-into-mush kind of attracted to you, but I’ve always been able to separate attraction from real feelings. I’ve been crazy attracted to men before, given a few blow jobs to some of them, even, but I’ve only fallen in hard love with those two guys. Guys I hadn’t slept with while the falling was occurring. Maybe that can help you trust me? It’s not very reassuring, I suppose. I don’t know what else to say. I hope that doesn’t make you tell me no, though, because, Dylan, I want this. I want to learn from you. I want—”
He cut me off, crashing his mouth into mine. His lips were firm and persuasive, telling mine exactly where to move and what speed. Telling them when to open and take more. I responded eagerly, matching the strokes of his tongue with my own as soft whimpers escaped from my throat. My sounds made him groan and made me wet—wetter than I already was, that is. He swept me up with his kiss. He took me from the solid ground into a spiraling, dizzy windstorm.
He continued to hold my wrists above my head, which I found both highly erotic and frustrating at the same time. I wanted to caress his jaw. I wanted to slip my hands underneath his sweater. I wanted to draw the pads of my thumbs across his nipples and then trail my fingers down, down, down.
Unable to touch him the way I wanted, the rest of me became more antsy beneath him, as though trying to make up for my restrained hands. I squirmed and bucked, trying to get as much of my body to come into contact with his as possible. But he counteracted every one of my moves, bracing his body higher above me, holding himself away.
It took me a few minutes to realize he was purposefully taunting me.
Then it took me another few minutes to realize I really liked this too. I mean, I hated it. But as the torture continued, a tension built inside me, low and deep. A hum that spread through my core and out to my limbs. By the time he lowered himself to grind across my crotch, I was already halfway to an orgasm.
From there, the hum intensified quickly. Each thrust of his pelvis against mine sent me closer to the edge. He still had his pants on! I still had on panties, and yet he’d found the perfect spot, hit it on every stroke, making the hum swell and expand and consume and take over and buzz, buzz, buzz, and…
Suddenly it was all gone at the sound of a clearing throat.
Guess when I’d sent the agent away I’d forgotten that he’d also be coming back.
Whoops.
I wasn’t sorry. I wasn’t sorry at all.
Seven
Dylan
I’d never lost an erection so fast.
Thank God, since it made it easier to scramble to my feet and distract Jeff Jones so Audrey could clothe herself privately. I was sweating and panicked as I diverted him back to the foyer. Behind me, I could hear the girl giggling.
It wasn’t funny. It wasn’t.
That she was laughing was a splendid example of why our age difference was a big problem. She was obviously not mature enough to handle matters that required adult responsibility. I was disappointed in myself for not being the adult from the start. If she hadn’t been so tenacious, so assertive, so beguiling, I wouldn’t have lost control of the situation.
And I had lost control. Really lost it. Almost gone too far, even.
The whole thing had left me flustered, and now there was a real chance I wasn’t going to get this apartment.
“It’s...I’m...this isn’t at all what it looks like,” I explained to the agent. I ran a hand through my hair, creating a floppy mess if I were to judge by the uneven way it felt on my scalp. “I sincerely apologize. It was inappropriate and discourteous and—”
“Just tell me one thing,” Mr. Jones interrupted. “She’s not really your daughter, is she?”
“No! God, no.” I thought about it after I’d answered, what that must have looked like to the man when he’d walked in on us. It had been bad enough that we’d behaved so badly in an flat I hadn’t yet leased. The fact that he’d also thought we were father and daughter was…
Well. Maybe it was funny.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know why we said that she was.” The grin that had slid onto my face made my latest apology seem insincere.