It takes a while for my body to stop pulsing with pleasure, but by the time my heartrate finally returns to normal, I’m grateful we’re heading home to finish what we’ve started in a bed. I want Dylan desperately – I need more of the pleasure he’s brought me already – but it’ll have to wait until we’re out of the cold.
Dylan slips a helmet over my head before zipping up the leather jacket I wore tonight.
There were times over the past nine years when I imagined what might have happened if Dylan never turned me down, and occasionally that even extended to riding on this bike with him. Each time my mind went there, I forced myself to snap out of it, telling myself it wasn’t what I wanted – that he wasn’t what I wanted or needed. His rejection all those years ago should have squashed any feelings I had for him.
Nine years is such a long time to remain delusional.
Trying to shift my thoughts from how long I’ve been kidding myself, I try to concentrate on what will happen when we finally make it back to my place. Excitement tugs low in my belly until I think about tomorrow and how different tonight is from the nights I’ve spent with men in the past. I proposed to Dylan that we have fun, but I don’t even know if his version and my version of a fling match. I was only hoping for a casual, no-strings, easy-come, easy-go, kind of relationship with Dylan when I walked into Brody’s tonight, but will I feel the same way when the sun rises tomorrow?
Will he still be in bed with me to greet the morning, or will he be gone? And if he is gone, will I sit around and wait for him to call me? Or, this being the easy, casual and convenient affair I proposed, will it be okay if I call him? Or show up at his bar?
I barely resist the urge to groan and bang my forehead against his back. This is supposed to be fun. I’ll worry about tomorrow when tomorrow comes and not a moment before. However, it’s already Sunday, so technically, I’m worrying about today.
I take a deep breath and try to calm my frantic thoughts.
“Ready?” he asks.
I wrap my arms around him as he starts the engine. It rumbles underneath me and I’ve never been more aware of the fact I’m not wearing underwear. Even though I still feel a little sensitive after his ministrations, the steady thrum of the engine underneath me pulses through my body, stirring it and reminding me of what he’s promised – of how much I need him to fill the void inside me.
“Claire? You okay back there?”
“I’m ready,” I say as I lay my helmeted head against his back, inhale the clean scent of leather and deodorant, and hold on to him for dear life. I took a gamble coming to Brody’s tonight, getting a cab instead of taking my own car in the hopes that the evening would end with Dylan taking me home.
Dylan roars out of the alleyway and, as promised, goes slowly enough that I have time to look around. With it being so early in the morning, the streets of Melbourne are much quieter than usual. Some clubs are still open, but there are no lines outside their doors anymore. People spill out sporadically, looking far from their best after drinking and dancing all night. Streetlights and people whiz by as we head towards my place.
Once I get used to the sensation of the road underneath us and the twisting of the bike around corners, I loosen the grip I have around Dylan’s waist. By rights, I probably should be freezing my butt off, but the pleasurable sensations of the engine underneath me makes it next to impossible to feel too cold. I’m too aware of the hard, warm male body wedged between my thighs and the desire once again curling in my stomach to notice any goosebumps.
Finally, we turn onto my street and Dylan slows to a stop outside my place, parking his bike in the first available spot. He switches off the engine and dismounts, taking off his helmet before taking my hand so I can throw my leg over without falling on my arse.
In the short dress I’m wearing and the high heels I have on, I feel a little ridiculous climbing off the back of his bike. The way Dylan looks at me as I do, however, gives me reason to believe he doesn’t think I look ridiculous. As soon as I’m standing on solid ground, he slips the helmet off my head. I have no idea how my hair looks after having the heavy thing jammed down on my head, but there is nothing but desire in Dylan’s blue eyes, and as soon as he’s put my helmet down, he hauls me to him.
His kiss is so hot and wet and hungry that the curl of desire I’ve had throughout the drive here turns into a demanding, heavy pulse low in my belly. Dylan tastes of the citrus fruits he was cutting up earlier and a dash of bourbon. My breasts press against his chest while my hips press against his, the primal need to fuse my body with his taking over.
“Inside,” he says to me between kisses. “Need to get inside.”
I don’t know if he’s talking about getting inside my flat or me, but his words send a thrill through me either way.
He lets me go long enough for me to fish my keys out of my purse and put the key in the lock, but the moment the door is open, he has me back in his arms, his mouth hot on mine, causing my heart to do a crazy dance in my chest. My knees are weak and trembling as he pushes the door closed and leans on it, pulling me with him as his hands run up and down my body.
I can feel the hard press of his erection against my belly as his tongue tangles with mine.
He wrenches his mouth away to ask, “Bed?”
“Down the hallway. First and only room.”
As soon as I answer him, we’re in motion again, making our way to my bedroom, hands and mouths pressing against every bare scrap of skin we can find on one another. He unzips my jacket and ditches it somewhere in the hallway before unzipping his own and letting that join mine on the floor. His tie quickly follows.
By the time we reach my room I’m breathless. I tear my mouth away from Dylan’s to catch my breath and he takes immediate advantage of the situation by whipping my dress over my head, leaving me in just a bra and high heels.
“That’s the hottest fucking thing I’ve seen in my entire life.”
His voice is low and raw and so full of heat that my body immediately responds; my nipples hardening further as the throb between my legs intensifies.
Determined to do something about the ache between my legs, I reach for the buttons on his shirt. My hands tremble slightly, but I’m desperate enough to keep going, even when my fingers slip on one button and then a second. When I finally have his shirt open, I realise he’s not moving at all. I look up to find him staring down at me, the look in his eyes causing my stomach to flip-flop as a small smile tugs at his lips.
“What?” I ask him breathlessly.
I want to ask him what ‘nothing’ means, but his mouth is on mine again as we both work to free him from his pants and boxers. Then he surprises me by throwing me gently onto the bed. I only have a short moment to admire how strong and sexy his body is, how long and thick his erection is, before he’s crawling over me and our lips are pressed together once more.
I part my legs so that his hips fall between my open thighs. I can feel the tip of his erection against my swollen, slick centre. I move underneath him, hoping he’ll take his hardness and put it where I need him, but instead of obliging me, he sweeps kisses along my jaw and my neck, kissing his way all the way between my bra-clad breasts, over my belly, and finally slipping in between my legs.
His name passes over my lips repeatedly as he teases me with his tongue, my fingers tunnelling through his thick locks as he nips and tastes me as if he’s been dying to do this to me for as long as I’ve wanted to be with him. When he slides a finger inside me and uses the flat of his tongue to massage me, my body gives in to the assault of pleasure.
I feel so boneless, moving seems impossible, but as he shifts away from me and grabs a condom packet, I make the effort to sit up.
“May I?” I ask.
He hands me the packet and I rip it open, taking the time to run my hand along the length of him, thoroughly enjoying the feel of him in my hand and the tension that strains his muscles and body as I touch him.
“If you keep that up…”
I raise my eyes to meet his before squeezing the air out of the tip of the condom and carefully putting it in my mouth. I move so that I can roll it over as much of his length as possible with my mouth, before rolling the final bit out with my hand, all the while lapping at him with my tongue. The one bedroom trick I’ve learned over the years and I’ve already used it on Dylan.
I had every intention of lying back down, but his hands are in my hair, his pleasure evident in the way he’s trying to drive himself into my mouth. I work my mouth over his erection a few times before pulling back and twirling my tongue over the tip. Then he’s pushing me back onto the bed, taking one of my legs and sliding it over his shoulder as he slicks one finger in and out of me.
“Please,” I plead as the intrusion causes me to contract around him. “I don’t want to wait any longer.”
I barely have time to finish the sentence before he’s pushing inside.
His eyes hold mine as he slides all the way inside me, my heart slamming hard against my ribcage as he joins us together. He’s completely still for a moment before he starts to move. He pulls out until it’s just the head of him inside me and then watches where we are joined as he thrusts back into me.
“Better,” he scrapes out.
“Definitely better,” he confirms.
Better than what, I want to ask. But he’s touching me; caressing me as he pulls back, circles his hips and plunges into me again. As my third orgasm for the evening quickly approaches, I close my eyes and let it take me over as he fills me over and over again, his fingers working their magic until the tension becomes too much and I bow to the inevitable climax.
It’s only when my name spills from his lips that I realise he’s close. He lets my leg fall from his shoulder so he can be closer to me. He comes with his tongue in my mouth and my legs wrapped tightly around his waist as I hold on to him for dear life.
Once we’ve finished riding the wave together, he leans his forehead against mine. For a moment I feel content, almost euphoric. It’s as if I’m floating in a bubble of happiness; my longest-held, most cherished, and deepest buried secret dreams have just come true.
Then he withdraws from me, throws the condom into the trashcan in my bedroom, and instead of coming back to lie down beside me, he starts getting dressed. My happy bubble instantly pops.
Remember this is supposed to be fun. Nothing more.
He worked all night; he’s tired. He probably doesn’t want to spend the night with me. I ignore the stab to the heart that thought gives me.
Tonight, I assured him that I don’t want anything more from him than this type of interaction. Even though I believed myself capable of it at the time, the reality of simply screwing around and having fun together is a lot different to the way I imagined it.
I keep my eyes off his body and follow his lead, putting on the dressing gown hanging on the back of my bedroom door. He dresses with swift, practiced movements, making me wonder just how much experience he has hurriedly getting dressed after he’s been intimate with a woman. On second thought, I don’t want to know.
Tying the sash of my gown around my waist, I feel his eyes on me and look up to see him staring at me intently. I have the distinct impression he’s measuring my reaction to his obvious desire to get out of here. Is he testing me? Is that what this is? Is he trying to evaluate what impact our sleeping together has had on me?
If this is a test, I want to pass it with flying colours. I sashay up to him and give him a kiss on the cheek. “That was…really great. Thanks, Dylan. I’ll see you out.”
He looks surprised by my dismissal, causing me to smile on the inside. I half expect him to comment, but he doesn’t say anything; he just nods and lets me lead the way to the door. The cold breeze blows in as soon as I open the heavy wood and glass door, but I brace myself against it and try to look as though I do this sort of thing – kiss my lover goodnight – often.
The truth is I’m a snuggler. I like to cuddle after sex, and I enjoy the conversation late at night when you’re sharing a bed with someone. Since I’ve always made sure to be in a steady relationship with a man before having sex with him, I’ve never had any trouble getting cuddles after sex. Obviously, there won’t be any post-coital snuggling with Dylan.
Oh well. There are other benefits. I’ve never been with a man who seems to care so much about exploring my body and pleasuring me the way Dylan just did.
He pauses just inside the door. “I’ve got Thursday night off if you want to… catch up again.”
His choice of words and the way he smiles at me leaves me with little doubt he’s interested in having sex with me again. It certainly isn’t a request for a date. I could act coy and tell him I need to check my calendar, which is something I might have done if he was someone I was serious about, but I’ve already told him I’m a sure thing.
“Sounds like fun. Give me a call.”
“I will. Bye, Claire.”
He doesn’t even kiss me on the lips on his way out, just drops a peck on my cheek and walks away. I close the door behind him and lean against it. As difficult as it was, I nailed his first exit after sex. Okay, so I can’t call myself a pro at this whole quick-sex-for-fun thing, but I’ll get the hang of it. If there’s one thing I have to get used to, it’s Dylan leaving.
A/N: Thanks for reading! 🙂 Please like, share or leave a comment if you enjoyed the chapter, or please just keep reading.