Falling Sky (12 page)

Again, the shifty look between the two. Or not…

“No, she’s not. She’s a friend.”

I really don’t want to get involved with this. Their body language suggests discomfort.
Cerys’s hands tremble as she reaches into her bag and pulls out her purse. “I’ll pay for those, Liam.” She takes the Christmas wrapping paper from his hands and heads for the checkout with her daughter’s hand firmly in hers.

“Don’t say anything to Dylan,” says Liam sharply the moment she’s out of earshot.

“This is none of my business, Liam.”

“She’s a friend,” he presses.

“That’s fine. You don’t need to justify yourself to me. It’s your life.”

His shoulders relax. If I were a bitch, I could ask where Honey was and if she knows he’s shopping with another woman. The idea of Honey here in
Cerys’s place amuses me; I can’t imagine her frequenting the town, never mind the less-than designer shops.

Cerys
returns with her purchase and they say their goodbyes, heading out of the shop together. I pull my phone from my bag and call Dylan, asking him to meet me.

As I wait outside the store for him, I spot Liam and the woman looking in a shop window further down the street. The girl is on Liam’s back, clinging to his shoulders. From my vantage point, it’s hard to tell, but I’m sure he’s holding
Cerys’s hand.

Chapter Fifteen

Dylan

Sky is quiet on the way back to London, and I'm concerned she's not coping again. She denies there's anything wrong, but there's a lot upside down in her life, and I'm not the only one who needs to open up. When I saw her with the meds, and the look on her face, I felt sick. Am I worth the concern on her face when she discovered what I’ve hidden from her? Her understanding and the relief at telling someone surprised me. But I told her I loved her, and she didn’t reply. This is Sky though. After what I did to her, I suspect I’ll be waiting a long time for her to trust me to say the same. She cares and that’s enough; that and the same expression I see in her eyes from the end of the summer, I can see she loves me too.

I’m distracted too; my first trip to my hometown in years and I’m reminded of the past. I thought I’d only remember the bad, but despite the hollow ache from knowing Mum isn’t there anymore, a lot of the good memories returned too.

Before I collect Sky from the shops, I drive to a spot I’d sit with
Jem in our teen past when we drank bad cider, on a bench looking across to the sea. A sadness that I can never return to this past fills me, but no one can return to their past, can they? Eventually, the cold and the pull of Sky send me back to my car and I leave.

I’ve allowed a part of my history into my present, which is a good thing.

It’s late when we return to London, grabbing fast food from the motorway service station on the way back. More of the ordinary with my extraordinary Sky.

She heads for the kitchen as soon as we return and switches on the coffee machine. My obsession with doing more than touching her magnifies with each time we kiss, even the chaste ‘hello’ kiss I got outside the shops in St
Davids. On the way home in the car, the scent of Sky drove me mad, reminding me of the taste and feel of her skin. I’m not sure I can hold out much longer; I need Sky in my bed.

“Stop that.”

I blink out of my thoughts and look to Sky who’s leaning against the kitchen bench. Her pursed lips and accusatory look indicate my thoughts weren’t well hidden.

“Stop what?” I ask with fake innocence.

“Plotting.” A smile flickers across her mouth and desire surges inside further. The banter between us has edged toward teasing innuendos and a fair few are coming from her.

She wants this.

Stepping toward Sky, I brush her hair over a shoulder and run my fingers lightly across her cheek. Our eyes meet in understanding.
I
fucking want this. Sliding my hand behind her, I cup Sky’s ass and draw her closer. I trace her lips lightly with my finger and she parts them. Sky winds her arms around my neck and trails her tongue along my lip. I groan and claim her mouth, roughly parting her lips and she eagerly tangles tongues. The softness and heat of Sky consumes, I can’t breathe. Shifting, I pin her against the bench, and as her hands move under my shirt the desire turns further, a ferocious need overtaking my thoughts.

“I want you, Sky, so fucking much,” I growl, pinning her to the bench with my hips. There’s no way I can hide the effect she’s having on me, I’m hard and aching for her more than ever before. The last few unbearable days have made the sexual frustration I had in Broadbeach pale into insignificance.

Sky’s answer is a hard kiss, one where our teeth collide and we’re lost in each other. I struggle to hold back, I want to devour every last part of her. She’s pulling me under and I need to control myself. Desperate for Sky to tell me this is okay I rest my head on hers, our heavy breathing matching.

“Don’t stop,” she whispers.

I grab her by the hips and lift her onto the bench. Without waiting for more of an indication, I push up her jumper, kissing, nipping and licking her heated skin. My Sky’s skin, smoother and softer than in the memories I tried to grasp onto. She wraps a hand into my curls and tugs my head back.

“Not here, not this time.” I meet her eyes and the want I see reflected burns into me.

I’m dragged back into the exact same memory I’m sure she’s having. The day I couldn’t escape what I wanted any longer after days of denying myself. The day I proved I had the control I’m struggling to keep hold of now. “I remember Broadbeach,” I say gruffly and her pupils dilate further as I unbutton her jeans.

“So do I, and you’re not doing that again,” she says, biting her lip coyly.

Does this mean no? Stepping back, I run a hand through my hair. “Shit. Okay.”

“
Dylan.…” She drags me toward her by the t-shirt. “I meant you don’t get to keep your clothes on like you did that night because I want all of you, if you want all of me. But not here, don’t do this here.”

“That’s good enough for me,” I pull her back off the bench and tip her over my shoulder in the way she loves and hates.

“Cave man,” she giggles.

“I can be as
uncivilised or civilised as you want, summer Sky. Up to you.” Her shirt falls forward, revealing the silky smooth skin beneath. I burrow my nose into her side as I carry her toward the bedroom and she wriggles against the sensation. Kicking open the door to my bedroom, I tip her onto the bed.

****

Sky

The world falls away. I'm Dylan's Sky, and he's Sky's Dylan, and we exist in our own space. We pull at clothes, nip at skin, and touch as though this is the first time. As we hold each other’s faces, the shared breath between us is hot and intense. The charge beneath our fingers where we touch cheeks, between our lips where they hover so close together, trips the switch on the energy between us and everything floods out.

For moments, our mouths hover close, Dylan holding my face softly as I hold his in return, as if we know that the inevitable is about to happen and this is the final surrender.
A surrender to honesty, to trust, and to overwhelming, painful love. Dylan doesn't need to kiss me to express what we see on each other's faces now the outside is stripped away. But when he does kiss me, my world splinters. The remaining parts I've held together are torn apart by the intensity of the energy coming from Dylan, expressed in a natural return to who we were four months ago.

I need to be naked, to be surrounded by Dylan, body engulfed to match my mind. I pull at his t-shirt
,
and when he helps tug it over his head, my hands go straight to the button on his jeans. My fingers tremble, the desire to reconnect to the man who tore me apart consumes me. Before I get further, he slips downwards, pushing my shirt upwards and kissing my skin. I feel him exhale against my stomach; his stubbled cheek pressed against me and breath coming in bursts. Connecting.

I move against him, tugging his hair. "Dylan..."

He lifts his head, and everything in Dylan's face blows apart any last doubt about what this means. The look he gave me, months ago, when we ate ice cream outside the house in Broadbeach is there but a thousand fold. Looking into Dylan's eyes is like looking in a mirror, my thoughts and fears reflected back. The desperate need to enmesh returns. There is more intimacy in the look we share than any kiss, his heart and soul open and raw.

I don't want to cry, can't cry. He touches my face as if reading my mind. "I love you."

The tenderness of his words is followed by a rough passion, a desperation to get skin on skin as he pushes the shirt to my shoulders. I wriggle, tugging the clothes above my head and he slides a strong hand under my back, arching me toward him as his mouth closes around my nipple.

I cry out, holding him to me. He's holding his weight away, cautious and all I want is to be pressed beneath him, obliterated from anything but our coming together. The world shifts further away with each item of clothing we remove from each other, and each new taste and touch of each other's skin. Dizzied by his lips and tongue on each newly revealed place, I'm a trembling mess as his thumbs hook my underwear.

"This is okay?" he says against my ear but all I'm aware of is the thin material of our underwear as the last barrier between us.

I don't answer, instead freeing his hard length from his boxers, enjoying the barely concealed noise of pleasure as I curl my fingers around the base of him.

"What do you think?" I whisper back.

"I think," he says huskily, "that you aren't looking for
civilised."

In a swift movement, he pulls my panties and I tense waiting for his hands on me. Instead, he pauses and strokes gently from my ankle upwards, circling his thumb against my inner thigh teasingly close to the apex. As he slides a finger along my heat, my body fires the memory of every time Dylan has touched me and I ache for more. As if sensing this, he eases his fingers into me and I make a soft sound I try to hide.

In response, Dylan sucks in a breath and tenses. “I want you so much, Sky, but I don’t want to fuck this up.”

“Don’t talk,” I whisper, “just let this be us.”

Dylan’s mouth crashes onto mine; his kiss and fingers send shockwaves into every nerve ending until I’m spinning back into his stars. I moan into Dylan’s mouth, grabbing his hair. His heart thumps against my chest as he grips my head, holding me tightly, and I can barely breathe.

When he pulls away, the steady intensity in his darkened eyes fuels my lust for him and e
mboldens me. “I presume you have condoms?” I ask.

He leans toward a drawer and pulls out a packet. Before he gets the chance to ask, I grab one and roll the condom onto him enjoying the way he closes his eyes and is lost in his own lust.

This can’t be slow; next time this can be slow, all I want now is the very last part of him. Dylan doesn’t hesitate, and slowly guides himself into me until I’m completely surrounding him. Holding himself up on his arms, Dylan gazes down at me, gaze moving hungrily across my breasts before he roughly takes a nipple in his mouth and sucks. I cry out at the movement of his tongue as he moves inside me, building the intensity.

“Kiss me,” I whisper, “I want all of you.”

Mouth back on mine, we kiss with the fervour to match our lovemaking, moving from gentle teasing to harsh and frenzied. Dylan moves his hand to my clit and I close my eyes, almost pushed over the edge of our world.

“Look at me, Sky,” he says.

I open my eyes and see more than the reflection of us in his; I see the whole of the world we lost and how we’re going back there. The fervour of us, the pleasure pushing me further toward the precipice where I’ll lose myself in Dylan forever consumes, and I flood with the overwhelming love he took away. The tears fight from my eyes as I hold his gaze and let go - let go of the hurt, the need, and the wall I rebuilt against him.

When the orgasm hits, the intensity tingles from my scalp to my toes then becomes a shoc
kwave tearing into my soul. Dylan watches me the whole time, as if soaking up my pleasure with his eyes. I wrap my legs around him to grip his hips, digging my fingers into his shoulders as this movement against me builds the tingling again. Eyes closing, Dylan’s mouth parts in his own ecstasy, and the pleasure at seeing the effect I have on this man knocks away the little breath I have left. As he comes, he buries his face into my hair, groaning and pushing himself to the hilt. For a moment he stills, then moves to brush my tangled hair from my face, wiping my tears with the palm of his hand. He stares down at me as if I might disappear if he blinks.

“I love you. I can’t even begin to give words to how much, my brain is broken,” he says breat
hlessly.

I laugh and pull his mouth to mine, bursting to tell him the same, but the words stay buried in the one last part of me that can’t let go. Instead, I trace the lines of his face, and smile hoping I’m the mirror Dylan once said I was and he can see the words instead.

Chapter Sixteen

Dylan

The phone rings by the side of the bed, pulling me out of dreams about last night. Sky murmurs in her sleep next to me and pulls the covers over her head. Smiling, I reach for the phone.

Jem.

What the fuck?
Too early for him or the end of the night before?

“What?” I groan.

“I need your help, Dylan.”

Instantly, I’m on alert. He rarely calls me Dylan and his voice is higher, panicked.

“Who have you hit this time?”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck. Dylan. Shit. I don’t know what the fuck to do.” His voice continues to rise.

“Calm down, what happened?”

“I didn’t fucking do it! I found her like this.”

The blood freezes in my veins and I sit up, heart thumping. “Didn’t do what? Found her like what, Jem? Who?”

“
Liv. I think she’s dead.”

I spring out of bed and grab my jeans, shuffling into them. “Holy fuck,
Jem, what do you mean? Where the hell are you?”

“The hotel. I can’t remember. Shit, Dylan. What the fuck do I do? Do I call the police?”

“I hope you called a fucking ambulance!”

“Of course I did; what the fuck?”

“Jem, where are you?” I repeat.

There’s a rustling and banging. “The Grosvenor. I have to leave!”

“No! You stay there. If you leave, how the hell do you think that’ll look?”

“I’ll wait for the ambulance and then go.” Now he’s talking to himself, swearing under his breath.

“No! Jem. Stay there, I’m coming.”

The phone goes dead and I stare at the blank screen. We’ve been involved in some fucked up situations, but no one has ever died.

“What’s going on?”

Unaware Sky has woken; I turn. She sits with the sheets tugged around her, face flushed from sleep with tangled ‘sex’ hair.

“Jem. He’s got himself into a situation.” I can’t say the words.

“Why does he need an ambulance?” she asks sleepily.

“I’ll tell you later. I need to go and help him.”

Sky’s face tugs into suspicion. “Are you sure everything is okay? Don’t get dragged into something that will cause you problems too.”

I need to leave; as my chest tightens, I grab my t-shirt. “Sorry, I really have to go.”

****

The emergency services’ presence around the hotel isn’t subtle, nor is the number of press. I yank my hood over my head, and hunch down, weaving through the bodies and the huge sliding glass doors. A police officer steps in front of me, hand extended to prevent me passing. I look into the young cop’s face and the realisation of who I am crosses his face. He drops his hand.

“Where’s
Jem?” I ask.

The cop turns around. “Maggie, we’ve got another one here.”

A middle-aged woman dressed in a well-cut navy trouser suit looks over from where she’s speaking to a pale-faced girl in a hotel uniform. She purses her lips and strolls over.

“Where’s
Jem?” I repeat.

“I was hoping you’d be able to tell us,
Mr Morgan.” The woman crosses her arms over her chest and fixes me with an accusatory look.

Fuck. I knew he’d do this.

“It’s in Mr Jones’s best interest to talk to us. Leaving the scene doesn’t do him any favours.”

“Yeah, I told him to wait.”

“Really?” The woman pulls out a notepad and poses her pen. “Were you with him or Olivia last night?”

“No. I was home with my girlfriend.” And what the fuck is Sky going to say about this?

“And what did Mr Jones say when he contacted you?”

I rub my lips together, years of
teaching by Steve and our media team prevents me from replying. “You should talk to him.”

The woman flips the notebook shut and glares at me. “I would, if he revealed his whereabouts. Where would he go?”

I run a hand through my hair. He’s unlikely to go back to his Notting Hill place and I hope to hell he hasn’t gone back to mine. The apartment or the house. Shit. If he goes there and sees Sky…

“I don’t know. Have you contacted our manager?”

“We’ve tried, but maybe it’s too early and he’s still asleep? I expect as soon as he switches on the news he’ll have an idea.”

This is big. Fucking huge. What the hell happened? A young paramedic dressed in green emerges from the elevator and he approaches another detective, a man in a suit also talking to staff. All the way here, I’ve willed this girl to be alive, hoping
Jem’s panic led him to believe she was dead.

“Is she…
” I begin.

“Deceased. Yes. So we have a suspicious death, a missing lover, and we need answers.” She pauses. “We believe drugs were involved.”

I give her an ‘are you surprised’ look. The possibility of Jem killing himself with drugs has followed him for years, but someone else… The next move: call him. I whip my phone from my pocket and dial his number. It rings out and I swear under my breath. Typical Jem, running. But what the fuck does he hope to achieve? Can’t he see how this looks?

“I should go and look for him,” I tell the detective.

“No, I think you need to stay and talk to us.”

“What? Why? I didn’t do anything! I told you I wasn’t here.”

“Until we finish checking the security cameras, or get in touch with your alibi, it would be wise of you to remain with us.”

“Are you saying you think I had something to do with this?” I pull myself tall to disguise the rising panic.

“Did you?” she fires back.

“No! Shit.” I scroll for Steve’s number and call him. No response. I can’t leave; they’d probably arrest me. The police would use any excuse to arrest one of us. I heave in a breath. “I’ll stay but I have nothing to say until Steve or a lawyer appears.”

The woman’s pink painted mouth spreads into a thin smile and she beckons over a uniformed cop. “Mr Morgan has agreed to answer some questions, if you can drive him to the station.”

About to protest that wasn’t what I agreed to, my phone rings.
Myf.

“Dylan? I saw the news. What’s happening?”

“I can’t talk now,” I mutter. “I’m talking to the police.”

“Is it true?” My lack of response answers her question. “Shit, Dylan. Is
Jem with you?”

“No, the stupid fucker left.”

“Where are you?”

“At the Grosvenor but
I’m about to go to the local fucking police station.”

“I’m coming back.”

“No, stay away Myf.”

“No way.”

“Try and find Jem.”

An exasperated noise comes down the line. “He doesn’t talk to me.”

“Just try.”

The detective is listening to every word. “I have to go.”