Summer Sky (9 page)

"Do you know how long it is since I've snuggled?" he asks.

"Umm...?" Actually, I can imagine. "Not rock star behaviour, I guess."

He narrows his eyes. "Reality stays at the door..."

"Okay. No, I don't."

Dylan resumes his seat on the sofa and picks up the TV controller. "Choose a DVD?"

There's something about Dylan, which makes him hard to refuse. Apart from what my mum would call devilish good looks, he has an odd presence. The presence of someone used to people agreeing with, and never questioning, him.

The DVD collection stacked in the TV cabinet is eclectic and I attempt to find one he’ll hate.

"Twilight." I hold up the box and fix him with a 'don't disagree' stare.

After an initial tug of the eyebrows, he shrugs. "Sure. I've never seen that one."

"That's what I thought."

"But I know..." He stops himself.

"You know who?"

"Do you have popcorn?"

Again, the subject change. He'll give me whiplash. "No, why would I?"

"But you have crisps? Lots." He grins teasingly and stands.

I load up the DVD and settle on the sofa. Dylan returns with a huge plastic bowl of crisps and some cans of coke. Setting them on the table, he curls his long legs under him and pats the sofa. I get up from the floor and hesitate.

"Live dangerously," he says and smiles.

Snuggling under that duvet with him
is
dangerous - to my heart rate, my hormones and eventually my modesty.

But I climb onto the sofa with Dylan anyway.

Compared to the cool outside, Dylan’s hard, muscled body is warm. When I cuddled Grant, there was a lot of loose flesh; I don't think Dylan has an ounce of fleshiness on him.

I extricate the controller from under the duvet and hit play. Dylan leans forward, drags the bowl of crisps onto the duvet between us and sighs. I smirk. He’s sitting through the whole thing, whether he likes it or not. This is pay back for my second dunking in as many days.

Me, I’ve seen
Twilight
around twenty times. Don’t judge. There’s something about Edward - so what if he's pale, skinny and the antithesis of the man I'm currently lusting over? Maybe I like the unattainable. Every now and then, Dylan makes a soft scoffing noise in his throat but masks the sound with a mouthful of crisps.

As the movie progresses, Dylan’s behaviour confuses. I thought ‘snuggling’ might be secret code for ‘I’m going to make out with you’, but looks like I was wrong. I have my body buried as far into him as I can without sitting astride him and begging him to touch me (which becomes more of a possibility as the minutes pass) but all he does is rest his head against mine and drive me mad with gentle touches on my arm. Under this duvet, I'm getting hot and bothered; I’ll be a gasping heap of hormones by the end of this.

Halfway through the movie, Dylan shifts around to face me. "How am I doing?"

"Doing?"

"At snuggling."

"I don’t think snuggling is an art form." Now he’s locked me in his sights again, my pulse rate goes haywire.

"But this is how it's done?"

I rub loose hair from my face. Sometimes, I feel like I’m sharing the place with an alien. You know, ‘teach me how to love, earth girl’. The thought plasters a smirk on my face.

"What’s funny?" asks Dylan.

"Nothing. Snuggling. Whatever." I lean towards the table and grab a handful of crisps, shovelling them in my mouth.

As I munch on the crisps, Dylan strokes my head, fingers setting off a soft buzz across my scalp. "What are you thinking?" he asks, in a low voice, gaze moving to my mouth.

"What are you thinking?"

"Honestly?"

I wrinkle my nose. "Okay. Tell me. Honestly."
Please, don’t let it be something I can’t say no to.

"I’m not thinking; I’m fighting." Dylan traces my lips with his index finger, the abrasive touch shivering down my spine. "I’m fighting with the overwhelming desire to show you what you’re doing to me."

"Oh…"
Crap
, I sound like some stupid, breathless teenager. Again. I can’t ask him to elaborate; otherwise, I’ll have no control left.

I touch his face in return, dragging my nails through his stubble, remembering the burn against my face last night. I shift closer and his hand closes on my knee, gripping as if stopping himself moving his hand elsewhere.

This weird connection pulling us together also pulls my insides tight – attraction, apprehension, lust. I don’t understand how I feel as if I’ve known Dylan months instead of days, but I do.

The way Dylan’s looking at me right now, I don’t think I’ve ever been looked at before. Lust is clearly in his darkened eyes, but something is behind that expression I can't fathom.

"I know I pissed you off last night, Sky, but I really want to kiss you again."

The hesitancy in his words amuses me - I bet Dylan Morgan doesn't usually need to ask for permission.

"Really?" I say and bite my lip in a deliberately coy gesture.

His grip on my knee tightens. "Really, because your mouth on mine feels fucking amazing."

"Don't swear at me!" I say, slapping the hand sneaking up my leg.

"You're also fucking funny." He kisses my nose.

Secretly, Dylan's colourful language is a turn on. The swearing reinforces his bad boy image - his ink and the strength in those muscles he could use to hold me down and do bad boy things to me.

Jesus, Sky...

"And you’re unbelievably, fucking sexy." He moves towards me and I brace myself for a suffocating, urgent kiss. Instead, Dylan kisses me softly, his lips barely skimming mine. This is not what I want. I brazenly hold his face and meld his mouth with mine.

Embarrassingly, I tremble the minute he responds and encircles me in his arms. Either he, politely ignores this, is used to girls reacting the same way, or thinks I'm cold. I don’t explain. I can’t, because his lips are locked on mine and I don’t want to stop.

He captures my lip between his teeth, tugging gently and eliciting an embarrassing groan from low in my throat. I feel him smile against my mouth and nip his lip in response. His lips harden as he presses them against mine, thrusting his tongue into my mouth with a low growl.

There is no mystery to how this man gets girls into bed. With or without his name, he’d manage to seduce with a kiss, a touch and a blast of that panty-melting sexuality he can’t control. One I doubt he tries to control.

Dylan laughs against my mouth, and then pulls the duvet over our heads, landing us in a shadowed world of sensation. The warmth and scent of him emanates around in the airless space between the duvet and us, drowning my senses.

The heat from our breath and bodies stifles, intensifying the intimacy beneath the duvet as we hide like kids who've made a den from their bedding. Dylan runs his fingers along my lower back, a shiver shooting from the sensitive spot at the base of my spine to my toes. Sliding his hands around to my waist, he pulls me closer, hands igniting my skin where he touches. We explore each other with the urgency of teenagers, mouths locked together.

Dylan pulls his head away, and places his hand against my cheek. His hooded eyes are dark in the dim world of our hiding place. "Is this part of the snuggling process? I wasn’t aware…"

"I think this is optional," I say and curl a hand around his neck to draw his face to mine again.

"I think this should be compulsory," he says hoarsely.

"Fine, but I can’t breathe." I pull the duvet from over our heads, drawing a huge breath as the cooler air hits. If I remain under there with Dylan, I might never come back out.

Damp hair sticks to my head and Dylan pushes his hand beneath a tendril, twirling the hair around his finger. He looks down, eyes glazed and distant.

"Okay?" I ask.
Please don’t stop now
…

"This is strange. Good strange, but strange." He nuzzles my neck, hot breath against my sensitive skin.

"Strange?"

"This. Slow. Not all about me." Dylan pushes the duvet away and pulls me onto his lap so I'm straddling him. I look into his darkened eyes, convinced I’ll faint due to hyperventilation. "Restraint – it’s different."

I’m glad one of us has restraint; because now I’m on his lap, Dylan’s arousal is evident. Because of me?
Wow
.

"You, umm, don’t have to be totally restrained." I close my eyes,
stupid croaky voice
.

Dylan sighs and tugs the neck of my T-shirt to one side, darting his tongue into the hollow of my neck. I jerk at the intensity, so many places he knows to touch, and Grant never did. Grant had two or three places he zoned in on - the obvious ones.

"I can tell this is okay with you. But tell me when to stop," he says.

We lock gazes. Dylan slides his hand beneath my T-shirt, and strokes along my side until his hands hover below my breasts. He pauses and I shift so his hand brushes the satin fabric of my bra. Dylan smiles, and circles his thumb over my hardened nipple through the material. I rub my lips together, shifting my focus to his parted lips. I need to taste him, lock in all my senses.

As he claims my lips with his, Dylan’s tongue tangles with mine again. Reaching around, he unclasps my bra and touches my freed breast so lightly, the intensity causes me to moan into his mouth.

Dylan pulls away again, and yanks his T-shirt over his head. Oh, my God. He's unreal. Men in real life don't have perfectly sculpted, muscular bodies.
Do not lick him. Do not lick him
. I place a hand on his taut chest, brushing his nipple with a finger. He sucks in a breath and cocks an eyebrow at me. "Your turn?"

I hesitate.

Dylan moistens his lips, and lays his head back on the sofa. "What’s wrong?"

"Nothing, I’m just feeling a bit...shy."

"I hope you're not doubting how fucking gorgeous you are, Sky." He runs a finger along the front of my T-shirt, circling around my breast. "I’ve spent a lot of time the last few days fantasising about your tits."

His sudden, growled honesty arrests me further. "I noticed."

Eyes shining, Dylan puts his hands behind his head. "So…?"

The last time anyone saw me naked in the daylight was around five years ago. Correction – the last time anyone saw me naked in the daylight and was aroused by the sight was five years ago. Grant and I would often get dressed or undressed together, but his reaction was never the same as the one going on inside Dylan’s shorts.

The curve and heat of his chest begs my breasts to be squashed against them, the desire to connect skin on skin pushes out the possibility he might not like what he sees. I pull my T-shirt over my head, and let the white, satin bra slip down my arms to the floor.

Dylan’s gaze caresses my nakedness, and he cups my breasts again. "You’re fucking beautiful," he says as he closes his mouth around my pebbled nipple, and sucks gently.

I swear I’m ready to rip all my clothes off and let him show me the rest of his obvious sexual prowess. Curling my fist into his damp hair, I gasp at the wet heat flooding straight to between my legs. Dylan grips my hips, holding me to him as his mouth continues its attention to my skin.

The ridges of his muscled back are like nothing I’ve felt before – his skin softer than I imagined. As he switches to my other breast, I dig my nails into his back, convinced I’ll fall backwards to the floor if he lets go. Every muscle in my body has lost all strength, my sole focus Dylan. His scent. His touch. His warmth. After three days, this shouldn’t feel so natural.

Dylan shifts, twisting and laying me onto the sofa, covering his body with mine. The weight of him smothers me but this is what I want. I think. Crushing his mouth on mine, he runs his hard fingers along my naked leg, to the edge of the fabric of my denim shorts. An embarrassing whimper escapes me as he slides his hand between my legs, the barrier of the material between his fingers and my sex.

"Oh!"

He stops abruptly withdrawing his hand. "What’s wrong?"

"No, nothing. It’s fine."

Dylan shifts his weight off me, propping himself on one arm. "Sorry. You’re right. I don’t think we should."

I’m right? When did I indicate I didn’t want this? "No, honestly, I’m good…"

Heart hammering against my chest, I extend my hand and place it on his chest, recognising the matching beat. The colourful sleeve of tattoos stops around his shoulder, and I run a finger along the edge.

"No. I said. This isn’t good." Dylan moves away completely, face flushed and I stare wide-eyed.

"What’s wrong?"

"I said last night." He pulls his T-shirt back over that perfect physique I planned on exploring. "What if this gets spoilt?"

"This? What’s this? Two strangers having a holiday romance?"

He blinks. "Yeah, kind of, but this is more, Sky. You're worth more."

"This doesn’t have to be more," I say, a sweaty, panting mess in front of him.