Chapter 26

26

D ylan holds the towel open for me as I step out of the shower, wrapping it around my shoulders and using another to squeeze the water from my hair. The tenderness in his touch has tears pricking my eyes. I had his cock between my lips less than two minutes ago, and here he is, gently drying me off, taking care of me. It makes what we did–what we're going to do–seem so sacred. Religious, almost.

"I'll heat up dinner while you get dressed," he says, pulling on his sweatpants, leaving them slung low around his waist.

"Okay," I whisper, looking up at him, knowing there are stars in my eyes and not giving a single fuck. This man has me wrapped around his little finger, and I'm here for it. He gives me a crooked grin and kisses me soundly before leaving the bathroom. I press my fingers to my swollen lips, turning toward the mirror. The woman looking back at me can't hide the blush creeping up her cheeks. There's an extra sparkle in those green eyes. A secret behind that smile. Holy hell. I'm in so much trouble. I pull on my pajamas and run a comb through my hair, leaving it loose to air-dry. Walking down the short hallway to the kitchen, I peek around the corner. Dylan is standing at the stove, stirring something in a large pot, two bowls next to him on the counter.

"What can I help with?" I ask, watching as the muscles in his back shift with every rotation of the spoon. He glances over at me and then does a double-take.

"Are those guinea pigs?" he asks, his gaze sliding over my body, his eyebrows almost touching his hairline.

I look down at my favorite pair of pajamas, not realizing how ridiculous they must look until right this moment. "Not exactly sexy, are they?" I laugh, shrugging my shoulders.

"You could be wearing a floor-length Victorian nightgown and you'd still be sexy," he says, spooning the contents of the pot into the bowls. "But I have to ask–why guinea pigs?"

"I had one when I was little. Her name was Little Bit. She was my best friend, really. I was beside myself when she died." I take the bowl of stew he hands me.

"You never got another one?" He grabs two spoons and leads the way to the family room.

"No. And then I grew up and didn't have time to care for myself, let alone a pet."

"And now?" Dylan sits, looking up at me with those chocolate-brown eyes.

"Now?" I ask, raising an eyebrow. "I guess I haven't really thought about it."

"You should." He motions for me to sit and points out the two glasses of wine on the coffee table. "I took the liberty of opening a bottle of wine I found. I hope that's okay."

"It's perfect. Thank you, Dylan."

"You're welcome, Freckles. What should we watch?" He picks up the remote and turns on the TV, scrolling through the apps.

"I've been wanting to watch this new show on Netflix called Fool Me Once. Have you seen it?"

"No, not yet." He navigates to the series, starting the first episode before taking a bite of his food. "God, this is good," he groans, his eyes rolling back as he chews .

"Do you cook, too?" I ask, realizing I've never seen him cook anything before.

"Only if it's something simple like a fried egg or grilled cheese. I do love to bake, though. I had a job at a bakery when I was seventeen."

"What's your favorite thing to make?" I ask, trying to imagine a younger version of him covered in flour, kneading a loaf of bread.

"Bagels, probably."

"It's been forever since I've had a bagel," I groan, practically drooling.

"We'll have to fix that, won't we?"

We both finish our food at the same time, falling into companionable silence as we watch the show. It's a murder mystery that sucks us in quickly, and before we know it, we're on the third episode, and I'm cuddled in Dylan's arms while we're spooning on the couch. It's nice. More than nice.

As the evening passes, the tension between us grows, ratcheting up my heartbeat, butterflies going haywire in my stomach. When I can't stand it any longer, I act like I'm adjusting my body to get more comfortable, but it's really so I can get my ass closer to his lap. He splays his hand over my stomach, pulling my body flush to his, his cock already standing at attention.

"Why didn't you say something?" I ask, looking back at him and biting my lip.

"Because I didn't want you to think that's the only reason I want to be with you."

"You know, there's such a thing as being too nice," I say, laying my head back down on his arm.

"You don't want me to be nice?"

"Not right now." My whisper turns into a groan as he slides his hand underneath my shirt and cups my breast. I arch my back, pushing into his hand. He growls deep in his throat, the sound making goosebumps erupt over my entire body. I turn to face him, and he caresses my cheek, sweeping his hand over my shoulder, down my back, and over my ass, cupping the back of one thigh to pull my leg over his hip. In one smooth movement, he maneuvers us so his back is flat on the couch and I'm straddling his hips.

"You're so fucking beautiful," he breathes, tugging on a strand of my hair, the back of his fingers grazing my nipple.

"Even with my guinea pig pajamas on?" I tease, leaning over him, my hair creating a curtain around our heads.

"Especially with your guinea pig pajamas on," he says, his voice dropping as he drags his thumb over my lips. I lower myself as he surges up, our mouths colliding in a war of teeth and tongues. I lose myself in the feel of his body against mine, the way he holds my face like I'm a precious, fleeting thing that may disappear at any moment. It makes me feel cherished and wanted and–and loved . My heart jumps as that thought registers. I break away from him, trying to catch my breath.

"Are you okay?" he asks, studying me with concern in his eyes.

"More than okay," I say honestly, unable to hold back my grin.

"Good," he says, returning my smile. "Should we take this to the bedroom?"

"Why would we do that?" I ask, rocking my hips against him.

"Fuck, Isla," he groans, reaching up to squeeze my breasts, rolling my nipples between his fingers. A bolt of lust streaks down my spine, desire crackling through my veins like electricity before settling low in my stomach, a ball of raw, aching need. Nimble fingers undo the buttons on my top, and he slides it off my shoulders. Swinging his legs over the side, he sits up, leaning against the back of the couch, pulling me close. He buries his face between my breasts, breathing me in before catching a nipple in his mouth and swirling his tongue around it.

"I'll never look at your tits the same way again. You know that, right? That night was fucking amazing." He switches his attention to the other side, worshipping my body. Worshipping me . Making me feel like the most desirable woman on planet Earth. He looks at me the way people gaze at a once-in-a-lifetime sunset. Bathing in me, drinking me in like I'm the elixir of life, and he's on death's doorstep. The reverence in his touch topples my already crumbling wall of doubt, paving a new path to something I've only dreamed about.

"Take me to the bedroom, Dylan," I murmur, emotion clogging my throat. "Make love to me."

"Do you mean that, Isla?" he asks, pressing his forehead to mine, hope bubbling up. "The love part, I mean," he clarifies, running a finger over my cheek.

"Yes. I don't think I've ever meant anything more in my entire life."

"Thank fuck," he sighs. Pulling me closer, he pushes his hand into my hair, tilting my head to get the perfect angle. His lips are soft, his tongue like velvet. He stands suddenly, wrapping my legs around his waist and carrying me to the bedroom. "This bed isn't nearly big enough for what I want to do to you," he grumbles, glaring at the tiny twin mattress.

"It's this or going back to the house with your brothers. Your call."

"Hell no. I don't want to be anywhere near them tonight. This is you and me, Isla."

"You and me," I echo, tracing his jawline with my fingers. He walks to the end of the bed and sets me in the middle, pushing me back onto the pillows. I take a shuddering breath as he hooks his fingers into the waistband of my pajama pants and pulls them off, dropping them on the floor.

"Now you," I whisper, my voice trembling. He takes a step back and pushes his sweatpants down, stepping out of them and then standing there, both of us staring at each other in complete and utter awe.

"Are you real?" he asks, his voice cracking. “Is this real?”

I climb off the bed and take his hand, pressing his palm against my heart. I lift my hand and do the same to him, and we stand there, our hearts racing, barely breathing.

"God, I love you," he chokes out, cupping my face between his hands, kissing me like he's been waiting for this moment his entire life.