29. Dylan

CHAPTER 29

DYLAN

He loved me.

I repeated it over and over in my head the entire ride back to his house, my arms wrapped around his midsection the whole time, right one tighter than the left still. Sometimes, he’d let go of the bike and pat his hand against my knuckles, squeezing and using his body to once again offer up the confession he’d given me in the meadow.

When we got back to the city, there was a man in front of Alex’s house, leaning against the railing with his arms crossed and an annoyed look on his face. He was dressed as well as Alex and Brooks ever were, but I didn’t recognize his face. I realized Alex hadn’t introduced me to any of his friends. How could he love me if…

He pulled the bike up to the curb and cut the engine. After an hour of the engine rumbling and the wind whipping around my head, the silence was deafening. I pulled off my helmet and climbed off the bike, standing to the side while Alex rolled the motorcycle back into the storage shed. He locked the door and pulled his own helmet off, tucking it under his arm and turning toward the man with an outstretched hand.

“You owe me,” he said to Alex, dropping a folded stack of papers into Alex’s waiting palm before turning his stare toward me.

I swallowed nervously, immediately aware of the weight of his appraisal as it dragged over me.

“Stop it,” Alex warned.

The weight lessened.

“You’re the infamous Dylan then?” the man said.

“Infamous?”

“I can go back to being a recluse and you can go back to being friend group enemy number one if you liked it better that way, Kale,” Alex snapped.

Ah.

I’d heard about Kale, who was probably more infamous than me, but I was high on the morning, on the revelations that were fresh between Alex and me, and I wasn’t interested in soiling any of that by digging in and poking at what I knew about him.

“Ignore him,” Alex said, this time to me. He shoved the folded-up papers into his pocket and started up the stairs, leaving Kale on the sidewalk.

“You’re welcome, you know,” Kale said, as if he hadn’t been dismissed. “It’s not like I had anything better to do besides accept delivery of a piano for you.”

My heart skittered and jumped, then stalled out entirely.

“A piano?” I croaked.

“You asked for one,” Alex said simply.

“Yeah, like four hours ago.”

“Jesus,” Kale muttered under his breath, looking at Alex, then at me.

“Oh, like you’re any better,” Alex said.

That got him a quick flash of a smile. “No, you’re right. I’m far worse.”

“Thank you,” Alex told him.

“It’s in the guest room like you demanded.”

Alex rolled his eyes, and my sweaty fingers slipped against the helmet. “I didn’t demand,” he said.

“You always demand,” Kale responded.

“You do,” I agreed, which earned me a sharp look from Alex and an amused one from Kale.

I held Alex’s stare, my heart finally falling back into its usual pace as Alex’s expression softened, and then darkened.

“Inside, Dylan,” Alex said quietly, and I gave Kale a quick nod before passing both of them and heading into the house.

I listened to the quiet rumble of Alex’s voice as he answered whatever Kale said next, setting my helmet down on the couch before collapsing on it myself. Kicking off my shoes, I leaned back and closed my eyes waiting for Alex, who followed less than five minutes later.

“I’m surprised you’re not in the guest room,” he said, bending down to unlace his boots.

“I didn’t know if I could.”

“It’s your piano,” he said.

“It’s your house,” I countered, sitting up to see him better.

He worked his jaw back and forth, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

“Do you really find me demanding?”

“Yes,” I rasped.

“Do you like it?”

“Very much, I think,” I admitted.

There was so much more to my relationship with Alex than simply whatever kind of confessed love existed between us now. There was an undercurrent of control and power that weaved its way around us constantly, and even if I didn’t always understand the tide and the flow, I wanted it. I welcomed the force and the severity of it because, the majority of the time, it was the most reliable thing I’d ever had.

Even as a child, I’d always known my parents’ money was a fleeting thing. I didn’t think it also meant their love was fickle, but I understood there were expectations and requirements. If I performed well, I won a prize. Whether that prize was their attention or something tangible didn’t matter. I understood the logistics of give and take, and my relationship with Alex was just another example of that.

But at the same time, it felt unfair to discredit him so. To compare him to the transactional interactions that had made up my life before him. Alex would suffer as much a loss as I would if things ended between us. I could see the truth of that in his eyes and the sometimes tense stretch of his shoulders when I got too pushy with him. Just as I was afraid of pushing him too far one day, I was fairly certain he was also afraid of standing too strong against me.

“Go upstairs and make sure it’s tuned,” he said. “It should be. Then wait.”

I smiled and jumped off the couch, the excitement of being able to play an instrument again, let alone piano, was enough to have my hands shaking. After moving to Chelsea, I knew there was no way I would have room for a piano in the small apartment I shared with Tate. Sure, I could have just not rented to him in the first place and turned the second bedroom into a music room, but the tradeoff was worth it. I’d gotten a best friend out of the deal, even though I’d been horrible to him over the past few months.

Tate and I had talked enough to clear the air over the way I’d lied to him about our money situation, but beyond that…not much. He was so happy with Brooks, I didn’t want to ruin that with my own mess, and I still wasn’t sure how to explain Alex to him. Though, I wondered how Alex explained me to Brooks sometimes too.

Out of breath with my heart threatening to burst out of my chest, I found the piano in the guest room, tucked against the far wall. The window was open, bright rays of afternoon sun streaking down across the rich black of the instrument, and I knew before I even pressed the middle-C that it was already perfectly tubed. I’d told Alex I wanted a piano and he’d taken me out of the city for a picnic breakfast and brought me home to the thing I wanted most in this life—besides him.

The moment didn’t feel real, and I had to sit on my hands to stop myself from playing a whole song. My left shoulder burned, but it wasn’t as glaring of a pain as it had been days before. The doctor said the injury would heal on its own, and the fact I didn’t need surgery was a relief. The angle and control I needed for guitar was still too much of a stress on the muscle, though, but with a piano…

I would survive the waiting.

Though, I didn’t think I’d survive the wait for Alex, who had yet to make it upstairs.

Opening my mouth to call out for him, his name died in my throat before I could say anything. This was deliberate. It was a test. Maybe a test for the both of us, I wasn’t sure. Instead of looking at the gleaming keys, I turned my stare toward the window, the sun, the clouds, the sky…

“Do you like it?”

Alex’s voice in the doorway startled me and I jumped, head jerking around to face him. He leaned against the door frame, half changed out of the clothes he’d worn on the ride. No shirt, no socks, barefoot with his legs crossed at the ankle and his arms folded casually in front of his chest. His hair was tousled from the helmet, his eyes clear behind the lenses of his glasses.

“It’s perfect. Thank you.”

“Did you want to play something?”

“So much,” I said, unable to stop my lips from curving up into a smile. Though, if he didn’t let me play, I’d survive it. Just knowing it was here, having it close, that was almost enough to hold me over until he decided I could. I hadn’t realized…hadn’t understood just how much music meant to me. That sounded like such a silly thing to say, considering I’d given up almost my entire life because of music, but in the stress of it, I’d lost sight of the passion.

Alex pushed off the door, nodding and crossing the room. He traced his tongue across the front of his teeth, the dark glint in his eye turning devious. He dragged a chair from across the room, notching it up behind the piano bench and sitting down. It put us almost at the same height, a few inches between our bodies. He was careful to not knock his knees into the bench, leaning close and going entirely still.

“Play, then,” he said simply.

Tugging my hands out from beneath my legs, I did a slow shoulder rotation, one of the ones I’d been working on in physical therapy. Another burn, but nothing that wasn’t manageable. I wouldn’t overdo it, and even if I tried, Alex wouldn’t let me. I knew that down to my bones.

I set my fingers against the keys and he set his against my waist.

“Play,” he said again, the tone brokering no argument.

Of the thousand songs I knew, my brain gave me notes for one of the hardest, and I quickly fell into the soft melody of Nocturne in E-flat Major by Chopin. It had always been one of my favorites because it was hard for everyone else, but not for me. There were parts that required work, but the notes rang together so beautifully there was never a question in my mind if the payoff was worth the effort.

I made it through the song with a few minor hiccups, which I doubted Alex would have ever heard, then I set my hands together in my lap. His were still on my waist, fingertips curling around the curve of my ribs.

“Were you happy with that performance?” he asked.

“It wasn’t perfect.”

“I don’t imagine it ever is.”

“It wasn’t up to my standards,” I told him.

“You have a tear in your labrum, Dylan,” he reminded me. “You haven’t played piano in how long?”

I cleared my throat, cheeks burning. “Nearly a year.”

“Nearly a year,” he repeated, ending with a knowing hum. His fingers finally moved, startling me for how still they’d truly been. He reached around my front, undoing the button and the zipper of my jeans. Making no move to tug them down, Alex reached into my underwear and pulled out my cock, letting it sit soft and warm against my thigh. “Play it again, then.”

I played through it again, this time with my dick out and his fingers so close to my bare skin I could feel the heat of him, but not the actual touch. I made more mistakes the second time, of course, because I was distracted. Thinking more about how much I wanted him than how much I wanted to do justice to Chopin.

“That sounded worse,” he said after I finished.

“It was.”

I’d gotten half-hard during the last round of the song, partly on account of the fact the piano was a dream, but mostly because of Alex and the way he hovered, the way he teased. At my confession, Alex dusted his fingertips up my thickening shaft, humming thoughtfully in my ear.

“Do it better,” he said, finally, blessedly, wrapping his fingers around my erection.

My entire body trembled at his touch, and I was ten seconds into my third attempt at the song when he stroked his hand from my root to my tip. My fingers splayed on their own accord, absolutely butchering the perfection of the song, and as I went still, so did he.

“Do you need a break?” he asked.

“No.”

I reset my hands and started in again, ready for the tight squeeze of Alex’s hand when it came. My fingers barely faltered, slipping off by a quarter before finding the rhythm again. From behind, Alex stroked my cock until I reached the end of the song, not stopping when it ended.

“Was that the best you could do?” he asked me next.

“No.” My back bowed, and I ached to lean back against him, to let him wipe away every thought that had ever existed in my brain before him and every thought that would come after.

“Again then, pet,” he said.

The endearment—or whatever it was—sent a shiver all the way down to my toes, and I set my hands against the keys again and played. Alex’s touch was soft and slow, deliberate with the weight and the tease, and I lost count of how many times I played through with new and different faults every time.

“I thought you were good at this,” he whispered, the tease light in his voice.

“I am when I’m not distracted.”

“Life is a distraction.” Alex stretched his fingertips to my balls, pressing until I groaned. He leaned forward and set his chin against my shoulder, lips hot against my ear. “Play it again, pet.”

“S’hard.”

“You are,” he agreed, giving my dick a squeeze. “But we’re going to do this until I’m tired of hearing it.”

“I could never get tired of it,” I said, taking a breath and forcing my fingers to start once again into the song.

“The song is fine,” he whispered, sinking his teeth into my ear, “but I meant tired of hearing you .”

As if on cue, he gave a sharp flick of his wrist that somehow sent me straight over the edge. I lost the song entirely, lost my mind as cum spurted out of my dick, streaking across his hand, even up to the piano keys. I hadn’t even realized my orgasm had been so close, and I trembled against him as he milked the whole of it out of me.

“Oh, fuck.” I fell back against him, head landing on his shoulder, and Alex chuckled, quick to shove me forward, back upright on the bench.

“I’m not tired of it yet,” he said, sticky fingers still moving up and down my length. “Not tired of you. Now, do it again.”