Wild Thing

8. Eight

Eight

brAX

F uck.

She has a fucking boyfriend.

Opening the door to my suite, I peeled off my hoodie and shirt, tossed them onto the floor and kicked off my shoes, before throwing myself onto the lounge.

Trying to wrap my head around what I felt, I massaged my temples.

Dylan.

I couldn’t believe she was here.

She’d stopped me in my tracks when I spotted her sitting at the bar yesterday. She was hard to miss; devastatingly beautiful. Her jet black hair was nearly as black as the heart she wanted the world to think she had. Chestnut eyes fringed with sweeping lashes had locked on me as I tried, and failed miserably, to dry myself. I felt her searing, burning stare. It took everything I had to remain calm when, really, my heart was beating out of my chest. Seeing her again instantly triggered some of the best memories of my life.

And her body… man.

Shaped like an hourglass, she looked better than ever. Her stunningly gorgeous appearance was deceptive because, despite her classic beauty, she was a wild bit of gear, untamed in the very best way.

I wanted to fuck her the second I laid eyes on her.

God, I was screwed.

My thoughts skittered to my girlfriend. I cursed myself for not having the courage to break up with Ally when I should have. The universe has a way of reminding you that you're never in control. And if life has a chance to fuck you, then chances are it will.

I pulled my phone out of my pocket and scrolled through Dylan's social media. I smirked at the fact she'd blocked for the past five years.

Of course she did. My grudge-holding girl.

I continued to scroll through her profile. She didn't post much, which I liked. Dylan was the complete opposite to Ally. Dylan's online presence was restrained and private, whereas Ally would curate every second of her life. All of it filtered, none of it real.

I wasn't even sure how I'd ended up with someone like Ally. She was wealth and image obsessed, coming off vain and entitled. I don't know why I thought she'd change. I'd often wondered if she was with me for my money. When I'd met her, she said I looked like a thug, but it's funny how money can turn hoodlums into heroes.

Being in a relationship for convenience was a pathetic reason to stay, but that was a big part of why I'd settled with Ally. Truthfully, I didn't think that I'd ever see Dylan again. I thought she'd always be the one that got away.

I tossed my phone on the coffee table and thought about how talking to Dylan felt like coming home. The way her mind works had always fascinated me.

She was a high achiever, ambitious as fuck and extremely intelligent. But she thinks herself into a catastrophe, turning what could be a happy life into a complete fucking mess.

I’d always wondered what would have happened if I’d followed her to London. She begged me to go.

But it was never an option for me.

Back then, I was arrogant enough to think she’d stay. I’d always had girlfriends who would do whatever it took to keep me around.

But Dylan was different, always doing whatever the fuck she wanted. I'd always known she'd put herself first in the end. Just like I did.

We'd been dreamers, though.

She said she’d design us a home. I said I’d build her a house with my bare hands. She could never decide if she wanted to live by the beach, or high up on a secluded mountain.

"Let's grow old together, away from all the self-absorbed losers," she'd say.

She’d sketch pictures of us and leave them for me to find. Sometimes, I'd find one stuck to my windscreen or jammed into my toolbox… even attached to my surfboard leash. I'd kept them all. They served as little reminders of what could have been.

But one thing we never did discuss were the logistics or whether any of it was even possible.

We were dreamers, yes, but we were also deluded.

Because we never spoke about London.

It was a looming dark cloud that we ignored, because she knew I wasn't going, and I knew she wasn’t staying.

The day Dylan begged me to go with her, I came home to find her sitting on my porch. She told me this was it. She'd landed an internship and was leaving for London the following week. It all happened so fast.

I tried to make her stay, I always did.

But this time was different. She meant it. She accused me of not fighting for her or for our relationship. As much as I wanted to be with her, there was no way I could have joined her. She was asking me to do something that she herself wasn't willing to do: Put my career on hold.

And I was just like her; always putting myself first.

I watched her walk away, get in her car and drive off. I didn’t try to stop her. I let her go.

I stood there, stoney faced and cold, but on the inside I was utterly numb.

She’ll be back , I thought at the time.

But she never did come back.

It was heartbreak in the cruelest of ways. She hadn’t been gone for two days before I realized I’d made a massive mistake.

But my ego stopped me from reaching out to her.

I'd always regretted that. I should have tried harder.

Yet, Dylan leaving remains a turning point in my life that I can’t be mad at. It ended up being the catalyst that pushed me to knuckle down and work hard without distraction.

But now I found myself reunited with the best and worst kind of distraction: Dylan.

Sighing deeply, I stood up and ran both hands through my hair. It had taken everything I had to keep my hands off her tonight. She looked so fucking sexy.

I needed a release.

Walking into the bathroom, I turned on the rain shower, my thoughts entirely dominated by Dylan. I unbuttoned my jeans and tossed them out of the bathroom. Once the water was at a warm temperature, I stepped in and braced my hands on the wall, letting the water run over the back of my neck and down over my body.

I tried to process the fact that my dream girl was just a few floors down. God, she looked unbelievable in that short skirt showing off those tanned and toned legs.

My thoughts drifted to her leaning into me in the elevator the day before and the way her tiny waist felt in my hands, while her firm ass pressed into my crutch.

I had been horny since the second I saw her.

My cock swelled with the thought of her body and that loaded gun she wore as a smile. Closing my eyes and steadying my hand against the wall, I stroked myself with the other, letting my mind flood with the hottest memories of her.

I pictured her riding me, my cock buried deep inside her tight pussy, with her round, soft tits in my face, my mouth hungrily sucking on her hardened, pink nipples. I felt myself getting close, and pictured the way Dylan’s eyelids flutter and how her body trembles when she climaxes. I stroked faster before gripping my tip, finding my release with a deep groan. I came harder than usual.

I waited until my head stopped spinning and for my breathing to return to normal, before stepping out of the shower.

Drying off, I wondered if she was thinking about me.

Climbing into bed, I didn’t bother with sleep shorts, knowing sleep would find me fast.

My last thought of the day was about Dylan.

But that was nothing new.