Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
SHAKY GROUND
DYLAN
I think this is the first time that Dahlia and I have gotten into bed together and not immediately turned to each other.
I’m just feeling a little unsteady here, questioning whether I’m in too deep and in these feelings alone.
The way I’m feeling about her—I want the whole world to know.
And I get that things are complicated with us…
her dad…our families. But it’s all felt worth it to me.
She’s worth it.
I don’t mind complicated, as long as we’re together and on the same page.
But my family is such a huge part of my life. It doesn’t feel right, withholding this life-changing thing that’s happening to me.
“What are you thinking?” she asks softly.
I look over, and she turns to face me.
“I’m thinking…” I sigh.
I told her I wasn’t going to make today about me, and I can’t seem to stop doing just that. I turn to face her and put my hands on her waist.
“Are you so happy? You met your sister today. Can you believe it?”
She smiles wistfully. “That’s what you were thinking? Because I could’ve sworn I saw your thoughts and they weren’t that.”
“Yeah?” I grin. “You can see my thoughts now?”
“You’re not exactly subtle.”
I snort. “No. I’m not. That’s never been my thing.”
She leans over, sprawling across my chest, her hair and the slow drag of her fingertips rendering me helpless. The lake is extra moody tonight, pounding against the shore outside, and it matches the uproar in my head.
I trace lazy circles on her shoulder, trying not to think too hard about how badly I’m going to miss this when I get on a plane again. My brain keeps wanting to tilt toward the same dark corner: You’re more invested in this. You’re the one who’s going to fall apart.
I’ve never done these mental gymnastics. I’m Dylan fucking Whitman, no self-confidence issues, no problem finding a willing woman, no pretending I’m calm when I’m fucking not. But I’ve never felt like this about anyone. Ever.
She lifts her head. Her hair slides over my chest, ticklish, distracting. “I don’t want to lose you, Dylan. I—do you know how much I care about you?”
When I just stare at her, she keeps going.
“Like…a lot. Annoyingly a lot. Like, it’s starting to feel like a medical condition.”
I blink. “A medical condition?”
“Yeah.” She nods solemnly, even though her mouth is fighting a smile. “Symptoms include stomach butterflies, excessive smiling, nonstop naughty thoughts, and—there’s a medical term for it.”
“Yeah?” My hand slides down to her ass, and I run it over her silky skin.
She taps my chest with one finger. “I have chronic Dylan-itis.”
God. This woman.
Something warm cracks open in my rib cage. The downward spiral my brain was constructing just collapses. Like she kicked the whole structure down with that voice and those damn lips.
“Well,” I say, trying to sound nonchalant even though my heart is sprinting, “I care about you too.”
“I know,” she says smugly. “You get this soft puppy look sometimes. It’s embarrassing for both of us.”
I laugh because she’s not wrong, and she laughs with me. Then she shifts higher on my chest until her face is right over mine, close enough that her breath mingles with mine. Close enough that I can’t think of a single reason to doubt her.
“It scares me how much I care,” she whispers, touching my jaw. Her thumb strokes the corner of my mouth, slow. “But I do. So, so much.”
Heat punches through me so sharp I have to breathe around it.
“So…” she continues softly. “If you’re over there spiraling? Don’t. You’re not doing this alone.”
I swallow. My voice is not exactly steady when I say, “That’s good. Because my brain was about two minutes away from writing a whole tragic saga.”
“There was angst all up in here,” she says, eyes sparkling as she waves her hand over my head.
“Because I care about you so, so much too, Dahlia Granger. If you knew how much, you might run.”
“Yeah, right next to you,” she says. “We’re sprinting together, you know. I think we have been from the start.”
I stare up at her and nod, in awe and relief. “Yes, we have.”
She leans in and kisses me, slowly at first, then with that hungry edge that makes everything inside me tilt and flare. I slide my hand into her hair and pull her on top of me, loving the way her body presses into mine.
“You’re mine,” she whispers.
It’s intoxicating.
“And you’re mine,” I murmur, brushing my thumb over her lower lip.
Her cheeks flush. And her smile lands right in the center of my chest and stays there. The hope feels solid. Something I can hold on to.
I kiss her again, and when she pulls back and sits up, my breath hitches.
She positions herself over my cock and eases down on me, making us both groan.
She’s warm and wet and utter perfection.
She moves above me, her hips rolling in an unhurried rhythm that makes my vision blur at the edges.
My hands slide up the curve of her back, fingers tracing her spine, memorizing every inch.
She shivers slightly, and I feel it everywhere.
“Dylan,” she breathes, a whisper against my lips.
I answer by pulling her closer, deeper, until there’s no space left between us. Our lips and tongues collide. I want to inhale her. I can’t get close enough.
I flip us slowly, because I want to watch her face when I sink back into her. Her eyes flutter open—dark, a little wrecked—and I think this must be what drowning feels like. Except we don’t want to be saved.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” I say, my voice raspy. “God, Dahlia. The way you feel around me. I want to be buried inside you until the end of time.”
“Never stop,” she gasps. “Never ever stop.”
She arches up to meet me, her nails digging into my shoulders, and I lose whatever fragile control I was clinging to. We move together like we’ve done this a thousand times and like it’s the first time all at once.
There’s no rush. Every thrust is a promise, every gasp she gives me knocks away all doubt, and every kiss confirms what I already knew—I have fallen in love with this woman. She is my person, and there is no going back now.
When she comes, it’s quiet—just my name broken on her lips. Her body clenches around mine like she’s trying to keep me forever. I follow a breath later, buried deep, forehead pressed to hers, swallowing the sound she makes when she feels me let go inside her.
We don’t say the words, but it’s never been louder. She talked about seeing my thoughts, and I know what she meant because it’s evident with every look and every touch.
She stays wrapped around me, our legs tangled together, my hand cupped possessively over her ass.
The ceiling fan spins lazy circles above us.
Outside, the waves and wind sound tumultuous, but in here, everything has calmed.
There’s only the thud of our heartbeats.
She presses soft, reverent kisses to my collarbone, and my fingers trail over her skin, unable to break contact for even a second.
“Sometimes l can’t quite believe you’re real,” I tell her.
“I am. And I’m not going anywhere,” she says. “Except in whatever position you tell me to get in.”
My laughter bounces off the walls. “The fucking mouth on you, Doll.”
She buries her head in my neck, laughing shyly. “I’ve had an excellent teacher.”
When we finally break apart to go to the bathroom, I feel so much lighter than when we went to bed. It’s going to be okay, I think as I look in the mirror.
I freshen up and go back into the bedroom, half expecting her to be asleep. But she surprises me yet again. She’s on her stomach, ass up. She looks at me with a seductive smile over her shoulder, and my dick jerks to attention.
Yeah, we’re going to be just fine.