28. Dylan
Chapter 28
Dylan
I drag my tired ass through the front door a little after eight to find Jake, Cassie, and my dad, playing UNO at the dining room table. Jake’s eyes are on me as soon as I step into the room.
“Hey,” he breathes, a relieved smile spreading across his face.
I hadn’t ever realized how much desire a person could fit into one syllable.
“Hi,” I say back with a smile of my own as he stands from his chair to greet me halfway.
“Come, sit. There’s plenty of salmon leftovers. I’ll fix you a plate.”
Jake gets up from the table and I arch a brow at my dad, taking the open seat next to Jake’s vacated one. “You ate salmon?” I ask, skeptically.
He smiles and shrugs a shoulder. “Jake told me he’d fix me a steak if I didn’t like it. Figured it was a good way to get a steak, but as it turns out, I liked it.”
“And you?” I ask, turning to my sister. I’ve been trying to get these two to add salmon to their diets for years and every time, I’m met with so much resistance you’d think I was asking them to eat shoe leather.
Cassie wags her eyebrows. “We both know Jake could hand me a bucket of fried deer turds and I’d try one if he asked me to.”
“I’ll be sure to ask him to do just that,” I deadpan. Jake slides a plate and a beer in front of me. “Thank you.”
He laughs as he takes his seat. “I will play no role in convincing your sister to eat deer feces.”
“Whose side are you on anyway?” I nudge my shoulder into his.
He licks his lips as he leans over and slowly plants them on my cheek. That simple act alone is enough to make me just want to crawl into bed, wrap myself around him, and stay there for a year. Although Jake’s kisses are often heated, they’re never rushed. Even now, with my dad and sister at the table, he takes his time, letting his lips linger against my skin like he’s savoring how it feels for the first time all over again.
“Yours. Always yours,” he whispers against my skin.
“Jake’s having the paperwork drawn up for the sale next week,” my father says, dumping a bucket of ice on my moment. Is it too much to ask to just let me eat dinner in peace? I don’t want to talk about selling the shop every fifteen fucking minutes.
“Could we not talk about this for one day?” I snap, my fork clattering to my plate.
“We need to talk about it because I want you to come with me, Dylan,” my dad urges. “I still want to work on cars and I can’t imagine going back to work for someone else. Not when you and I work as well as we do together. I’m begging you. Let the building go. We can move. Transfer the shop somewhere safer. Stay together.”
“And then what?” I ask, my calm voice at direct odds with the anger bubbling inside me. “We sell the house to be closer to the new shop? We saddle Jake with a building that has a declining value just so we can start over? We leave Mom behind?” I throw my napkin onto my plate and slide my chair back, done with this conversation.
As I walk down the hallway toward my room I know I’m not being fair. As much as losing my mom hurt my sister and I, I can’t imagine what my dad felt… feels. But just as I’ve found my missing piece, everyone wants to change everything .
I’m not surprised to find Jake has followed me to my room. I expect him to close the door and try to talk some sense into me, but instead, he grabs the keys to his Corvette off my dresser and throws them at me.
“Let’s go.”
“Jake, I’m exhausted. I don’t want to go anywhere.”
“Too bad. These walls are closing in on you. I’ll be in the car.”
I scrub a hand down my face and follow him out of my room.
“We’ll be back,” Jake says to my dad and sister who are still sitting at the table, talking quietly.
I open the driver’s side door of Jake’s Corvette and slide into the seat. When I turn the key in the ignition the sound of the engine draws all my attention and I close my eyes, pulling in a deep breath, my chest loosening slightly.
I pull out of the driveway and start down the road. It’s dark out, but in the glow of the street lights, I catch Jake watching my hand on the gearshift.
Jake stays quiet as I drive along backroads I’ve been navigating since I was fourteen. He’s relaxed in the seat despite my high speed and tight turns.
He trusts me.
He loves me.
These undeniable truths slam into me one right after the other. Jake may have had his future planned by his father, but I’m allowing mine to be derailed by my dead mother.
Finally, I drop my speed to coast along at the posted speed limit. All lights from homes and shops are behind us as I continue down two-lane country roads hidden through a series of turns. So close, yet so far, from the big city.
“If I agree to sell. You don’t have to be the one who buys it. I don’t want that part of town to become your problem if we’re trying to move forward,” I tell him, finding my voice along with some rationality.
“You’re forgetting I’m already invested in that building. The improvements that were made after that brick came flying through the window add value and if I’m completely honest, commercial real estate is rarely a bad choice.”
Those words hurt more than they should. That building is so much more than a piece of commercial real estate. I changed my first tire there. The picture of my mom and dad cutting the ribbon on opening day still hangs in our lobby. That shop is my family’s legacy and it feels like they’re all bailing on it.
“I just couldn’t stand to see it become some shitty pawn shop or something,” I lament. “And the timing is fucking terrible. You’re probably about to be looking for a job of your own.” I slam my palm against the steering wheel. “I never wanted you to be some white knight riding to my family’s fucking rescue as if us Mexicans need all the help we can get.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see his head jerk back. He opens his mouth to say something, but quickly shuts it again.
I don’t know where that last comment came from, but apparently, it’s been rubbing me raw for a while.
“Before I can make an appropriate argument,” he starts, and I can tell he’s upset based on how measured his words are, “was that a dig at my skin color , my net worth, or the fact that I’m in love with you?”
I’m hurting. And when I’m hurting, I tend to make others hurt so I don’t have to bleed alone.
“All of the above,” I grumble, not really meaning it. At this point, I’m trying to pick a fight.
“Pull over,” he commands in his boardroom voice.
“It’s dark and I’m tired. I just want to go—”
“I said pull the fuck over, Dylan. Right here. Right the fuck now.” Jake means business.
We’re in the middle of nowhere about forty-five minutes outside the state’s capitol. There’s a tobacco field on our right and pine trees on our left. I pull onto the shoulder and drop my forehead to the steering wheel. I expect Jake to rip into me, but he gets out of the car and slams the door instead.
“Jake! What the fuck are you doing? Get back in the car!” I turn over my right shoulder to see where he went when my door is abruptly ripped open. Jake leans in and grabs me by the neck of my shirt with both hands and literally drags me out of the car.
I barely get my feet planted under me to stand when he shoves me against the side of the Corvette. The car is so low to the ground, I catch myself on my elbows on the roof.
While I’m bracing myself, Jake punches me in the stomach. Not hard, but hard enough to shock me because it’s a move I didn’t see coming and it makes me see red. I push off the hood of the car and he moves to the gravel shoulder squaring up to fight me.
What is he doing? I’ll fucking decimate him.
I bet the punch he just threw was the first one he’s ever thrown in his life.
“When will you stop fucking judging me because of shit I can’t change, Dylan?” he yells, shocking me again when he throws another punch toward my face. I block it by turning and he gets my shoulder instead. The punch is harder than I’d anticipated . “At every turn, I stand up for you. I showed you off in my world because I’m so fucking proud of who you are and all it’s done is make you resent me. And for what? For being born into a wealthy family? For being motivated and using the resources available to me to become successful?” He throws another punch and manages to catch my jaw this time.
I drop my shoulder and barrel into him, taking us both to the ground. We land with a thud, grappling for position.
He’s panting, but he’s still talking.
“I’m not…trying…to be…anybody’s hero. I…just…want to…help.”
Apparently, wrestling was one of those rich-kid sports he learned growing up because somehow, he’s managed to flip us, pinning me beneath him despite the weight discrepancy.
But my arms are free so I reach up and wrap them around his waist, using the momentum to roll us over again, gravel sticking into me everywhere. I end up sitting on his stomach, just above his hips and can feel his legs kicking out behind me.
Instead of hitting me again, he’s using his hands to try and move away from me so I grab his wrists in one hand and pin them above his head. He winces at the abrupt movement and starts. Fucking. Talking. Again .
“What are you going to do, Dylan? Keep running? Keep pretending shit’s not changing? The world never stops changing. You either adapt or you become irrelevant and you get left behind.”
I’ve stopped moving to listen to him when all of a sudden, he brings his right leg over my head and his calf comes down on my forearms, breaking my hold on his wrists. He then kicks that same foot out, the blow landing on my chest, sending me onto my back. Sweeping his legs underneath himself, he effectively switches our positions, placing him back on top.
How the fuck is he so agile?
I’m starting to get distracted and it causes some of the fight to go out of me.
“I’m just pissed this is happening. Hasn’t my family filled some quota for life’s bullshit already?”
“There’s no such thing,” he answers, still squeezing me with his thighs to make sure I stay put. “Why are you taking this anger out on me ?”
I turn my head to the side. My view is the Corvette’s undercarriage. A sight I’m very familiar with. Jake grips my jaw and turns my face back to him. “Answer me, goddamnit!”
“Because saving my family is my job!” I yell, the truth finally spilling from my lips. “I’ve been busting my ass trying to make sure my dad can retire one day. To make sure Cassie can go to college or cosmetology school, or whatever the fuck she wants. I’ve tried to take the burden off of my dad for providing for two kids on his own. And we still ended up here, pinching pennies, trying to save a business in the middle of a goddamn war zone. Then you come in, offer to repair the shop, buy my family out, give them the new start they want, and get them to eat fucking salmon…but money doesn’t solve everything, Jake.”
He huffs out a laugh, jumping back into the argument.
“You think I don’t know that? Yes, your family needs some financial help, but do you know what I need, Dylan? I need a fucking family , period . I need people who know the real me and love me just the same. I need people who laugh and cry together, who support one another without terms, conditions, and contracts. Your mom may be dead, but do you know why you’ve never met mine?”
His words catch me off guard, because no, I don’t. Jake doesn’t ever talk about his mom.
“Because she might as well be dead for as often as she’s sober. If she’s not guzzled a gallon of champagne by noon, she’ll make up for it with a handful of Xanax. She has access to billions of dollars, Dylan, billions. But she can’t stay sober long enough to enjoy it. So, trust me, I understand that money doesn’t solve everything, but it can solve some things. Like your dad’s desire to open a shop somewhere safe and Cassie’s desire to finally start exercising her independence. You have to start letting go. And not just of your mom and the shop, but all the other bullshit that keeps you from being the version of yourself that you want to be. You have nothing to prove to me. You’re already good enough and it kills me that you don’t seem to believe me when I say it.”
Leaving me wide eyed and slack jawed, he pushes off my chest to rock back on his heels and stand up. The pain that lances through me when he begins to walk away from me hurts so badly I’m certain my heart is splintering in my chest.
“Jake,” I call, unsure of what I’m going to say, but knowing I need to say something…because Jesus Christ.
“Forget it,” he calls without looking back.
I climb to my feet and am on him before he can open the passenger door. I spin him around and press my hips into him, slamming him against the car this time. Cupping his face like he does to me, I talk directly against his lips.
“I’m sorry, Jake. I’m so fucking sorry.” I kiss him, but he doesn’t kiss me back. He just stands there and I fear I pushed too far, breaking him in a way that’s irreparable. Peppering kisses along his jaw, behind his ear, and down his neck, I just keep repeating, “Forgive me, please. I’m sorry.”
Reaching a new level of desperation, I grab his hands and put them on my waist. I take it as a good sign when he keeps them there instead of allowing them to fall back at his sides. I grind my hips into his, needing the physical contact even if this isn’t the best time or place for it.
My limp dick instantly perks up when a small whimper begrudgingly leaves his mouth.
Come on, Jake. Come back to me.
A few seconds later, his hands are pulling me tightly against him by my ass. Thank God. I groan my relief into his mouth which he finally opens for me.
Gripping the back of his neck with one hand, I wedge my other hand between his ass and the car to return the favor and increase the friction as I rut against him, rolling my hips. He grows harder against me and I know what I’m about to do.
I want to prove I’m in this with him in a way I haven’t been able to ever before, not just for him, but I need to prove it to myself. I want to prove it. I want him. But I have one more step to take and I think I’m finally ready with his words ringing in my ears. You have to start letting go of all the other bullshit that keeps you from being the version of yourself that you want to be.
I want to be Jake’s partner with equal give and take in all areas of our relationship.
Looking up and down the road, I see no signs of headlights or any other traffic, so I start working the button on his jeans and drop to my knees. Eye level with his zipper, my mouth is already watering even if my nerves are sweating through my pores.
“Dylan, you don’t—”
“Yes, I do. I want to. You were right. I need to let some things go.”
Like the physical building our shop is in. Like the thought that my mom will be left behind. Like my grandfather’s disappointment in me. Like my disappointment in myself. Like the notion and belief that I’m somehow more of a man for always being on top or that others are somehow less for being brave enough to trust and explore with their partners.
The building is just a building.
My mom is gone
My abuelo was wrong.
I’ve done the best I can.
Top or bottom has nothing to do with my masculinity or who I am as a man.
I wrap my hand around Jake’s cock and stroke him twice. He feels like velvet in my palm and I run my tongue over his tip tentatively, tasting another man’s dick for the first time in my life. He jerks in my hand, making me smile. It’s like his cock is asking for more.
I switch my right hand to his balls and bring my left hand to his shaft, running my lips along his length like he does to me. His hand flies to my head and he leans back on the roof of the car, holding the bottom of his shirt up so it’s not in my way.
“You don’t know how often I’ve dreamt of sinking into your warm, wet mouth,” he says. When I look up, his head is tipped back and his eyes are closed.
Tasting cock is new for me. Traditionally — and unfairly — I’ve viewed it as a submissive role. One I wasn’t willing to play. But having his pre-cum on my tongue is not only waking up my tastebuds, but my own cock as well.
And that’s when I realize, in a healthy relationship, the person on their knees holds just as much power as the person standing above them, maybe more. Come to think of it, I’ve never viewed Jake as weak or submissive…not even when he’s on his back for me, letting me spill my release deep inside him. Because that takes far more trust and respect than just getting your dick wet. And now, watching him start to writhe against the car, my name a low moan on his lips, I’m not sure I’ve ever felt more powerful than I do right now as he unravels at my touch.
I double down on my efforts to give Jake the best blow job he’s ever had, angry that not only have I wasted precious time, but I’m angry that someone has been here before me, tasting him, making him groan, wanton and needy.
On my knees in the gravel, I grip his hips and finally pull him into my mouth. I already know I can’t take him as far down my throat as he can take me, but I know how good it feels when his mouth slides back and forth over the head of my dick so I aim my efforts there, moving my hand back to his shaft, working in tandem with my tongue.
His hips punch forward when my lips wrap fully around him, causing me to gag and drool on his dick.
“Shit. Sorry,” he moans, gently running his hand to smooth my hair back from my face. “But also, that was really fucking hot.” As if he needed help convincing me of that fact, another splash of pre-cum lands on my tongue and I take a long pull, trying to relax and do it again.
When I manage to make it happen, Jake reaches down and cups my chin, tilting my head up, and pulling halfway out of my mouth so our eyes meet.
“Hey, I didn’t mean to add any pressure. I know that can be uncomfortable and I want you to enjoy this because I really, really want you to do again sometime, so just do what feels right. Do what feels good to you. Don’t overthink it because I’m going to come hard no matter what . ”
I nod my head and remove his hand from my chin so I can get back to work. I take his advice and back off from choking myself. Baby steps. Instead, I bob forward and back, swirl my tongue around his crown, and flick my tongue on the sensitive underside across the same spot I love for him to tease me.
“Oh, fuck, baby. That’s so fucking good.” I feel his ass muscles clench as he tries to prevent thrusting into my mouth again.
In bringing him this much pleasure, it’s me that’s gaining something. A lot of somethings, actually.
Not wanting to rush this, but also not wanting to get caught by an approaching vehicle, I pull off his dick for a second so I can coat my middle finger in saliva. Nudging his legs farther apart, I work my way between his cheeks until I find my destination and that sweet ring of muscle welcomes me home.
When Jake feels the pressure of my finger, both of his hands fly to my hair, but he doesn’t push me back onto his cock. He’s just trying to stay upright. Before bearing down on his prostate, I wrap my lips around him once more and feel him grow impossibly hard with each pass of my finger over the gland.
“ Oh, fuck, ” he hisses, expelling a harsh breath. “I’m gonna come.”
I hollow my cheeks and only bob my head three times before he’s trying to push me away.
“Dylan, you gotta move. I’m...I’m going…”
I stay put. I want his release more than my next breath and it would be such a shame to see it wasted on my shirt or the small stones beneath me.
I hum my “nuh-uh” and keep my rhythm of pushing into his ass and pulling on his cock simultaneously until he’s spent, his warm release coating my tongue. The feeling of satisfaction it gives me is much stronger than I anticipated. So strong, I almost come from it, myself.
I expect him to sag against the car again, but he hauls me to my feet, squeezes my jaw, and drives his tongue past my parted lips.
His groan has me dry humping his thigh looking for relief before my balls explode.
“Goddamn, I taste good on your tongue,” he tells me, licking his own flavor from my mouth.
I ache for him like never before which is saying something, because I was pretty fucking needy for him just now.
“Jake, I want…” I trail off, shy for the first time when asking for what I want…granted, I’ve never asked for this before.
“Just say it, baby. You know I’m not going to judge you. I want nothing more than to give you anything and everything you want.”
“I want you to fuck me.”