Chapter 32
THIRTY-TWO
SIERRA
WE’VE GOT A week until our second competition.
Lidia’s allowed us a shorter day today since Dylan and I nailed both programs without a hitch.
Since we’ve hit the lifts clean in competition, she wants to push our momentum.
If we’re lucky we could get into the Grand Prix final based on our Senior B competition scores.
Dylan’s been alternating between hockey and training with me, and he’s exhausted, though he’d never admit it.
He jokes less, doesn’t let his hand “slip” from my waist to my ass or tease Lidia about who she’s texting.
I thought he might be getting sick since after he took me home from the rink.
Things have shifted since our shower. I expected him to see me as fragile now, but Dylan just meets me with steady skill and certainty.
So, when he invited me over after practice today, insisting he makes the best grilled cheese and that I had to eat it fresh off the pan, I couldn’t say no.
From my perch on the kitchen counter, I watched him cut the sandwich diagonally, then lean back with that smug-ass grin while I devoured the whole thing.
“You can admit it was good. I won’t gloat. Promise,” Dylan says as he dries the dishes.
“I’ve had better,” I say, rolling my neck with a sigh.
“Always so damn stubborn.” Dylan glances at me. “Sore?”
“My shoulders are killing me. And I didn’t expect my ankles to still ache like this.”
“I don’t think that ever goes away.” Dylan tosses the tea towel on the counter. “How do you feel about getting wet?”
An unfamiliar heat pools in my stomach. “If you’re going to spray me with the sink hose, I will hit you with that pan.” I point to the cast iron on the stovetop. “And if that was a dirty joke, I will still hit you with the pan.”
He shakes his head. “I meant in the hot tub.”
I glance around as if someone might walk in. “You and me?” I ask in nearly a whisper.
“No one else is here. Are you wearing anything under that?” His tone is so casual it makes my pulse trip.
I follow his gaze down to my loose, cropped sweater and my gray yoga pants. His gaze lingers, and I hate that I know exactly what he’s thinking.
“Uh, yeah, I am, Mom,” I say, ignoring the heat crawling up my neck. “I don’t make a habit of going commando.”
“That makes one of us.”
I scrunch my face. “Ew. I am not going in your hot tub.”
He laughs. “I’m kidding. Come on, it’ll help the soreness.”
He’s already walking away, leaving me no room to argue. When he grabs us two towels and I follow him out the sliding doors, I see it. The hot tub’s got Aiden Crawford’s face all over it, with his Slink drink ad that I’ve seen in convenience stores.
My blood runs molten when Dylan pulls off his T-shirt, leaving him in the shortest shorts I’ve ever seen him wear.
I let myself watch him, but when his eyes meet mine, I pivot.
I shimmy out of my yoga pants, glad I wore matching underwear today.
Instinctively, I try to cover my scars with my arm, but Dylan’s not looking at me, so I quickly climb over the edge, and I nearly moan when I sink into the water, inch by inch.
“Feels good?” Dylan asks.
I throw my head back, arms resting on the edge. “So good.”
The only sounds between us are the bubbles and my occasional sigh of pleasure when the jets hit my calves or my glutes just right.
“Why are you all the way over there? You scared of me, Romanova?” he challenges.
I raise a brow. “Are you?”
“Terrified.” He smirks, his searing gaze slipping to my chest.
A surge of confidence washes over me. I wade closer, until my knees touch his, and he watches me with unwavering intensity, his arms resting against the edge as he sits there like a fucking king.
The cool air prickles my skin, and I’m hyper-aware of his roaming eyes, taking in my red bra, the bare stretch of my stomach, and every part of me that I usually try to hide.
His gaze doesn’t falter, but it doesn’t feel invasive.
It’s reverent. Like he’s committing me to memory, inch by agonizing inch.
I want to lick the droplets off his chest. The thought almost makes me retreat completely, but I think the look in his eyes is to blame for whatever hypnosis makes me straddle him.
Dylan stills, then adjusts his hips before leaning even farther back with me on his lap. His gaze drops to my chest, then back up, so nonchalantly you wouldn’t think he’s got a half-naked girl sitting on his dick.
“Nice outfit,” he says.
I try to pretend his words don’t affect me, but the blush creeping up my neck betrays me. When I look at him again, he’s still watching me like I’m the only thing that matters. And that doesn’t scare me as much as it should.
“Didn’t know there was a dress code for your hot tub invite.”
“I’d prefer fully nude, but I don’t want to give the neighbors a free show.”
I glance around at the trees surrounding the yard. There’s no way anyone could see us. When I turn back to him, his eyes are on me, steady and intense, like he can read my thoughts.
He swallows, his voice thick. “You seem to be a fan of my lap.”
My lips hover over his. “Something like that.”
The steam from the hot tub coats our skin in a layer of moisture. Condensation drips down my chest and his, and I feel a heat building inside me. A hunger.
“What are you doing, Sierra?”
He’s going to make me say it, I just know it. But he doesn’t know me if he thinks I’d give in so easily. Stubborn. That’s what he calls me, isn’t it?
“Enjoying a dip in your hot tub,” I say casually.
His gaze drops between us. “Enjoying anything else?”
“Can’t tell. It feels like I’m sitting on a damn statue.”
Dylan bites down his smile. “Up to you to bring it to life, baby.”
Frustrated, I drop all my weight into his lap and grind slowly. Dylan’s chest heaves, and a low rumble sounds in his throat. He only watches, his hot breath falling on my skin. I can’t take this self-inflicted torture anymore.
“Dylan?” I whisper.
He takes several seconds to reply. “Hmm?”
“I don’t want it to be just one kiss.”
He groans so loudly, it vibrates against my skin. “Fucking finally.”
Dylan’s hand collars my throat, and he drags my mouth to his.
“You tricked me.” I pant the accusation between hungry kisses.
It takes him a second to respond—if he even hears me—because his hands are everywhere.
Warm and sure as they skim over me, brushing over my bra, then sliding down my back.
Every nerve I have lights up under his touch, and when he squeezes my ass, it fits in the palm of his hands like I was made for him.
“Did I?” he murmurs, though his focus is somewhere else entirely.
“Yeah,” I manage, though my words break off into moan when he licks my throat, sending a ripple of heat through me. “I only came over for your grilled cheese.”
“Good. You ate, now it’s my turn.” With that he snaps open my bra and slides it off my shoulders.
I don’t comment on how effortlessly he took it off, but somewhere, from a much pettier side of me, there’s a lance of jealousy.
A quiet envy for the girls who had him like this before me, who knew the weight of his hands, the way he takes, the way he possesses.
“Have you done this before?” The words boil out of me. Shut up, Sierra.
His gaze lifts to mine under furrowed brows. “Yeah, in my car. You were there.”
I roll my eyes. “I mean in here. With other girls.”
Dylan slows, running a soft hand over my cheek. “It’s only been you.” Then he blinks like he realizes something. “I’m clean. I get tested often. There’s been no one since y—I’d never put you in a vulnerable position. I can show y—”
I kiss him then. I already know Dylan wouldn’t do that to me. It makes my heart hurt a little that he sees himself that way. “I know,” I whisper. “I just—will you touch me now?”
My misplaced jealousy puffs away into the steam around us.
He hesitates a second, but then he’s palming my breasts. “I wanna fuck these first. Made me wait to see them, didn’t you?”
“Then what are you waiting for?”
He chuckles to himself, running a hand over my cheek. “You’re so pretty.”
“Stop calling me pretty.”
“Can’t.”
Flustered, I reach between us, into his shorts to feel his hardened length. But then his phone lights up on the edge of the tub, and the sound of car doors slamming reaches us.
He mutters a curse. “The guys are here.”
My eyes widen and I look down at my wet, half-naked state.
Dylan does too, because his eyes darken with a possessiveness that makes him pull me out of the tub.
I’m still in his arms when he wraps me in a towel and walks us past the living room, dripping wet, just as we hear the front doorknob rattling.
The moment we’re in his bedroom and he locks the door, Dylan presses me against it.
He kisses me until I’m nothing but breathless moans and dripping need.
I slap a hand over my mouth, only removing it when Dylan gives me a look. “Your friends are going to hear us,” I say.
“As long as they can’t see you, I don’t give a fuck what they hear,” he says. “And you’re not holding back on me. I’m gonna make you scream, baby.”
Dylan slides my panties to the side and presses his thumb right over my swollen clit. “Fucking soaked,” he murmurs before pulling away and slipping the finger right in his mouth.
My head falls softly against the door. “Do that again.”
But instead, he slips his finger into my mouth.
I slide my tongue over his thick finger.
He lifts me higher with just one hand under my ass.
Then, in one fluid motion, he pushes two fingers inside me.
He kisses me slowly, as if he’s not moving fast between my legs, so deep his knuckles press against me.
I come so hard, I scream loud enough for the entire block to hear.
“Sorry,” I blurt on instinct.
He smacks me between the legs, and I yelp. I try to glare, but it doesn’t hold up, because my eyes still droop from the orgasm.
“Fine. I’m not sorry.”