Chapter 10
-Kira Carter-Wells-
When Dylan comes hurtling out of the bathroom, I’m expecting to see something chasing him.
A spider, the invisible man, his stalker…
I don’t know, just something, but there’s nothing there.
His face is flushed. He has a towel clasped around his hips and his upper body sparkles, covered by numerous water droplets.
He comes stalking right up to me, and shakes wet hair out of his eyes.
“Dylan?” I put the free magazine I was browsing aside on the sofa cushion.
The sexy, infuriating bugger doesn’t say a word. He just looks down at me with those soulful eyes, and I honestly don’t know what he’s thinking, or why he’s so spooked, or even if he’s spooked.
“Is there a problem?”
He tilts his head. It’s almost a nod.
“Tell me how I can help.”
He still doesn’t open his mouth. He does move his arm, or rather his fingers. The towel falls away from his hips, and I’m right before him, at eye level with his gloriously hard dick.
Oh! Oh, okay… Now I see where this is going. “You know I’m your bodyguard, right? Not some starry eyed fan.”
He doesn’t need to know that I’m both those things.
Nor, that seeing him bared before me like this has my lady parts instantly plumping.
I should shove my middle finger in his face and tell him what to do with his stupidly hard cock.
Instead, I stare, because he’s so fucking perfect it hurts.
The man has no right to be this damn beautiful.
“You’re killing me, Dylan.”
“I’m killing you. It’s your fault I’m in this state. Damn thing’s had a mind of its own ever since you bust my door down. What the fuck did you do to me?”
Nothing. Not a God damn thing.
This situation is too dangerous with my eyes and mouth on a level with his cock, so I rise to my feet.
That puts us in even closer proximity, as Dylan doesn’t back up as I expect him to.
There’s barely a whisper of space between us.
We’re close enough that I can feel the heat of his body, and for his breath to stir the strands of my hair.
We’re close enough that his cock’s damn close to poking me in the hip.
I plant my hand against the centre of his chest, meaning to shove him back a little, but the pressure doesn’t make him budge more than a millimetre. Through his skin, his heart beats a hammering tattoo against my palm. “Lower,” he encourages, voice all rough and husky.
Sleeping with him is a bad idea. I knew it the first time, and I know it now, but still, I slide my hand down his chest an inch.
“Lower.”
We repeat this ludicrous dance another two times, until Dylan clasps my wrist and with his final groan of “Lower” drags my hand down to where he wants to feel it—wrapped tight around his rampant cock.
I should squeeze him too hard for his bloody impertinence. I should slap him and leave a livid mark upon his flesh, but that would reduce me to his level of denial. The truth of the matter is, I want Dylan Drake, and unlike him, I’m prepared to admit that fact.
I know it’s blindly stupid to get involved with a man who refuses to really acknowledge his attraction to me, who is only naked before me now because he’s letting his dick do the driving.
Once his libido’s been satisfied and his brain’s in control again, then he’ll be right back to denying there could possibly ever be anything real between us because he’s gay, and isn’t attracted to women.
Well, wise up, sweetheart, because I’m definitely, one hundred percent a woman, and if you’re going to use me like this, I’m damned well going to get something out of you in return.
“Is a handjob really what you want from me?”
That momentarily foxes him. Just for the blink of an eye.
“What did you have in mind?”
“What did you? You’re the one who came out here seeking… What is it you’re seeking, Dylan? I mean, it wouldn’t be me you were looking for. You wouldn’t want to put your cock in my mouth. You’re a gay man. We both know you don’t do that sort of thing.”
He twitches. I’m hitting a whole host of raw nerves.
He doesn’t want to think about this shit.
Wrapping his mind around his desire for me involves the sort of mental gymnastics that lead to a migraine.
No, it’s much easier not to think, merely to act and hope that somehow things magically resolve themselves.
If he only acts, he doesn’t have to consider whether he’s actually gay, like he’s been loudly proclaiming all his life.
He doesn’t have to consider other possibilities, or move away from a black and white view of the world. In many ways Dylan Drake is as bigoted and narrow minded as the straights that get up in arms and decry those who aren’t as devil spawn.
“But if I did want you to suck me, would you do that?”
Damn him for his sincere and insistently polite response.
“Do you?” I demand.
“I wouldn’t be standing here if I didn’t.”
“You want me?”
“And you know it.”
“But you’re gay, Dylan. And in case you haven’t noticed, I’m not a man.”
“Yes,” he responds.
What the ruddy hell does that even mean? Yes, I’m gay. Yes, I’ve noticed you’re a woman. So what, let’s fuck until we’re exhausted anyway.
“I’m not going to suck you, Dylan.”
Icy disappointment glints within his saucer-like pupils; until it presumably occurs to him that I still have my hand around his cock.
“I’m going to go one better and give you an experience you haven’t had before.”
“Yeah?” There’s a touch of disbelief in his voice. Dylan Drake thinks he’s been there, done it all. Well, maybe with another guy as a partner that’s true, but his knowledge of women is decidedly limited. As in it extends only as far as it went with me a little over a week ago.
“Bedroom,” I order him. “Now. On your back.”
I think there’s a part of Dylan Drake that likes being ordered about. The fact he complies so readily, despite the defiant tilt of his chin is what gives him away.
“What are you thinking?” he asks, as I stalk across the mattress towards him.
In all honesty, I’m doing my best not to engage that part of my brain. For the next few minutes…an hour…longer, I intend to live in the moment. It’s the only way I can screw him without pesky details getting in the way and ruining everything.
I whip off my top and bra once I’m straddled across his hips, having already stepped out of my trousers. I don’t know what possesses me. I don’t even know if he likes tits. Well, if he doesn’t now, I’m pretty certain he’s going to.
His attention strays to the dressing on my shoulder.
“It’s just a scratch. Nothing to worry about.”
“Okay.” Still his fingers trace across it.
I lean over him. “Kisses first. It’s only polite.” He’s not using me as a fuck toy.
Lord, his mouth! He’s all soft at first, delivering fluttering, dry and flighty kisses, until I touch his lips with my tongue, then…
then, he’s all want and give. I don’t know how long we kiss for, only that it’s long enough so that my body starts rolling in time with the gentle shifting of his hips, and that his cock comes dangerously close to slipping between my legs.
Not that I’ve any major objections to feeling it there, but I’m determined to show him how to have fun another way first.
I break free of his kisses, and trail my lips down the side of his neck.
Venture lower, to his collarbone, and across the top of his pecs.
There’s a faint speckling of dark hair; Dylan Drake waxes, folks!
Once I’m level with his abs, then I capture his cock, and slide it into the groove between my breasts.
“Oh!” he says. “Oh…that’s…”
“Good,” I finish his sentence for him.
“Better than just good.” He groans in a full-throated way, and a shiver chases through his limbs.
It’s not many seconds later that he’s cupped both sides of my breasts and pushed them together so that his cock is completely engulfed, and he’s humping me like there’s not enough friction in the world to fulfil his need, except of course, there is.
Beyond the odd sly lick when the head of his cock pops into view, fucking my tits is all it takes to send him soaring.
He comes over me, making a sticky mess of us both.
I love watching this man; how his body jerks, how his mouth forms a perfect O shape and how all the studied Hollywood gloss is washed from him, leaving behind this sultry, sensual, filthy beast of a man. I even love watching his come spurt, and the feel of that pearlescent mess upon my skin.
He flops back, spent and exhausted, but seemingly no less wary than earlier.
Only when I hop out of the bed to grab a cloth to do a bit of cleaning up does he stir, and then it is only his head that he moves a little so that he can follow my naked movements.
“What?”
“You’re a succubus,” he says. “It’s the only logical explanation for my attraction to you.”
A smile tugs at my lips. “That’s right,” I deadpan, as I clean the mess first from my breasts and then from his abs, “because there’s no other possible explanation for why you’d want to fuck me. It must be such a relief to have figured it out.”
He watches through narrowed eyes as I dry him off with the towel between planting kisses across his abs. I even spare one for his slumbering cock.
“That wasn’t intended to insult you, Kira.”
Yeah, well, maybe not, but I am insulted by him on some level or another. Thus, we fall into an uncomfortable silence until he remarks, “I guess, the bigger busted the lady, the more luxurious that act is?”
“How would I know? I don’t have a cock.”
He mumbles something that I suspect is, “more’s the pity,” and I see red. That is the last straw.
“Fuck you, Dylan.” I snatch up a pillow and wallop him hard with it.
“What?”
Initially, he crosses his arms before his face to defend himself, but after another couple of blows, he grabs a pillow of his own and knocks me off balance with a sideways swipe.
“What the hell are you battering me for?”