Chapter 17 – Dylan
Chapter Seventeen
DYLAN
F rankie keeps staring at me. I’ve been waiting for her to say something, especially since I was eating her best friend’s face off ten minutes earlier, but all that’s happened is for silence to stretch out between us. That’s a technique I’ve used often in law. Continued stillness makes people feel uncomfortable, and eventually, they’ll start to talk to fill that dead space. Frankie and Natalie being lawyers means they’ve probably also used this trick. We could end up not saying a word for hours. I cave first.
“How did the emergency at work go?” I direct my question at Natalie. While she answers, I pick up an egg roll and pop it in my mouth.
“Not great. I’ve got a terrible client.”
“She’s losing the PR war,” Frankie volunteers, wiping her mouth off with a napkin and then tossing it aside, apparently done eating for the night. I try not to make my glee at this too obvious, but I can’t wait until Natalie and I are alone.
“Half the battle sometimes. Did he say something to the press?”
“When is he not talking to the press?” Natalie mutters. She starts putting the leftover Chinese away. I jump up to help, feeling her friend’s eyes watching me the whole time.
“No questions about my intentions?” I say lightly.
“Do you have bad intentions?”
“No. They’re all good.”
She looks to Natalie as if to check to see if I’m lying.
“So far, it’s all been great.” She spreads her hands out, palms up as if to say she’s sorry for confirming my assertion.
Frankie slides off the chair. “Since Nat is a big girl, I’ll let this play out, but remember, honey”—she directs this bit toward her friend—“you can’t trust a State Raider.”
“I didn’t go to State,” I say in my defense. “I went to Harvard.”
“That’s right.” Frankie snaps her fingers. “I’ll put that in the pro column.”
“I appreciate it. How many checks are in the con column?”
“So many. It’s a big deficit.”
Smiling, Natalie pushes Frankie toward the door. “I’ll make him work off some of the negatives tonight.”
“Terrifying,” I say without an ounce of fear in my voice and a big grin on my face.
I wait a couple of seconds after Frankie leaves before I sweep Natalie up in my arms. “I see you ate dinner, so we can go straight for dessert.”
We kiss until my legs hit the side of her mattress, but as I’m setting Natalie down, she grips my biceps. “Dylan, are we going too fast?”
We haven’t had sex yet, so it feels like we are going just the right speed, but her question after the criticism from my friends gives me pause. I rest my weight on the bed, letting the mattress dip down as we both make contact with the soft surface. Natalie’s hair is bound up in a clip. Her not so sexy attire consists of an oversized T-shirt and a pair of gym shorts that go to her knees. She was not expecting me, and I was trying to stay away to give her more space, but my feet propelled me to her apartment building, up her stairs, and my fist was on her door before I fully realized my actions. I suppose that is fast because, as Graham said, I don’t even know Natalie’s middle name. I can rectify that one. “What comes after Natalie?” At her quizzical, confused look, I add, “The name. What’s your middle name?”
Her hand falls away from my arm and pushes against the coverlet to sit up. “My middle name? It’s Marie, why?”
“Mine is Davis. Dylan Davis Wolfson, after my maternal grandfather. Since my last name was going to be from my dad’s side, my mom wanted to make sure she had some of her family represented. I’m a lawyer, albeit one that is semi-retired, and I don’t believe in prenuptial agreements and you do.”
“I don’t believe in them. I just understand the need to get one.” She presses her lips together. “Now that we know each other’s middle names, does that mean we’re going at the right pace?”
“Seems to me that the right pace is whatever speed feels good for us. If we want to sleep together and meet each other’s families right away, then why not? Where’s the harm?”
Natalie seems to consider this. “Maybe it’s because we slept together”—she holds up her hand to stop my correction—”technically, we did sleep together, and we did…stuff,” she says, unable to say explicitly that I ate her out, jerked off on her stomach, fingered her, and then ate her out again. “But we didn’t do all of the stuff.”
“No penetration, which is fine. We’re the only ones in this boat, Natalie.” I put a finger under her chin. “We decide how fast or how slow we go. Just us.” I kiss her again then, part declaration, part promise, all love.
Maybe it’s because my mom had the health scare that I don’t care to waste time ‘getting to know’ someone. There’s chemistry between Natalie and me, an instant connection that I felt when I first laid eyes on her, and the more time I’ve spent with her, the more that bond has strengthened. She’s smart and she’s funny. She’s loyal and kind. My mother loved her. She doesn’t mind my average cooking. She’s more beautiful than a sunset and more interesting than a complicated pattern. I can see myself with her tomorrow and a hundred tomorrows after that.
I slide my hand down her back until it reaches her ass and then lift her onto my lap. My erection pushes against her two plush globes, wanting to be between them and inside of her silky wet heat, but there’s a resistance I sense from her. It’s not an obvious one, but it is still there, evident when she shifts away from the insistent pressure.
She still wants me, though. Her hands comb through my hair. Her lips press back against mine. Our tongues tangle. She releases a soft moan when I trace my mouth along her jawline and down her neck. Her head falls back when my hands cup her breasts and I thumb her taut nipples. There’s no objection when I push her back against the light-blue cotton sheets and ease her legs apart.
I nibble and lick and stroke until she flies apart, her toes curling into the bedding and her fingernails clawing at my shoulders. I rise up, fierce-eyed and heavy with want, pulling my shaft out and pumping white cum on her belly and tits. I rub it into her skin. “I want to own you, Natalie, yes, but I’ll wait until you’re ready to put that collar on.”