Chapter 21 I Look In People’s Windows
I Look In People’s Windows
Dylan
Dylan keyed into his hotel room in Peach Cove, the temporary suite arranged by the university for the fundraiser. Clean, modern. Too quiet.
He shut the door behind him with a soft click, tossing the clutch Ali had dropped onto the small couch. He’d make sure she got it back tomorrow. His fingers had curled protectively around it the entire ride over, like it was some kind of stand-in for her hand.
He passed the bed, peeled off his blazer, tugged at the tight collar of his dress shirt.
Everything on him felt too tight.
Especially below the waist.
He checked his phone. Nothing.
Still, he stared at the screen like it might change if he willed it hard enough.
He wanted to text her. Just to see if she was okay. If she made it home safe. But he didn’t want to push. Didn’t want to crowd her.
So instead, he flicked on Do Not Disturb, set the phone facedown, and stripped.
One piece at a time.
Each article of clothing he shed left him more exposed than the last. His skin felt hot— like it was still lit up from her touch. His dress pants hit the floor and his boxers followed. He was already half-hard.
The moment he stepped under the water, a growl broke free from his chest.
He braced his hands on the tile wall, head bowed, water cascading over his shoulders and down his back. But no matter how hot the spray was, it didn’t melt her from his mind.
Ali.
Her hair tangled in his hands. Her leg hitched against his hips. Her whimpers against his neck. The delicious sting of her hands pulling at his hair. The fucking wet heat of her— tight and slick and welcoming in a way that made his chest ache.
God, she’d felt so tight.
His cock twitched, hardening fully now. He groaned, deep and low.
He gripped himself at the base, stroking once, twice. Slow at first. Deliberate.
He hadn’t been with anyone in… fuck. Too damn long. But tonight— her body had taken him like he’d never left. Like ten years hadn’t passed.
He jerked his hand again, faster this time. The memory played on a loop.
The way she’d gasped when he’d slid into her. How her back arched. How her pussy squeezed around him like it didn’t want to let go.
“Fuck, Ali…”
He pictured her— dress pushed up, nails digging into his shoulders and scalp as he drove into her again and again against the brick wall.
He bit back a moan.
Only thing he regretted was having to muffle her sounds. She used to cry out for him— his name on her lips like a prayer. And goddamn, he missed that.
His hips bucked into his hand, chasing the high that was already building, already burning.
He angled his head back under the spray, hand working his cock fast and desperate now, and let out a guttural groan as he came— hot, hard, and shaking.
“Ali—”
The name escaped in a broken exhale as pleasure tore through him. His free hand hit the tile wall to brace himself.
For a moment, all he could hear was the sound of water and his own breathing.
He stood there, head hanging, water washing away the evidence.
But not the ache.
Never the ache.
Not when it was her.
After the shower, Dylan threw on a pair of black boxer briefs and dropped onto the cool hotel sheets, muscles loose and spent, but his mind still a fucking riot.
He reached over to turn off the bedside lamp, then paused— remembering he needed to set his alarm.
He was heading to Honeyshore early, and Kallie had a flight out of Savannah mid-morning.
Even though she had her shit together ten times better than he did, he still liked checking in on her. It made him feel useful. Grounded.
He grabbed his phone. Turning off the Do Not Disturb setting.
Seven texts.
Thank you for tonight.
Not just the thing by the wall. But the panic part too.
But also the thing by the wall. You felt amazing.
And I’m glad you’ll be in town.
To catch up.
Not for more wall things.
But maybe that too.
Also gawd sorry I’m rambling and blowing your phone up & you are probably asleep.
Okay, goodnight.
He chuckled, warmth curling low in his chest. She was spiraling. Rambling in texts the way she used to in late-night study sessions with her legs folded under her and her lip between her teeth. He could see her, even now— freckled and flustered.
And God, he loved it.
He hit call before he could talk himself out of it.
It rang once.
Then again.
She answered on the third, voice quiet and cautious.
“Hey?”
He leaned back against the headboard, grin tugging at his lips.
“Stop spiraling, babe.”
She sucked in a soft breath.
“Tonight was amazing,” he said, his voice dropping, slow and deliberate. “You were amazing.”
A pause. Then he added, with heat roughening every word:
“I haven’t stopped thinking about your tight pussy all night.”
She made a soft, shocked sound— half gasp, half giggle.
“Fuck, Ali,” he murmured. “You wrapped around me like we were made for each other. You always did. But tonight? Goddamn. I’ve been hard for you since the second you walked into that hall.”
Her silence was breathless.
He softened his tone, thumb brushing over the edge of the phone. “But also… thank you. For trusting me. For letting me be there. I know tonight was a lot. I’m not taking any of it lightly.”
More silence on her end— except for a faint inhale, like she was trying not to cry again.
“I see you,” he said, voice low and rough with truth. “All of you. Not just the parts I jerk off to in the shower, thinking about how you sound when you come. I see the girl who held it together when her whole world cracked.”
That earned him a soft, watery laugh.
“I’ll let you sleep,” he said, not meaning it but knowing she probably needed it. “But we’re not done, Ali. Not even close.”
He waited for her to say something.
Anything.
There was a long pause.
He didn’t push her. Just let the silence stretch, listening to the quiet sound of her breath on the other end.
Then, her voice— low, sultry, laced with something darker than teasing— came through the line.
“I couldn’t stop thinking about it either,” she said. “You. The way you felt. The way you filled me…”
Dylan’s jaw flexed. He sat up straighter against the headboard.
“I came,” she whispered. “Just now. Fingers soaked. Thinking about you slamming into me— how hard you fucked me against that wall like you’d never let me go again.”
His hand fisted the sheets.
Ali exhaled, breathy and close to the phone. “I said your name. Loud.”
Dylan sucked in a sharp breath, his head tipping back like she’d physically touched him.
“And now,” she added softly, voice barely audible, “I think I can finally sleep.”
A beat of silence. Then: “Goodnight Dylan.” The whisper so soft he might’ve imagined it.
And she hung up.
Dylan stared at the screen, jaw tight, dick hard again, heart fucking racing.
He let out a long groan and dropped his head into his hands.
“Jesus Christ, Ali.”
Alison Katherine Presley was going to be the death of him.