Chapter 42 So High School
So High School
Ali
He pulled back just enough to look at her—really look at her—his hands still gripping her hips.
“You remember the wall at the fundraiser?” he murmured, voice gravel-dark. “Been thinking about that for a month.”
Ali’s knees buckled slightly, her back pressing against the cool wall behind her.
Dylan smirked like he felt it.
“I’m starting to think I have a thing for you and wall things.”
“You’re ridiculous,” she whispered, breath catching as his hand skimmed up her thigh beneath the hem of her dress.
He slid his hand higher, fingers tracing over the edge of her panties—lace, damp, and ruined for anyone else.
“You wore these for me?” he asked, his mouth brushing hers.
“Maybe” she said, breathless.
His growl was low and guttural as he hooked her leg around his hip, her heel dragging across the back of his thigh. The angle made her breath hitch.
“I’m not going to make it to the bedroom,” he rasped. “Not with you looking like this. Not when I’ve been hard since Savannah baggage claim.”
He shifted, freeing himself just enough to press the thick, hot length of him against her through the lace. Her hips jerked, and he groaned, forehead pressed to hers.
“Tell me you want it here,” he said. “Tell me you want me to fuck you right against this wall.”
“I want it,” she whispered, shaking. “God, Dylan, please.”
And then he was pushing her panties aside and sinking into her—deep, hard, home—with a moan that sounded more like a prayer.
She cried out.
His hands framed her face, his thrusts slow and deep and devastating. “You feel that, baby? How wet you are for me?”
She whimpered, digging her nails into his shoulders, the wall solid at her back, his body even more so in front of her.
“Fuck,” he breathed, “I missed you so bad. You’re mine, Ali. Say it.”
“I’m yours,” she gasped. “Yours. Always.”
Her back hit the wall over and over with the rhythm of his thrusts—deep and deliberate, like he was trying to etch this into her bones. She clung to him, breath shaky, the heels giving her just enough height to take all of him while he worked her body like he owned it.
Which he did.
Every. Damn. Inch.
“Look at me,” he whispered against her mouth. “Eyes on me, baby.”
She did. And what she saw in his face—pure awe, raw hunger, that dark, desperate need—made her whimper.
“You are so fucking beautiful,” he rasped, voice almost breaking. “You have no idea what you do to me.”
“Dylan…”
“I mean it,” he said, sliding one hand down to grip her thigh harder, opening her wider for him, grinding deeper. “I think about this every night. About how perfect you feel. How perfect you look when you fall apart.”
She was close—too close—but he wasn’t letting up. Not yet. He slowed the pace just enough to keep her right on the edge, her entire body twitching with need.
“Please,” she gasped, nails digging into his shoulders.
“I know, baby,” he groaned, sweat beading at his temple. “I know you’re right there. But I want to see it. Want to feel you go wild for me. Let me hear those pretty noises. Let me wreck you.”
He dipped his head, kissing down her throat, licking at the sweat-slick skin just below her jaw. “You’re mine, Ali. You’ve always been mine.”
Her body clenched hard around him and her head drop back with a cry. “Dylan—oh gawd—I can’t—”
“Yes, you can,” he said fiercely, lips at her ear. “Come for me. Now.”
She shattered. Her thighs trembled around his hips, her heel digging into his back as she came hard—pulse fluttering, voice breaking on a sobbed moan of his name.
Her whole body tightened around him like she didn’t want to let go, and he didn’t stop moving, thrusting through it like he needed to feel every second of her falling apart.
“Jesus fuck,” he growled, bracing a hand above her on the wall. “That’s it, sweetheart. That’s my good fucking girl.”
She was still pulsing around him—tight, wet, perfect—when his control snapped.
He let out a strangled groan, deep in his chest, and slammed into her one last time, burying himself as deep as her body would take him. His hips stuttered as he came, eyes squeezed shut, forehead pressed hard to hers.
“Fuck, Ali—” he gasped, holding her like she might slip away, like the only thing keeping him tethered to the world was being inside her.
Her name fell from his lips like a prayer, a curse, a thank-you whispered to the universe for bringing her back to him.
His thighs trembled with the force of it, breath ragged against her cheek as he spilled inside her, hips grinding in slow, broken circles until he had nothing left.
Nothing but her.
They stayed tangled together—his body flush against hers, her back still pressed to the wall, her breath mingling with his. Her heel dug into his thigh, and his hands roamed slowly over her sides, like he wasn’t ready to let go just yet.
He pulled back just enough to meet her eyes. His gaze was heavy-lidded, his voice rough from everything they’d just done.
“Abigail’s never getting those heels back.”
Ali blinked, then laughed—soft and breathless and still a little dazed. “They’re loaned, not stolen.”
“They are claimed,” he said, dragging his thumb gently along her jaw. “You’re never taking them off around me again.”
She rolled her eyes but the smile stayed. “You’ve got a whole thing now, don’t you?”
“Damn right I do,” he muttered, leaning in to kiss her again—this one slower, sweeter, all tongue and tenderness and too many weeks apart. “My girl. My heels. My wall.”
Ali made a scandalized sound, eyes wide. “Oh my gawd—you read Iron Flame?”
Dylan grinned, not even pretending to be ashamed. “Only the parts with Xaden making Violet throw lightning and forget her own name.”
She snorted, head dropping to his shoulder. “You are unbelievable.”
“Tell me I’m wrong,” he said, carrying her toward the hallway. “Dark, broody man. Wall sex. Tactical use of shadows. Sounds familiar, doesn’t it?”
She giggled into his neck. “You’re insufferable.”
“And yet,” he said, stopping just long enough to nudge her bedroom door open with his foot, “you’re still clinging to me.”
The bathroom filled quickly with steam, fogging the mirror and softening the edges of the world. Dylan stood behind her under the spray, water cascading down their tangled bodies, his hands never far from her skin.
He washed her gently—fingers sliding over her thighs, her shoulders, her scalp—as if memorizing every part of her all over again. She leaned into it, boneless and safe, her cheek resting against his chest as he rinsed the suds from her hair.
Neither of them said much, but the silence was full. Full of touches and soft kisses, of murmured you okay, baby? and whispered I missed you too much when her arms circled his waist.
By the time they climbed into bed, Ali had traded the heels for fuzzy socks and Dylan had pulled on a pair of low-slung sweatpants. Her hair was damp and braided over one shoulder, and she was curled into his chest like she was built to fit there.
“Comfy?” he asked, brushing a hand down her spine.
“Mmm,” she hummed. “You’re warm.”
They lay like that for a long while, letting the softness settle in around them—just skin, and sheets, and the clean scent of soap between kisses. HGTV played quietly in the background.
Eventually, Dylan shifted, propping himself on one elbow to look at her.
“Hey,” he said, voice a little shy for a man who’d just taken her against the entryway wall. “Wanna go on a date with me tonight?”
She blinked, amused. “You’re here for twelve seconds and already planning an outing?”
He grinned. “You’ll like this one.”
Her brow arched. “Hit me.”
“Flashback Friday at the Hopeulikit Drive-In. Double feature. Clueless and 10 Things I Hate About You.”
Ali gasped like he’d offered her front-row Taylor Swift tickets. “Shut up.”
“I would never,” he said solemnly. “I saw it on the schedule earlier this week and called to make sure they had our usual spot open.”
Her eyes softened. “You remembered our spot?”
He leaned down to kiss her temple. “It’s where I fell in love with you the first time, Al. Of course I remembered.”
She swallowed hard, her fingers curling around the edge of his shirt. “You’re gonna make me cry.”
He smiled against her hair. “Then I’m definitely doing something right.”
Ali popped a Raisenet into her mouth and leaned her head against Dylan’s shoulder, her eyes flicking between the screen and the sky behind it—deep indigo now, scattered with stars.
Being back in Loblolly County felt strange.
Not bad exactly. Just…weird. Like slipping into an old cardigan she hadn’t worn since college.
A little too familiar. But Dylan sitting beside her—his arm draped over her shoulder, his fingers idly stroking the curve of her bicep like he couldn’t not touch her—that made it feel different.
Old and new all at once.
This was the man she should’ve been here with all along.
The crack of a windshield being smashed pulled her focus back to the screen just in time to see Kat Stratford backing into the jerk’s car with perfect precision. Oops.
Dylan chuckled under his breath. “Still one of the greatest scenes of all time.”
She nodded, smiling around a mouthful of popcorn. “It’s cathartic. Like a feminist war cry in Doc Martens.”
He leaned closer, his breath warm at her temple. “You ever do anything like that?”
She gave him a look. “I’m a rule follower.”
“That wasn’t a no.”
Ali grinned. “Okay fine. I once sharpied karma’s real on a Trobe’s bathroom mirror after he ghosted Daisy.”
Dylan turned to look at her, impressed and amused. “Wait, Trobe’s? As in…Tau Rho Beta?”
She nodded, eyes still fixed on the screen. “Right across from the downstairs keg fridge.”
He laughed, low and surprised. “Damn. Remind me never to get on your bad side.”
But she didn’t laugh this time. She kind of paused, fingers curling in the hem of her dress as she cleared her throat. “Daisy was still in my life ya know. She was in a daze, was wrecked. I just—” She shook her head. “I wanted to do something.”
Dylan’s expression softened, the edges of his teasing melting away. His arm tightened around her shoulders, warm and steady. “Of course you did.”
Ali shrugged, but the pressure in her chest loosened just a little. The memory still stung, but saying it aloud—with him—took some of its bite away.
“Anyway,” she said after a beat, nudging him lightly, “I stand by it. He deserved it.”
“Hell yeah, he did,” Dylan murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Remind me to order you a pack of Sharpies for emergencies.”
She laughed again, more genuine this time, the ache fading into something softer as Kat strutted off-screen and the next scene rolled.
And just like that, the past felt a little more bearable.
A little less sharp. Because Dylan was here, beside her, making space for every part of her—even the broken pieces.