Chapter 47 Lavender Haze
Lavender Haze
Dylan
Dylan pushed open the front door and stepped aside, grinning as four pairs of flip-flops and sneakers padded into the entryway like it was the damn season premiere of House Hunters: Book Club Edition.
“Okay,” he said, motioning with both arms like a tour guide. “Welcome to Casa McKenzie. Make yourselves at home. Shoes optional, fridge stocked, and please don’t judge me for the six unopened boxes in the mudroom.”
Abigail whistled. “Damn, Dylan. You didn’t tell us you lived in a catalog.”
He grunted.
Ashley dropped her duffel and immediately made a beeline for the living room. “This rug? I’d commit crimes for this rug.”
“Appreciate that,” Dylan said, catching Ali’s eye with a crooked smile. She blushed faintly and tucked her hair behind her ear.
God, he’d missed her.
He showed them around—kitchen, pool, media room, the guest wing that could sleep a small army—and tried to play it cool even though every cell in his body was screaming get her alone. It had been weeks. She looked unfairly good. Like sunshine and slow kisses and trouble he’d gladly get into twice.
But they’d barely gotten to say more than a hello. And all her friends were here.
Once the grand tour ended, they ended up back in the kitchen, everyone either perched on stools or leaned against the island, eyeing the welcome snacks.
“So…” Dylan said, as casually as he could muster. “If y’all want, I can have a car take you to Disney Springs for a few hours. Hit some shops, get food, maybe check out the bar at the Boathouse…”
Ali’s brows lifted in amusement, but before she could speak, Abigail let out a very pointed snort.
“Oh. Ohhhh.” She straightened, hands on hips. “You really thought we wouldn’t notice? That you were gonna shoo us off like toddlers to a Disney mall while you two played house?”
Ashley cackled. “He’s literally blushing.”
“I’m not blushing,” Dylan muttered, running a hand over his jaw and trying not to look as guilty as he felt. “I just figured you might want some girl time. I was being polite.”
“You were being horny,” Raleigh Ann said sweetly.
Dylan opened his mouth, then closed it again, then sighed. “Okay, yeah. That too.”
Ali laughed behind her hand, and that sound alone made him feel like the luckiest bastard on the planet.
“Look,” Abigail said, grabbing a slice of pineapple from the charcuterie tray. “We are going to Disney Springs. Because I love shopping and the margaritas there are actually elite. But just know we’re letting you win. This is charity.”
“Deeply appreciated,” Dylan said, deadpan.
Ali walked over, nudged his side with her hip, and whispered just loud enough for him to hear, “You’re not slick, quarterback.”
He grinned, tilted his head, and murmured back, “Didn’t say I was.”
The front door clicked shut, followed by the sound of retreating laughter and Ashley’s voice yelling something about needing churros immediately or she’d die.
Dylan didn’t move. Not for a beat.
Then, slowly, he turned toward her.
Ali stood barefoot in the kitchen now, her sundress swaying just slightly as she leaned back against the island. Her fingers played with the edge of the counter like she was deciding whether to run or stay. But her eyes… those wide, blue eyes were locked on him like she knew exactly what he wanted.
And she wanted it, too.
“Finally,” he said, voice low.
Two strides and he was on her, crowding into her space, hands on her hips, thumbs pressing against the soft fabric of her dress like he needed to ground himself before he lost it.
“You’ve been driving me insane since you stepped out of that car.”
“Abigail’s mini dress,” she whispered, grinning as his hands slid up her sides. “Not really my size. But she talked me into it. Said it would buy me some extra points.”
“It bought you a one-way ticket to getting ruined against my kitchen counter,” he muttered, dragging his mouth along her jaw.
Ali gasped softly as he nipped her earlobe.
“I missed you,” she said, suddenly quiet again, sincere.
He pulled back just enough to look at her. “Yeah?”
She nodded, biting her lip. “Every day.”
Dylan let out a slow breath, pressing his forehead against hers. “Me too.”
His hands moved to the small of her back, tugging her flush against him.
“I’ve got you for the whole weekend,” he murmured. “And baby, I’m not wasting a single second.”
He kissed her then—slow, deep, and possessive. Like they hadn’t been apart. Like this was their life now. No missed calls. Just them.
Ali sighed into it, arms winding around his neck as he lifted her to sit on the edge of the marble counter.
He pulled back just enough to say, “We’ve got time. No rush.”
But the look in his eyes told her exactly how much he wanted her.
And the way her knees fell open beneath his hands told him she felt the same.
She was already breathless when he kissed down her throat, her skin warm and tasting faintly of coconut and nerves.
“Fuck, baby,” he groaned against her collarbone. “You have no idea what you do to me.”
Her thighs clenched around his waist, pulling him in, her sundress bunched high on her hips now. His hands roamed over her, greedy, reverent—squeezing her hips, dragging his palms up to cup her breasts through the thin fabric.
Ali gasped, arching into his touch.
“You don’t have to hold back,” she whispered, voice shaking but sure. “I don’t want soft right now.”
He pulled back just enough to meet her eyes, pupils blown, cheeks flushed.
“Say it baby.”
“I want you to fuck me, Dylan.” Her voice cracked on his name. “Right here.”
It lit something in him—hot and primal.
He reached down, dragging her panties off her thighs and tossing them to the floor, then unbuttoned his jeans with one hand, his other hand already stroking through her slick folds.
“Already so wet for me,” he rasped, thumb circling her clit, watching her hips jolt. “You don’t even know what that does to me.”
She whimpered, hands fisting his shirt.
“You wore that dress for me.”
“Yeah,” she breathed.
“You sat on my stool all smug, knowing I couldn’t touch you yet.”
She nodded, frantic now.
“You thought about me bending you over the counter, didn’t you?”
A soft, wrecked sound escaped her lips. “Yes. Yes, Dylan—please.”
He lined up and thrust into her in one slow, deep stroke that punched a moan from her throat. Her nails dug into his shoulders, mouth falling open.
“Jesus Christ,” he groaned. “You feel like heaven. You’re always so fucking tight for me.”
He pulled back, then slammed into her again, his hips snapping forward with a rhythm that made the kitchen echo with every filthy, wet sound between them.
She was whimpering now, chanting his name under her breath.
“Tell me how it feels,” he growled, fucking her harder. “Tell me who’s making you feel this good.”
“You,” she cried. “God, yes, Dylan—I’m so close—”
He reached between them, thumb pressing into her clit again. “Then come for me, baby. Right now.”
Her orgasm slammed into her like a tidal wave, body tensing, legs shaking around his waist, mouth open on a sobbed curse.
And Dylan watched it all.
Her eyes fluttering. Her body unraveling. Her walls tightening around his cock as she came apart for him.
He didn’t last much longer.
“Shit, Ali—I’m gonna—fuck—”
He buried his face in her neck as he came deep inside her, hips jerking through it, hands gripping her thighs like they were the only thing tethering him to the ground.
They stayed like that for a moment, tangled and breathless.
Ali ran her fingers through his hair, gently.
Dylan groaned, brushing a kiss to her shoulder.