Chapter 32
Chapter Thirty-Two
Waiting for him to come back feels like an eternity.
It’s as if someone flipped an hourglass, saying they’d return when all the sand fell—only the sand isn’t sand at all; it’s mud, thick and slow, barely slipping through the tiny hole.
I lie in bed for a while, staring up at the ceiling.
Then, when I can’t lie on my back anymore, I sit up as my eyes scan around the room, looking for anything to distract myself with.
I spot The Giver on his nightstand and pull the book out, flipping open to the dog-eared page, reading a bit to feel like he’s with me.
After three chapters, I can’t stay on the bed anymore.
I need to get up and move or something. So, I stand and pace the room, my feet wearing into the dark wooden floors, filled with a lifetime of scratches and discolouration.
From Dylan, his father, and I’m sure from Grant whenever he lived here.
Looking down at the wood panels beneath me is like a time capsule.
All the people before it are gone, but the floor remains, their marks left for the next person.
There won’t be a next person after Dylan.
That rings true for me in more ways than one.
Shaking my head, I make my way over to the bathroom at the other end of the room.
I strip down to nothing on my walk there, leaving a trail of clothes in my wake, and push open the door.
Turning on the faucet to the shower, I wait until the room fills with steam and the water is hot enough to turn my pale skin pink.
Then I step inside the tub and close the curtain.
The water burns as I tip my head back and let it fall down my hair and over my face.
There’s something cathartic about it, the hot water giving me momentary peace and a distraction from everything else going on right now.
I’m pulled out of my trance by the shower curtain rustling beside me as a large, tanned hand grips the vinyl fabric, pulling it open.
Dylan. I breathe a little easier. He stands, eyes grazing over my naked body.
I don’t hide anything from him. I stand there, staring back as the water continues to fall, the steam acting like a fog as it causes us to slowly disappear from each other’s view.
As if we’re hidden from the outside world.
In here, it’s only us. He grabs his shirt with one hand and pulls it up and over his head, then takes the waistband of his joggers and drops them onto the ground.
Boxers go next. When he’s naked and standing in front of me, I gasp, taking in the sight of this beautifully built man.
It’s like he’s a statue that has been carved out of stone, all hard, chiselled pieces—there’s nothing soft about him.
He steps into the shower with me, and I move to give him space under the water.
He’s chilled from being outside, and the palms of his hands are cold as they grab the warmed skin of my waist. I close the curtain behind him, and he wraps me in a tender embrace, bringing his lips to the crown of my head.
I close my eyes and bask in the tender moment together.
Without saying anything, he grabs the shampoo and pours some into his hand, working it into a lather before massaging the floral scent into my hair, going from the roots all the way to the ends. I sigh from the pressure of his fingertips pressing into my scalp.
When he’s done, I tip my head back again, and he helps the falling water wash all the soap away.
Once everything is rinsed out, he finds the conditioner and repeats the steps from before.
The feeling of his hands on my body is the most soothing thing, and once he’s rinsed out all the conditioner, I grab the bar of Irish Spring soap and lather it in my hands, letting the soapy bubbles appear and the crisp, citrusy smell take over the small space we’re in.
Then, I massage the soap all over his arms, shoulders, chest, stomach, my hand trailing lower and getting closer to the deep V that leads down to his growing cock.
He grunts as my fingertips graze the skin at the base, and I look up at him, offering my own smirk in his direction.
I put the soap back and slowly wrap my hand around his hard length, gripping it tightly before moving up and down.
My other hand comes around to his back to steady myself, and he trails his fingers from my shoulders down to my chest, until they reach my breasts, pinching my already peaked nipples.
Warmth floods down into my lower belly from the contact, and when he starts to palm and massage my breasts, a soft sigh escapes.
I look up to meet his eyes once more before letting go of his cock and lowering down to my knees.
He fists my hair and pulls it out of my face as I bring my tongue to his tip and swipe over it.
I lick up and down his length, revelling in the ragged breaths he lets out as my hand comes to grip his balls and massage them in time with the swipe of my tongue.
“Fuck, Luce—” is all he can say before my mouth comes over him fully, and I take him to the back of my throat, sucking as I go.
I keep up a steady pace, drool pooling at the corners of my lips before getting washed away by the falling water.
He’s got a hold of my wet hair, pulling it at the roots as he lets out a moan from the pleasure I’m bringing him.
“You’re gonna make me come with that pretty little mouth of yours,” he says as his body starts to twitch and jerk.
All I do is hum in response and keep up my pace, massaging him as I go, ready and willing to take all of him, so turned on by the groans and sounds he’s making.
Finally, his hands leave my hair, and I hear them slap against the tiled wall as his body tenses, and he lets out a loud growl.
My mouth fills with warm, salty liquid, and I swallow it all down, still sucking as it continues to pour out of him. “Fuck,” he yells when he’s finished.
I remove my mouth from his still-throbbing cock and look up at him with a teasing grin.
He grips under my arms and lifts me from my knees back to a stand.
Before I can say or do anything, his lips are on mine, tongues connecting.
He cups the back of my head and pulls my face close to his, as if he can’t bear any separation from me. The feeling is mutual.
His free hand slides down the side of my glistening body until it reaches my thigh. Fingers trail toward my centre, and when he gets close to my entrance, he whispers in my ear, “I’m gonna fuck you with my fingers now, Luce.”
I gasp, and he slips a finger inside me, curling it up as he does. It feels amazing, but I want more already. He pumps it in and out, and when I whine, he adds a second finger, filling me even more.
“That feels so good,” I cry when his thumb finds my clit and draws circles as his fingers keep sliding in and out. He pushes them as far up as he can, and my knees buckle from the aching feeling.
A free hand comes around my side, holding me up. “Don’t worry.” His voice is a low growl. “I’ve got you.”
He keeps his thumb on me, moving in perfect, languid circles, and I’m close to coming.
His mouth meets mine again as my toes curl from the sensation, my impending orgasm growing.
My breath hitches as a third finger slides inside, and when his commanding voice tells me, “Come on my fingers now, love,” I lose my vision momentarily as shock waves of ecstasy pour through me.
I cry out as my body quivers from my release.
Dylan doesn’t stop, doesn’t hold back, until my breathing slows and I begin to relax.
I fall into him, and he kisses my mouth, nose, and forehead as he wraps his arms around me.
“I love you so much, Lucy,” he whispers into my hair, and I hold him tighter, trying not to count down the days until he’s gone.