Chapter Twenty-Three – Dylan
I can’t stop smiling like a crazy idiot.
First, Fawn totally came to the rink just to see me. She can try and deny it, blame it on research, or come up with some other adorable reason, but I caught her eyes lighting up when she saw me.
And two — because she’s coming over tonight.
Torin is attending to an emergency car call in the area, so this works out great. I get the entire house to myself for an hour or so. But first . . . I need to wind down, just for a moment.
The sunset is casting deep orange shadows throughout my bedroom, so everything looks a little softer, warmer.
Here I am with my laptop open, a half-drunk beer sitting next to me, and — like I have for the last few days, not that I’d ever admit it out loud — I do the same stupid thing I always end up fucking doing.
I look up Fawn’s socials.
As I type her name, her profile page appears. I click on it before I can change my mind.
Photo after photo. That smile of hers, caught in some bar with Delilah. Then, there’s that blurry photo, her laughing so hard, she’s practically bent in half. And oh, a picture where she’s rocking a sweater that’s way too big, still looking like a walking angel.
The orange glow from the sunset fades behind me, but I barely notice — every part of my attention is pulled into the small details of her photos.
One picture stops me: she’s smiling, in a low-cut black dress, her tits looking too fucking juicy.
My cock responds instinctively, throbbing in my pants.
I take a slow, deliberate breath, trying to calm the rush of emotions the picture has stirred within me.
Yet, despite my best intentions, I can feel my urges melting away as my hands begin to move lower.
My fingers find the button of my jeans and I work them off my hips.
My erection springs up, hitting hard on my stomach.
Quietly, I clear my throat, spit on my hand, and wrap my fingers around my hard, aching cock, giving it a few slow strokes at first.
My eyes remain fixed on the screen in front of me, and I take in every detail of her beautiful face, then her full tits; I can just picture her rosy nipples. Fuck, I want them in my mouth, licking them, tasting them . . .
A bead of pre-cum glistens on my tip as my thumb automatically rolls over it. I can’t help but release a low growl as I picture Fawn on her knees, licking the tip of my cock, savoring my taste.
I don’t let myself slow down. The pressure and heat build almost intolerably as I imagine her body on mine, her tits bouncing with each movement, her cries punctuated by her calling my name.
Need builds within me — to possess her — to make her mine — and then a mix of pain and ecstasy courses through me as I move faster. My hand tightens around my shaft, and my hips start bucking out of sheer need to come.
Closing my eyes, I let the room and her picture drift away, the sensation of the sunset heat on my skin and her face play in my mind.
She’s not blurry — she’s everything. Smooth curves, those slight indentations most people would call stretch marks, just beautiful brushstrokes on her masterpiece of a body.
My hand moves over her, delicately and lovingly, because she deserves nothing but the best. I kiss each line, each mark, each spot she has probably spent years being embarrassed about.
Not with me.
With me, she’s perfect.
My fingers caress her sides, drawing her closer, and the look she gives me, one of trust and desire, slams into me with full force. I feel the heat of her skin, her legs entwined with mine, her nails scraping gently up my back with every movement, giving rather than taking.
Fucking her the way she deserves.
Slow.
Worshipful.
Every breath, every touch. You’re mine.
The thought alone sends a slow, molten ache through me, and I blow out a shaky breath, dragging my free hand through my mussed hair.
My spine tingles first — sharp, electric — and then the heat rushes lower, settling heavy. My balls feel like they’re ready to explode, and my breathing turns erratic and uneven.
“Fawn,” I pant. “Uhhh.”
With one final motion, I catch my release in my hand to prevent it from getting everywhere, and a moan explodes from my lips.
I’m riding the wave of pleasure, my muscles falling slack with the last shudder.
I slump back in my chair, my chest heaving as if I just ran a goddamn marathon.
Light finds me as my eyes open. I year for the darkness, where she once was in my mind.
Fuck! I want Fawn so bad. No, I don’t want her . . . I need her.
Steadily, the high wears off, and I am left gazing up at my ceiling. I shake my thoughts, grab a tissue, and clean myself up.
Okay.
Step one: Breathe normally. Not the I just fantasized about a woman so hard I forgot what planet I’m on kind.
Step two: Figure out how to make this place look nice and clean before she gets here.
I look around my room — laundry basket full, empty mugs on my nightstand, a hockey sock draped over the corner of my mirror for a reason I don’t even understand. I know she’s already seen this room, but I want it to look presentable.
****
I’ve cleaned the kitchen, bedroom, bathroom, and now I’m vacuuming the living room like my life depends on it, my shirt plastered against my back, sweat dripping down my spine. The front door swings open and Torin strolls in. He freezes in the doorway, eyebrows shooting up.
“Dude, this is the first time I’ve ever seen you clean.” He’s shouting over the roar of the vacuum. “I really don’t think she’s gonna judge us now . . .”
Turning the switch off, I plant my palm on my hip, and mom-mode is activated. “I want this place looking nice. Fawn will be here soon. Go to the florist and get some flowers. That will make this place a little more welcoming.”
Torin freezes, looking at me as if he is trying to figure out if I’ve been alien-swapped.
Suddenly, his voice tightens, a little rougher than usual. “Do you . . . do you like Fawn?” He scratches his jawline.
“Do you?” I fire back without thinking.
“I asked first—”
“Well, I asked second.”
Torin scoffs. “Immature, dude.”
Here we are, face to face. The longer we look, the clearer it is becoming — neither of us can hide it anymore. It’s right out in the open.
Swallowing, I massage my neck and come out with it. “I like her . . . a lot.”
Torin lets out a long breath — like he’s been holding it for days. “I do as well.”
There’s no venom in his voice, no edge, none of that ‘may the best man win’ trash you hear in the locker room when a few guys get jealous of a figure skater. This is different, and we both know it. In all the years we’ve been friends, we never liked the same woman.
“I never had a connection with a woman like this, Torin . . . I’m kinda scared,” I admit. “At first, I made out that I was chill, but she’s not just a fun time for me. I genuinely care about her so much. I don’t wanna fuck it up, you know?”
Torin sighs heavily, glancing away before he meets my eyes. “Honestly, dude, I feel the same. There’ve definitely been some moments between me and her, but the way she acts with both of us . . . it’s something else entirely. It’s not just flirting.”
I nod because, yes, he is right. Whatever this thing is, it’s something much larger than a drunken night out and a crush we can laugh about later.
“I know what you mean. When I bumped into her at the home on my visit with Mom . . . Well, you understand what that’s like for me.
We both understand what it’s like loving someone with dementia.
” I take a moment to inhale. “Fawn sees right through all my cocky crap, and I actually like who I am when I’m around her . . .”
Torin watches my mouth, as if he’s analyzing every word. “Same here. She doesn’t treat me like a man who needs to be changed or fixed. She just . . . treats me like me. And I don’t get that much.” He stutters the last words. “I . . . I don’t wanna lose her.”
Then, he readjusts his weight, shuffling his feet, looking away with a sagging shoulder and a vulnerability radiating from every angle. “At the end of the day, we’ll see what Fawn wants and figure it out.”
His words knock directly in my chest, and I swallow a gulp.
Fuck, what if we do lose her? What if she picks him? What if she doesn’t want me at all? What if she doesn’t want any of us?
“What if she wants both of us . . . What if she wants to take one of us on a date? What if—”
Torin interrupts me. “Dude, these are all what-ifs. Calm down.”
Before panic can fully sink in, Torin moves closer and presses a firm palm on my shoulder. Solid contact. The comfort of a friend’s touch. “I think she likes both of us.”
Somehow, that makes it easier to breathe, but my mouth speaks before I can think. “Both of us,” I repeat, raising my eyebrows. “Can you imagine if we both, you know . . . at the same time?”
Torin raises his hands. “Yeah, if that’s what she wants.”
We both laugh, but the look on his face tells me he’s game . . . and fuck, I would be too.
“Ah, dude, whatever happens,” I tell him, “we’ll remain friends. No drama, no crap, and both of us will always be there for her.”
“Always,” Torin repeats, and for a moment, it feels real — like we’re drawing a line in the sand together. “She’s been through a lot, and so have we. We all need each other.”
He’s right. We’ve been through different crap — losses, heartbreaks, battles — but somehow, we fit, like we’ve been doing it for years without realizing it.
“It’s fucking wild . . .” I say, shaking my head with a disbelieving laugh. “We’ve only just got to know her in such little time, but it feels like she’s always been . . . part of us somehow? Like the three of us fit in this weird puzzle.”
“Yeah. We all just . . . get each other.” Torin’s eyes flick to mine. “So we don’t ignore it. Whatever this is . . . we don’t run from it.”
I nod in agreement before clapping once to prevent the moment from becoming a cheesy Hallmark scene. “Okay, you run to the florist, and I’ll finish up here and get washed up.”
Torin’s phone buzzes. He looks at it and groans. “Looks like I’ve got another call out. After that, I’ll pick up some flowers. What color do you think is her favorite?”
I press a finger against my lips and think. “Hmm. Maybe red?”
Only after I say it does it hit me. I don’t know her favorite color, food, or anything.
But what I do know is that smile of hers, the way she fidgets when she gets anxious, how she’s amazing with her grandpa, how she’s caring, and oh man, the sound of her laugh hitting me square in the chest. But the details?
Yeah. I’ve got nothing.
Torin is walking out the door. “Don’t worry, I’ll pick up something pretty.”
I don’t reply; my mind is already elsewhere. I really want to find out everything about her, and I want her to understand who I am too.