Chapter Twenty-Nine – Dylan #2
He’s gone before I can blink. The door slamming so hard behind him that something rattles on the wall. The silence closes in the moment he’s gone. Torin stays on the bench. I rub my face, exhaling hard.
Suddenly, Torin yanks his helmet off, and it crashes to the floor, spinning a few times before slamming into a locker.
His breathing comes in harsh gusts. “Why? Why does he have to mention that every fucking time. And bringing up my father to guilt-trip me. What the fuck?” His voice shakes with something I don’t hear very often — not rage, just pain.
He throws his practice jersey against the lockers.
It sticks halfway on a hook then slides to the floor.
I stay quiet, and I swallow hard. This is the part none of the team ever sees.
He reaches up to push a hand through his hair. “You know, sometimes, I wish he had never saved me.”
That hits hard. No friend ever wants to hear that. With caution, I inch closer. Torin’s shoulders shake. I pretend not to notice.
My voice breaks. “Don’t you dare say that, dude. You’re here, now, with me . . . and Fawn. I wouldn’t know what to do without you.”
His dark eyes well up, turning glassy as soon as I mention Fawn. I sit beside him on the bench, not touching him yet. Torin hates contact when he’s like this, hates looking and feeling vulnerable.
“Yes, Coach can be a fucking ass, but he’s also our blessing in disguise,” I say gently. “He saved both of us in our darkest times.”
The muscles in Torin’s temple pulse once. His eyes stay on the floor. “You’re right. I just don’t like it when he guilt-trips me, y’know?” He finally looks at me; his eyes are hurt.
I place a hand on his back. “I know. Leave the coach to me. I’ll think of something, alright? Just please don’t let those dark thoughts in again.”
We sit in the heavy silence, I let him breathe, let him rage, allowing him to exist without someone throwing his past in his face. His hands flex, and he nods once, just enough to show he heard me.
“I can’t let Fawn see me like this . . .” Torin mutters before ripping open his locker. “I’m gonna get dressed, go for a drive, and calm the fuck down.”
He’s right. When he gets into one of these moods, he’d snarl at a stray leaf that blows the wrong way. But Fawn? Sweet, gentle, sunny Fawn? Our girl doesn’t deserve that.
“Alright, bud. Meet us later, yeah?” I tell him, giving him space.
He nods — no eye contact. He simply shuts down and puts the mask back in place.
Every inch of him seems to vibrate. After he dresses, he closes the locker behind him more aggressively than necessary and steps outside.
Once the door shuts behind him, the locker room silence slams into me.
The team is still practicing — I can hear the skates hitting the ice, the boards banging together under the blows of the sticks, Coach bellowing — but I’m finished.
I’m not in the mood for the guys. I’m not in the mood for their questions or their teasing.
I remove my helmet, skates, gloves, and socks.
My shoulders ache from stress more than the drills.
My jersey is clammy with sweat. The water bottle beside it catches my eye.
I twist the top off the bottle, point it at my face, and pour about half the contents over myself.
Water pours down the back of my neck. I suck in a big breath of air. “Fuck,” I breathe.
I plant my elbows on my knees and lean forward, water still dripping.
My eyes feel heavy, the weight sinking into where the adrenaline has worn off. Now, the lack of a decent night’s rest comes back to haunt me. I’m about to drift off when I hear a gentle tap at the locker room door.
Then, her head appears. “Hello?”
Just like that, everything in me wakes up.
My girl.
“Come in, princess,” I call out, already straightening.
She steps inside, and — holy shit balls!
She’s wearing a short black milkmaid’s dress, snug in all the right places, showing off her perfect curves. Damn, her tits look good — I could kiss each one. Her skin is glowing with subtle makeup, and her hair isn’t frizzy like it was this morning. It drapes loosely around her shoulders.
Somewhere between one breath and the next, I’m standing. My voice comes out low. “Wow . . . look at you, princess.”
Pink finds her cheeks as she walks toward me, and the closer she gets the less reliable my pulse becomes.
And God, she smells good.
Coconut and vanilla. Sweet and warm. Like she belongs pressed against me.
She glances around first — good girl — making sure we’re alone. Then, she reaches up to cup my face and pulls me in for a kiss. It’s just what I needed.
“Hello, you,” she murmurs against my lips.
And just like that, the shitstorm from earlier fades out.
Just her.
Her hands. Her scent. Her smile. My chest loosens, and I can finally breathe again.
Both her hands press against my chest and the warmth of them catches me off guard. Automatically, I wrap my arms around her waist to pull her close. She was made to fit there.
“Sorry if I’m early,” she says brightly. “Delilah dropped me off. Wait — where’s Torin? And why aren’t you on the ice?”
Crap. I’m certainly not going to lie — the words wouldn’t even feel right in my mouth. But I’m not going to dump the whole problem on her, not when she’s looking at me like that.
“Torin’s gonna catch up with us later,” I say, brushing her cheek with my thumb. “And I came off the ice early. Feeling tired after last night . . .”
She narrows her eyes like she can smell bullshit a mile away. “Everything okay?”
I coax her chin gently but firmly with the tip of my finger. “Everything’s perfect now that you’re here.”
Her lips relax and meet mine. The world goes silent again, and for a minute, I forget everything.
But she pulls back again, her eyebrows knit together. “Oh, did you get some mail from the nursing home? The rates are going up.”
That must have been what Torin was talking about earlier. I blink once. I let him open my mail; otherwise, I forget to. He said something, but I was too busy visualizing Fawn’s mouth around my cock and how she gagged on it last night.
“Uh. Yeah,” I answer hesitantly, rubbing the back of my neck. My eyes wander back to her lips.
“Are you even listening to me?” she asks with a giggle and a coy grin.
I shrug one shoulder. I can’t help but stare at the way her dress caresses her curves. “How can I when you are looking this fucking stunning?” A strap has slid down her shoulder. My hands reach out of their own volition to slide it back into place. My fingers graze her skin.
She gently taps me on the chest. “Dylan . . .”
That’s my signal — that breathy, half-hearted protest. I begin to guide her, touching the small of her back to lead her further into the lockers and shower stalls. A smirk twitches at the edge of my mouth.
“Where are you taking me?” she asks, her doe eyes wide with the innocence that makes my cock twitch in my boxers.
I don’t utter a word. I just continue to smirk.
I push her around the corner until we stand in front of the last shower stall, the one conveniently located away from the entrance.
Her eyes bug out in realization, and I can tell her mind is going into overdrive.
“Dylan, anyone could walk in at any moment—”
But before she can finish, I push her back against the metal of the door and press our mouths together.
The kiss isn’t gentle. It’s a statement, a ravenous, desperate mash of our lips and tongues, equal parts minty sweetness and the taste of Fawn.
“They could,” I whisper against her lips, retreating enough to speak. “But we’ve got at least ten minutes.”
We’re hopelessly entwined in a crazy, delicious mess of lips and fingers.
I reach behind me to grab the handle of the stall, and we lurch into the cramped space.
My sweat-soaked practice jersey clings to me, so I rip it off and fling it to the puddled floor.
Her hands seek me out, small fingers tracing over the sweat-slickened ridges of my chest. She takes a breath.
“But what if the team comes in?” she whispers.
I lean in close to her, and our lips graze.
“Then you better be quiet, princess,” I say in a low voice.
My lips can’t help but go back in for another kiss.
Sliding my hand down her side, I caress the sexy curve of her thigh.
I pick up the hem of her dress between my thumb and index finger.
My heart is pumping wildly as I grasp her ass and give it a possessive squeeze.
I manage to pull back for a second, needing to see her beautiful face. “You really thought you could come in here wearing this dress, looking like a goddess, and not expect to be fucked?”
She lets out a loud, audible gulp. Fuck, that’s hot. My cock is bulging and seeping.
“Now be a good girl and lick my fingers,” I tell her as I hold up two.
Her amber eyes are full of desire for me.
They remain locked on mine even as she parts her lips to slide her warm tongue over my fingers slowly.
I grit my teeth. It takes all the control I have not to push her onto her knees and make her suck my cock.
Standing right in front of her, I pin her against the wall, her body arches against the surface. With my knee, I part her legs. “Keep still,” I order.
She obeys like the good girl she is. Her breath hitches as I slowly slide the wet fingers of my left hand up her dress, under the fabric, into the damp lace of her panties. My thumb makes contact with her clit the instant I touch her — a hard, eager pearl in the center of her wet flesh.
“Oh God,” she whimpers, her arms wrapping around my neck for support.
“Do you like that, princess?” I say, my lips against her ear.