Chapter 23 Reminder #2
“Then you’ll have to be quiet,” he murmurs, teeth grazing my nipple through my blouse, and I suppress a moan.
His eyes lock with mine—dark, hungry, devouring—as his fingers curl deep inside me. “So fucking wet and desperate—for me.”
The neediness in his voice sends heat flooding through me. I should shut this down, but instead, I pull him closer.
“Yes,” I whisper against his lips.
He reaches into his pocket for protection, tearing it open and rolling it on with frantic speed. Then he’s pushing into me, filling me completely in one deep thrust, leaving us both gasping.
There’s nothing gentle about it. His hands are everywhere—in my hair, gripping my thighs, sliding under my blouse to cup my breast. I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, needing more.
The counter digs into my back with each thrust, but I don’t care. All I can focus on is the delicious friction, the building pressure, the way his breath catches when I tighten around him.
“You feel so fucking good,” he groans against my ear, his fingers digging into my thighs with an intensity bordering on possessive without crossing the line.
“Keep going, don’t stop,” I gasp, arching into him as the pressure builds inside me.
“Jesus Morgan,” he growls, as he drives into me. “No one else gets to see you like this. No one. Just me—watching you fall apart on my cock like a good fucking girl.”
I come suddenly, intensely, biting his shoulder to muffle my cry. He follows moments later, his body tensing against mine, his face buried in my hair.
For several heartbeats, we stay tangled together, our breathing slowly returning to normal. The reality of what we’ve done—where we’ve done it—gradually sinks in.
Who the fuck am I right now?
I adjust my blouse. “How did you know I’d come to the restroom?” I ask with a breathless laugh.
Dylan pulls back slightly, a smug grin spreading across his face. “I paid the waiter to spill water on you.”
“You’re unbelievable.”
“You weren’t complaining a minute ago,” he says, pressing a softer kiss to my lips as he helps me down from the counter. He grabs a few paper towels, dampens them with warm water, and gently cleans me up.
“You don’t have to…” I start to say before he presses a kiss to my lips.
“Let me show you that I can be a gentleman.” He slides my panties up my thighs. His fingers brush my skin and I feel flush all over again.
I catch sight of myself in the mirror and gasp. My hair is a mess, my blouse is askew, my lips swollen from his kisses. “Christian’s going to know.” I try to fix myself.
Dylan’s smirk widens as he fixes his clothes. “That was the point.”
I press my lips together, but it’s so hard to be mad at him.
“I’ll go out first,” Dylan says, adjusting his shirt.
He reaches for me one last time, his hand cupping my face as he kisses me deeply, thoroughly.
When he pulls away, my knees are weak, and my breath is ragged.
His eyes hold mine, something unspoken passing between us. Then he slips out of the bathroom.
I lean against the sink, trying to regain my composure. What am I doing? This is reckless, impulsive—completely unlike me.
But as I straighten my clothing, I can’t help the smile tugging at my lips.
I take a deep breath and head to the table, feeling Dylan’s eyes following me from across the restaurant.
When I glance over, I catch him watching me with an insufferable, sexy smirk as he exits, his gaze holding a promise that feels dangerous—and dangerously tempting.
Christian and Hazel have already started eating by the time I sit down.
“Your, uh, blouse is buttoned wrong,” Christian says, gesturing casually toward my chest. “I can’t believe that waiter. He’s not getting a tip.”
My cheeks burn as I glance down and see he’s right—I’ve misaligned the buttons in my haste to dress. I quickly fix them, avoiding his eyes, hoping he attributes my flushed appearance to embarrassment rather than what actually happened.
“You’re not eating.”
“I’m not hungry. It’s just stress. This whole showcase thing and the drummer of this new band I signed deciding he doesn’t like the ‘vibe’ or whatever and quitting.”
“Why don’t you let Dylan pick up the slack? You can’t kill yourself over something trivial.”
Trivial? “Because there’s a lot riding on it. The SoundStream distribution deal depends on the showcase’s success, and Hollow Reign is a big part of that. I don’t need Dylan thinking I’m not pulling my weight,” I argue.
“Is Dylan being a jerk again because of his brother?” Hazel asks, not looking up from her coloring.
“Honey, Dylan doesn’t have a brother.”
“Yes he does. He told me.”
“What is she talking about?” Christian asks. “And how does she know so much about that kid?”
“Dylan watched Hazel for an afternoon while I had to take a meeting,” I say, my mind racing to make sense of what Hazel just said.
Christian laughs. “Are you…” he leans in so Hazel doesn’t hear him, “sleeping with him?”
I use every last ounce of patience I have not to dump my glass of water over his head. “That’s none of your business.”
Hazel’s undeterred by the tension at the table as she colors in a seashell on her kids’ menu. “He should tell Liam how he feels. Just like you tell me, Mommy. Use my words, and don’t bite.” She points at me with the crayon.
“That’s right, Haze,” I start to say and freeze.
Liam?
I get her attention. “Who’s Liam?”
Hazel rolls her eyes as if I just asked a stupid question. “Dylan’s brother,” she huffs out.