Chapter 16
Amara
The intensity of Dylan's kiss shook me to the core. Her lips moved against mine with a fierce desperation, and my fingers tangled in her hair, holding on to her like a lifeline. I felt her hands grip my shoulders, nails digging into my skin, pulling me closer as if she couldn't bear to let me go.
This wasn't what either of us had intended, but in that moment all rational thought slipped away. The doubts, the accusations, the anger – all of it faded into the background, leaving only the raw, electric connection between us.
Dylan’s fingers running over my exposed skin left trails of fire behind them. She deepened the kiss, surging into me, and I stumbled backward. Our movements were clumsy and urgent, tangled bodies clashing together. Dylan was all that I could see, all that I could taste. The back of my legs hit the sofa and I felt her hand move down to my thigh, abruptly pulling it up to her hip so I tipped backward. I landed on my back on the sofa, winded and flushed, with Dylan leaning over me.
There was a part of me that knew this would only complicate things, that our already tainted relationship would become unsalvageable. But I didn't want to think about any of that. I just wanted relief from the pressure that had been building between us since the day we were wed.
Dylan’s eyes were dark with a mix of emotions – lust, anger, confusion – and I could see my own internal struggle mirrored in her gaze. But she didn't pull away. Instead, she leaned down, capturing my lips once more in a searing kiss.
For a brief, blissful moment, my worries and fears were forgotten. There was no animosity, no dangerous schemes. But even as my fingers grazed the sharp slice of her jaw, a solemn voice in the back of my mind reminded me that this wouldn't last. The reality of our situation would come crashing back down soon enough, and we would have to face the consequences of our actions. But for the time being, while the warmth that ebbed through my body erupted into a fiery blaze, I allowed myself to give in.
I arched up into her, my hands sliding down her back to pull her closer. The weight of Dylan’s body pressed me into the cushions and I welcomed the sensation, feeling a sense of comfort in her closeness. My mind was a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts but I pushed them all aside, focusing only on the sudden heat that pooled between my legs – meek and malleable at her possessive touch.
Dylan's hands slid under my shirt, fingers traveling over the lace of my bra, and she moved her mouth to my neck. I threw my head back to give her full access to the vulnerable skin of my throat. Her lips brushed gently over my pulse before she bit down, nipping just hard enough to send a jolt of need tearing through my body. The pain was artfully crafted, almost careful in the precision. It was overwhelming, but I reveled in it, needing the closeness more than I could ever express.
Dylan caught my gasp with a kiss and knotted a fist in my curls. She held me in place like that, pulling away briefly and searching my eyes like she expected to find hesitation there. When I strained toward her, she rested her forehead against mine, and I could see the flicker of uncertainty in her dark pupils.
"Amara," I watched her whisper. "This... this isn't..."
I silenced her with a clumsy, flustered kiss, ignoring the tugging pain where her fingers knotted in my hair.
That was all the prompting Dylan needed, and she yanked me upright to pull my shirt up over my head. Her mouth found mine again even while her fingers finessed the clasp of my bra, tugging it off and leaving me stripped from the waist up.
The bite of cold air on bare skin made me gasp, nipples pebbling as Dylan grazed and pinched them with wandering fingers. Her tongue parted my lips as she lowered me into the cushions, probing and curious like she was determined to explore every inch of me while she had the chance.
I dug my nails into her back as she wedged a knee between my legs, my rolling hips moving of their own accord. I was overcome with a need so great I felt I would implode right then and there. I wanted her, all of her. I begged with my body that arched and twisted at her touch. I begged with my tongue, rolling over hers in a frantic, twisted frenzy.
Dylan’s hands gravitated down my ribs, my stomach, fingers hooking under the seam of my jeans and tugging. I obliged her, lifting my hips to let her pull them lower, kicking them off my ankles while her hand came up to cup my crotch.
I yelped at the sudden contact, hushed by her mouth closing over one sensitive nipple. Her tongue flicked over the hard nub before she turned her attention to the other one, nipping and sucking across my heaving chest. I was aroused and she was well aware, her fingers seeking out my throbbing clit through the dampening fabric of my underwear. Against my better judgment, my hips rolled up to meet her, my body demanding more and more. Whatever she had to give.
Dylan’s tongue moved to the juncture of my neck, fastening there as she lapped at my throat, teeth biting down just hard enough to break the skin. There was no time to think reasonably, no time for regret when she lifted her head and pressed punishing, brutal kisses to my lips, my jaw, my cheekbone. It was a bombardment of the senses, her prying fingers pressed to my most sensitive point, my bottom lip snagging between her teeth.
Dylan’s fingers slid under the waistband of my underwear and she pulled. The fabric gave way with no resistance, surprising me with how easily it tore. It was as if her nails were suddenly razor sharp, slicing through the material effortlessly. But when those same hands came up to caress my bare sex, her nails were short and her long fingers soft again, sliding between the wet folds. I wasn’t given much time to ponder it as her thumb circled my clit, coaxing me toward an inescapable ecstasy.
Without warning, Dylan threw her body to the left, tipping off the edge of the sofa and hauling me down with her. We crashed to the floor, switching places, with Dylan landing on her back beneath me, nails digging into my hips where I straddled her. I sat upright, disorientated and aroused, one hand gripping the edge of the edge of the coffee table for stability. My knees were rubbing on the grainy wood of the floor and Dylan's hands wandered up my hips, circling my waist.
I watched her lips move, lipstick streaked aside. “I want to taste you.”
She pulled me forward, shuffling beneath me, angling my hips toward her mouth. I writhed in embarrassment when she settled between my parted thighs, knees digging into the floor on either side of her head. I was suddenly, painfully aware of my nakedness, aware of the warm wetness between my opened legs.
Dylan’s tongue darted at my clit, lapping at the sensitive swollen crest, and I automatically arched into the sensation, dislodging the coffee table with the intensity of my grip. I saw her laugh, turning her head to press a kiss to my inner thigh. Her hot breath on my cool skin had me aching, and I threw my head back as she nipped and kissed her way closer to my burning center. Her tongue traveled lazily inwards, stoking the pulsing need that rippled through my body.
I tried to lift myself, one hand clutching the edge of the unstable table, the other reaching for the edge of the sofa, but Dylan wasn’t having it. Her arms circled my thighs, pulling me closer, fingers digging into soft flesh with an iron grip. Her tongue flicked out to circle the throbbing bundle of nerves at my center and I buckled, grinding against her welcoming mouth. She licked slowly at my burning epicenter and I tangled a hand in her hair to steady myself.
Whatever sigh escaped my lips only seemed to spur her on, and her tongue probed deeper, ravaging my core as I twitched above her. A vibration sent me into near delirium when Dylan groaned something against my dripping sex.
I was coming undone, teetering on the edge, but Dylan wasn’t done yet. With practiced ease she pushed me over, splaying me out on my back, and kneeled between my parted legs. One hand snaked out to clasp my throat, the other blazed a trail down my stomach, and she slid two fingers deep into my aching vagina.
I writhed and she watched, dark eyes tracking every movement as if committing them to memory, noting every sigh and moan and doubling down when she got the best reaction. I was violently conscious of the fiery sensation building within, of the pressure of her hand on my throat, of her fingers nudging at my deepest erogenous zone.
She curled her fingers inside me, and when her knuckles pressed against my outer lips she stayed there, edging me ever closer to that final release. Her hand tightened around my neck at the same time that my walls closed in on her fingers. The pulsing throb of need reached a feverish peak, plunging my body into a series of spasms. My hands came up to grip her forearm and a guttural cry scraped my throat as the orgasm rocked my body in a feverish climax that left me breathless and trembling.
All at once I went limp beneath her and Dylan’s hand softened around my throat. Through slitted, hazy eyes I watched her lean over me, felt her cup my face with cool fingers, and pressed a kiss to my forehead, my cheek, my parted lips. I lifted my head to meet her, feeble fingers grasping at the fabric of her shirt, itching to tug it off.
I was spent, but I wanted more. I wanted her .
But when my hand slipped under her shirt, fingers splaying over her abdomen, Dylan stiffened, clutching my wrist in a vice-like grip to halt my movements. I paused and stared up at her, catching a fleeting glimpse of something like fear in those deep violet eyes. I felt a twinge of pain in my chest as she gently lowered my hand.
Despite everything, it seemed there were still some lines that Dylan refused to cross.
In stilted motions, she released my wrist and lifted her hand to touch my cheek, her slicked fingers gentle. She leaned over me, her lips meeting mine in a kiss that felt different from the ones before. It was tender, almost reverent. A parting sentiment.
Before I could register what that meant, Dylan collapsed onto her back beside me. As the chill night air cooled my burning skin, the reality of what we had done settled in.
Lying on my back, struggling to catch my breath, I stole a glance at Dylan. She was sprawled out at my shoulder, staring up at the ceiling. Despite the close proximity, the distance between us felt suddenly cavernous, the atmosphere oppressive.
My fingers itched to reach for her hand, but I hesitated. Dylan lay unmoving like she was carved out of stone. There was a stillness between us contradictory to our feverish collision moments before.
Biting back my hesitation, I lifted my hand but quickly dropped it again when Dylan sat up, looking just as lost as I felt.
My eyes traced the muscles of her back, tight under her stained tank top, and tracked the column of her spine, memorizing every curve and line. I was faintly surprised to find that Dylan wasn’t overly bulky, but her sinewy muscles were starkly defined. The artist in me thought I could draw them from memory. The rest of me thought I would much prefer the live model.
I watched those lean muscles suddenly tense up, her shoulders hunched over. I saw Dylan’s lips move as she murmured, swearing under her breath. She ran a hand through her mussed hair, sending dark strands sweeping over her shoulder, and moved to get up.
Panic speared through me at the thought of her leaving again. No matter what happened, no matter how vicious the consequences, I couldn't take another disappearing act, another lonely night spent waiting for her to come back. Acting on instinct, I scrambled to my knees, reaching for my discarded cell phone.
Dylan got to her feet, clothes in disarray, watching me cautiously. Her face was drawn, her eyes hollow. She looked removed, moving rigidly across the living room. Her hands shook when she straightened her shirt.
She pulled on her crusted jacket while I typed frantically into my cell, turning the volume up.
"I know where to find her."
Dylan stilled. Her eyes narrowed in my direction, jaw tense. "What the hell are you talking about?"
I drew in a ragged breath, conscious of my grazed knees and the biting cold. I had no plan, no forethought. I just wanted her to stay. That thought alone made my fingers move, typing the confession out.
"The woman at the club. I know how to find her. I can track her car."
Dylan’s brow quirked, but she said nothing. Her skepticism was palpable. To prove my point, I pulled up the tracking signal on my cell with shaky fingers and held it out for her to see. I watched her expression carefully, searching for any sign of belief or relief.
I realized that sharing this information could prove to her that I wasn't a mole. If I was willing to help her, maybe she would see me as an ally, not an enemy. And with a target to focus on, we wouldn't have to acknowledge what had just happened between us.
Dylan zeroed in on the screen, her expression unreadable, before lifting her gaze to mine.
“How?”
“I told you, I saw her near my father’s home. I stuck a tracker on her car.” I typed warily, my eyes flicking back to her stony face. “I wanted to know who she was, so I followed her. That’s why I was in the club.”
Dylan was quiet for a beat, tongue running over her teeth while she digested the new information. Slowly, she extended her hand, her lips forming the words with forced restraint.
“Give me the phone, Amara.”
I snatched it away, my heart leaping into my throat as I quickly typed out a message. "If you try to take it, I'll delete the location."
Dylan’s eyes darkened, and she dropped her outstretched hand. “I could take it from you before you have the chance to blink. Don’t test me – not now.”
Dread curdled in my stomach, but I stood my ground, shakily hauling myself upright. The aftermath of our entanglement was scattered across my body – love bites and bruises littered otherwise unblemished skin. Dylan paled visibly when she took in her handiwork, her eyes dropping briefly to the glistening evidence of my orgasm smeared across my inner thighs.
I took the opportunity to type again, fiercely meeting her stricken gaze. “You probably could – you could take it by force. But you won’t. And I’m coming with you.”
Something she had said earlier was bothering me, something about my father and his plans. Dylan asked if he could be using me as a diversion. He knew the Leyore clan would watch me, expecting me to be a mole. I was beginning to suspect she might be right. And if that was the case, and this strange woman was somehow involved in Don’s grander scheme, I wanted to know.
For a tense moment we stared at each other. I held my breath and my heart fluttered like a bird in a cage, but I refused to buckle.
Finally, I watched Dylan exhale sharply, shoulders drooping in grudging acceptance. “Fine. But we’re going right now. Put your clothes back on before you catch a cold.”
Relief was a balm to my pulsing nerves, but I kept my expression neutral as I nodded and quickly gathered my discarded attire. My underwear was ruined so I went without, tugging on my shirt and shimmying into my jeans, wincing slightly when the fabric brushed my still-sensitive clit.
Dylan watched me in stony silence, her eyes still holding that mix of regret, resignation, and something else I couldn’t quite name. I dropped my gaze, focusing on untangling my tousled hair with my fingers.
What had happened between us could never be undone. Exactly what that meant for the future I wasn’t sure. But for the time being, we had a lead to follow.