27. Dylan
Chapter twenty-seven
Dylan
“This was your idea,” Dee shouts as she stomps into our apartment. “You’re the one who wanted to find dates to the wedding.” She throws her purse onto the couch before turning to face me, fists firmly planted on her perfect fucking hips.
Goddammit. Eyes. Look in her eyes.
“I’m sorry, okay?”
I’m not sorry.
“You don’t sound sorry,” she hisses, contempt seeping out of every pore.
“Fine. Maybe I’m not that sorry.”
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” she asks, anger radiating off her. “You can at least pretend to feel bad for having fucked up the first decent date I’ve been on in over a year. We looked fucking insane because of you.”
“You make me crazy, so fair enough,” I yell.
“You know what? Whatever.” She storms into her room, slamming her door shut.
I run my fingers through my hair, forgetting I had pulled it back into a bun, my fingers tangling with the hair tie before I rip it out altogether.
Dee storms out of her room less than one second later, throwing the door open, slamming it against the stopper.
Then she’s in my face. I mean, she’s not…
she’s too short for that. But her chest hits mine and she backs me up against the wall and it might take an act of God to keep my thoughts clean with her and me in this position.
Can’t think of a better time to become religious. Dear God…
“You are selfish, Dylan. I’m sorry. Okay?
I’m sorry your date ended up being hung up on her ex.
It’s not like I could have known. I’ll try again.
There’s still a week before the wedding.
We could find you a quick coffee date. It’s not nearly enough time to know someone well enough, but who are we kidding? Neither was tonight.”
“I don’t want to go on another date.” I can’t keep my voice calm, and she takes a step back, surprised at the volume of my voice. “I don’t want to go on another date,” I repeat, my voice lower as I fight for control.
I feel her eyes on me. Those goddamn beautiful eyes that sparkle when she laughs, that narrow on me when she’s plotting something annoying and so very Dee.
Every time I walk into this apartment, I immediately search for those eyes.
Always seeing more than I want, but still not enough.
She doesn’t understand. Fuck, neither do I.
“I could have gotten laid.” The vitriol is back in her tone, and she dials the temperature back up to a thousand.
“Well, good for you. That would have been a fun way to rub it in my face how much more successful your date was than mine when you didn’t even want to go. Besides, we both know you weren’t going to take things further.”
“Maybe I changed my mind,” she shouts. “I thought we could be happy for each other, Dylan.” She gestures between us, her hand flying in the air.
“I don’t know about you, but this dry spell isn’t working for me.
If I run through one more battery-operated bedroom assistant, I’m going to need to go back to the old-fashioned way of doing things.
I can’t afford to replace them on my budget, and ugh, I don’t want to go back to that.
I’m too spoiled now. Everything vibrates just perfectly—”
“Dear God, stop,” I plead.
“And they rotate just right—”
“I’m begging you—”
“And they are finally girthy enough.”
“Fuck, Dee.”
“And they hit just deep enough too…oh my god.” Dee takes a giant step away from me, staring at my crotch. “What the fuck, Dylan?”
“What the fuck, yourself. You’re literally talking about your goddamn toys in front of my lonely dick. What did you expect?” I turn away from her, glaring over my shoulder. “Ow.” I try to adjust myself, but the fucking zipper of my jeans is digging into my erection, and fuck, that hurts.
“Well, take care of yourself like I do!” Dee exclaims, peering around my shoulder, a look of concern on her face. “If you don’t…won’t something bad happen? You need to find a way to release the beast.”
“Okay, that’s enough.” I storm into my room, slamming the door behind me before Dee’s grating voice filters through the thin, thin walls.
“Don’t get any jizz on my carpet,” she yells. “I want my security deposit back and that won’t happen if you’re letting happy juice loose all over the floor.”
“Jesus Christ, Deanna, can you not even let a guy jerk off in peace?” I ask, my eyes closing, head falling back against the door in defeat. This is the exact opposite of how I expected my night to go.
“Oooooh, are you having…trouble? With the jizzing?” She whispers the last part, but I hear her. Loud and fucking clear.
“No. No, I’m fine. Just going to do it the old-fashioned way because I’m not lazy.”
“Oh, you dick,” she growls, and I can picture her eyes narrowing in frustration. The image brings a smile to my face.
“Yes, that’s exactly the body part I’m going to be paying attention to in here. Thank you. Goodbye now.”
“We’ll see about that.” I hear her stomping away.
Shit. Now I’m scared.
“Dee?” I call out.
No answer.
“Dee?” I yell a little louder.
Everything comes to a screeching halt. Because then I hear something. Something unmistakable.
A buzzing sound from the other side of my door.
“Oh fuck,” Dee moans. My pants are down around my ankles, and I’m gripping my dick like the lifeline it is two seconds later.
“Goddamn,” I groan. “What the fuck are we doing, Dee?” I turn to face the door, one hand against the frame, the other fisting my dick so hard I’m pretty sure it’s going to turn purple.
“Your way versus mine. Let’s see what works faster. You in?” The challenge in her voice makes me even harder.
“Don’t underestimate me,” I pant, tugging on my cock roughly. Holy shit. Why is this the hottest moment of my life?
“Not possible,” she says, voice breathy, and I hear the vibration kick on louder. Holy fuck, she’s turning up her vibrator, talking to me, masturbating on the other side of my bedroom door. I stroke my dick, and her every gasp, every moan, nearly sends me over the edge.
She might be trying to get off, but I’m trying to make this last for the rest of my fucking life.
A minute goes by. Vibrations, moans, and groans fill the space between us.
Then I hear a groan of frustration from Dee.
“Not as reliable as you thought?” I ask, breathless, my mind racing with images of Dee, spread out on her couch, hands between her legs, working her clit with whatever lucky toy she happened to grab in anger.
“Shut up,” she shouts. “I just need a second.” Another sigh of irritation, before I hear the buzzing come to an abrupt stop.
“Come on, Deanna. I thought the old-fashioned way was overrated.”
“Ugh. Fuck it,” I hear her mumbling to herself, then a satisfied. “Oh fuck. Yes,” she hisses.
Jesus Christ. How am I going to ever look at her again after this?
“Should we stop?” I ask, panicking about tomorrow. The next day. The day after that.
“Do you want to?” she asks, moaning again, lower and longer.
“God, no,” I groan, barely holding on.
She gasps. “Neither do I.” My mind runs through about a thousand different lewd thoughts, not sure what would make her gasp like that. I’m dying to find out.
“Are you wet? Are your fingers soaked with want?” I ask, desire drenching every word.
“So fucking wet.” Dee moans, and I grip my dick harder.
I want to see her. I want to watch every second of her stroking her clit, sliding her fingers deep, taking exactly what she wants.
I listen, barely hanging on, seconds away from falling over the edge myself. My dick pulses in my hand, my chest heaves with every breath, and I close my eyes—the image of Dee, head tossed back, nipples hard and waiting for me, thighs spread wide…
“It’s so good,” she breathes. “I’m so close. How hard are you?”
Harder than I’ve ever been in my goddamn life.
“Fuck, baby. I’m going to come,” I say, voice pained with restraint. The pet name slipping out.
“I’m coming,” she screams, and I can hear the absolutely huge smile on her face. “I win, Dylan.”
The sound of my name on her lips as she comes does it, and before I can think clearly, I stretch my shirt down to cover myself, catching the mess I make as I come.
Pleasure, hot burning heat, shoots up my thighs, to my balls, my back, my dick. I lean a shoulder against the door to steady myself, knees weak and shaking from the force of my orgasm.
“Holy fuck, Dee.” I groan.
I can hear her breathing, rapid, heaving breaths as she comes down from the high. Mine are labored and quick.
“Okay, well…have a good night, roomie.” I hear her footsteps padding to her room, then finally, her bedroom door closing behind her.
My head falls softly against the door, my hand still wrapped around my dick, shirt an absolute mess, but nothing…nothing is more wrecked than my mind. Two questions cycling on repeat through my mind for the few minutes it takes to collect myself.
I hop into the shower, get ready for bed, and lie down, thoughts racing still between the only two questions my brain can manage.
What the fuck was that?
When can we do it again?