Chapter 24
Charlie
It doesn’t look like Dillon is breathing. His expression is uncomprehending, his eyes bouncing between mine like he’s not sure what I’m saying.
Unable to stop myself, I reach up and brush my fingers over the short beard covering his jaw.
“This doesn’t look horrible,” I murmur absent-mindedly. As if my words have jerked him out of a stupor, his hand snaps up to cage my wrist. But Dillon doesn’t try to stop me. If anything, he’s holding me in place, keeping my fingers pressed against him.
“I’ll keep it,” he offers, his coffee-scented breath brushing over my face. “If you like it.”
My attention is on my fingers, but I look up, stare locking with his intense hazel one. “What would you do, if you were me?” I ask quietly. “Would you walk away?”
“You can’t ask me that, Angel,” he says roughly, his fingers pulsing around my wrist. “I can’t give you an impartial answer.”
“Tell me anyway.” I lift a hand to his shoulder, resting it there lightly. The touch is casual, as if not much thought went into it, but my hand trembles, and I wonder if he feels it.
Dillon holds my stare, his tone almost apologetic as he says, “No, I wouldn’t walk away. I don’t want to let you walk away.” There’s a beat, a pause filled with significant meaning. “I want to tie you to my bed and never let you go again.”
A sound of amusement escapes. “Well, that escalated, didn’t it?” I tease.
Dillon’s fierce expression doesn’t lighten at all. “Angel, I need to know what’s happening here.” He grinds his molars together, a muscle jumping in his jaw. “I’m terrified of having to watch you walk out that door again.”
“You’d let me, wouldn’t you?” I ask, and his eyebrows draw together. “You’d let me walk out,” I clarify. “You’d watch me walk away from you, and you wouldn’t try to stop me, even if it killed you.”
His swallow is audible. “I’d do anything to make you happy, Charlie.”
“I’m starting to realize that,” I say, and I mean it. There were problems in our relationship before everything happened at the cocktail bar that night—little cracks that were tiny enough they were easily overlooked.
We were overloaded with baggage and, without even realizing it, had brought all those issues into our relationship, letting them affect how we saw the world around us.
Dillon was willing to omit information to keep the peace, to hold his silence instead of speaking up in my defense.
Me? I allowed it. I gave him permission to treat me like that, just as I’d given permission to my parents.
When I didn’t stand up for myself and kept turning up, I’d given them all this impression that their treatment of me was okay. Until I walked away from Dillon and realized there was another answer.
I don’t think my parents will ever change their ways, even under the threat of losing me, but I am not going to overlook that Dillon is trying to do better.
“The last six months have given me perspective,” I say quietly.
“And that includes what happened between me and Alec.” He lets out a dramatic groan at the name, and I bite back a smile.
“I needed to find my self-worth outside of you, and away from everything I heard that night. I needed to learn about who I could be without my mother constantly stomping me into the ground.” I inch closer, both hands on his shoulders now.
“I needed to learn that I could risk trusting you again, even if it meant pushing past every single one of my fears to give you the power to hurt me again.”
Dillon bows his head, resting his forehead on my shoulder. Under my hands, I can feel his body shaking. “C-Charlie…” he croaks. “I wouldn’t…”
“You wouldn’t mean to,” I say softly, “but that’s part of the risk, isn’t it?” He lifts his head, his hazel eyes watery as they meet mine.
“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice infused with a quiet strength.
“For all of it. For not trusting you at the beginning or at the end, for not being the man who stands up for you, and then for blindly attacking instead of admitting I was the problem. You told me I can never unring that bell, and you’re not wrong.
I’ll spend the rest of my life remembering the expression on your face when I threw those words at you like knives.
” He doesn’t need to repeat them because they’re still there, loud and clear in both our minds.
Dillon lowers his lashes, his expression pained.
“You’re everything, Charlie. It feels like, when you walked out that door, you took every color with you.
And since…” He presses his forehead to mine, his hands gripping the curve of my hips.
“It’s all gray, and it’s all wrong. I know that I can live without you, but fuck, Charlie… I don’t want to.”
My heart flutters in a frenzied beat as I look up at his ravaged expression, unable to deny the sincerity in his voice.
“I don’t either,” I confess. There’s a stillness, a frozen moment, and then his lips are on mine. He pauses, but then, like a flip has switched, he groans, backing me into the fridge.
Dillon’s hand is on my thigh, yanking my leg up and hooking it around his hip. His other hand is wrapped around the back of my head, holding me in place and protecting me from the hard surface all at once.
I gasp for air, and he pulls back, his lips glistening as he stares down at me, eyes liquid with desire. He grinds his hips against me, making me whimper as liquid heat pools between my thighs.
His voice is rough when he asks, “You sure, Charlie? I need to know, before—It’s been a long—”
I slap my palm against his mouth because I don’t think either of us wants to really think about how long it’s been for either of us, or why our timelines are different.
“I’m sure,” I whisper. “I’m scared, but I’m sure.”
Dillon’s chest heaves on his next breath, his tongue flicking out to lick my palm. When I yank my hand away with a noise of protest, he smiles. “I’m scared, too, Angel.” He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “I can’t lose you again.”
I don’t make any promises, because neither of us knows what the future will hold. Right now, we’re together, and in my heart, I know I’m where I’m supposed to be.
He watches me, reassuring himself. When he’s satisfied with whatever he sees, he moves, both his hands dropping to grip handfuls of my ass and hauling me up against him.
I yelp, wrapping my arms around his neck in a stranglehold. He doesn’t complain, his arms flexing as he holds my weight up, carrying me confidently to his bedroom. He drops me to my feet next to the bed, making sure I’m steady before roughly yanking my shirt off.
When I’m left in just a blue cotton bra—made for comfort, not seduction, because this was not how I expected today to go—he inhales sharply, biting down on his lower lip.
“Goddamn, I’ve missed you,” he mutters, and I let out a peal of laughter, making his eyes bounce up to mine.
“You talking to me or my boobs?” I taunt, trailing a finger down my cleavage. Dillon’s attention drops again, flaring as he watches me trace the edge of the bra.
“Why can’t it be both?” He palms the bulge in his sweats, gripping himself firmly. “You’re about to make me shoot off before I’ve even got my hands on you,” he gripes.
I coo teasingly. “Aww, poor baby. Has your hand not been good enough?”
“Nothing compares when I’ve had a taste of you, Charlie,” he says seriously. “Now, strip the rest of your clothes off and come sit on my face.”
My cheeks flame red, my eyes wide with shock. I’ve always avoided positions that would put my body on display—so, basically, anything that meant me being on top. And what he’s asking…He’d be able to see all of me.
“I don’t know…” I hedge, but he’s stripping his clothes off, distracting me. The shirt goes first, revealing his lean torso, his abdomen defined with muscular ridges. “Oh.”
At the noise, Dillon asks, “What’s up, Angel?” He’s the one taunting me now. “You like what you see?” He hooks his fingers into his waistband, tugging his sweats dangerously low.
“You, um…You look like you’ve been working out more than usual,” I observe, aiming for casual and failing miserably. Everywhere that I’m soft, he’s hard. And all I want to do is lean forward and bite his pec, sucking the salty flesh into my mouth and—
“Had more free time than usual,” he answers, a sly smile ticking up the corners of his mouth. “And I needed the distraction. Right this second, though? It all feels worth it.”
He kicks his pants and briefs off in one go. I barely have time to admire his rigid erection before he’s on the bed, lying flat against the pillow. He is gripping his dick in one hand, slowly stroking himself, and crooking his finger at me with the other.
“Dillon—”
“Now, Charlie,” he orders sternly, and my insides melt into goo. “I haven’t had a taste in over six months, and I’m starving.”
Throwing every insecurity to the wind—and thanking past me for shaving this morning—I hurriedly throw the rest of my clothes off.
It takes me several seconds and more than one deep breath to find my confidence. If there’s one thing Dillon and I have never had a problem with, it is our chemistry in the bedroom. And I refuse to hide from him now.
I approach the bed, adding an extra sway into my hips.
Dillon never looks away, eyes blazing with molten heat as they trail over my thighs, the curve of my stomach, the way my heavy breasts jiggle with each step.
The black bleeds into the hazel as his mouth parts, tongue flicking out over his bottom lip as if he can already taste me.
I climb up on the bed, kneeling next to him, and he roughly jacks himself, swiping his thumb over the crown of his cock, spreading the pre-cum around. I watch the movement with interest until he growls out my name, dragging my attention to his face.
“You’re not where you’re supposed to be.” He tips his chin up, silently telling me to get closer to his head. I hesitate again. “Charlie,” Dillon says in warning, reaching out to grab a bruising handful of my ass. “Up.”