Chapter 9
Lauren
The hot shower was exactly what I needed, but it didn't do a damn thing to cool down my thoughts about Dylan.
I stand in front of the bathroom mirror, wrapped in a towel, staring at my flushed face. My hair is damp and wavy, and I'm debating whether to put actual effort into my appearance or just embrace the cozy cabin vibe.
Who am I kidding? I want to look good for him.
I settle on my favorite burgundy sweater and a pair of dark jeans that make my ass look great, if I do say so myself. A little mascara, some tinted lip balm, and I'm done. Casual but intentional.
When I emerge from my bedroom, the cabin smells amazing. Dylan's in the kitchen, and I can hear something sizzling on the stove.
"What are you making?" I ask, padding over in my fuzzy socks.
He turns, and the smile that spreads across his face when he sees me makes my stomach flip.
"Grilled cheese," he says. "It won’t be as good as yours, I realize that, given you are the self-proclaimed queen of grilled cheese. But it’s edible."
I move closer to peer at the pan. He's got thick slices of sourdough bread buttering up nicely, and I can see at least three different types of cheese waiting on the counter.
"Three cheeses? I sense a little faux modesty. You're actually playing dirty."
Dylan grins at me and shrugs. "Maybe a little. I told you, I'm competitive about everything." He flips the sandwich with practiced ease. "How was your shower?"
"Hot. Amazing. Life-affirming." I hop up onto the counter, swinging my legs. "Did you get the branch situation figured out?"
"Called Chance. He's got a plow service coming tomorrow morning, weather permitting. We should be able to get out by afternoon."
Tomorrow afternoon. Less than twenty-four hours left of this weird, wonderful bubble.
The thought makes my chest tight.
"That's good," I say, not meaning it at all.
Dylan glances at me, and I can tell he knows I'm lying. "Is it?"
I just nod as I watch him work, the way his shoulders move under his thermal shirt, the concentration on his face as he plates our sandwiches.
"Soup too," he announces, ladling tomato soup into two bowls. "The full experience."
We eat at the kitchen island, our knees bumping underneath. The grilled cheese is perfect—crispy bread, gooey cheese, everything I could want in a comfort food.
"Not bad," I admit.
"High praise from the queen."
"Don't let it go to your head."
But I'm smiling, and he's smiling, and there's that feeling again. Like a spark has been lit between us. It’s a problem. I want to spark with Dylan. But only if I can return to my normally scheduled life and not have him become a long-distance distraction.
I need to write the best damn Christmas song ever and I’m torn between thinking Dylan is inspiring or just a very sexy form of procrastination.
After we done eating, Dylan builds up the fire again. The sun has set, and the cabin is bathed in that cozy golden glow that only firelight can create.
"Want to watch a movie?" he asks.
"In this romantic setting? Absolutely not." The words are out before I can stop them. “Technology has no place here.”
Dylan turns to look at me, his eyes dark in the flickering light. "Romantic setting?"
“You know what I mean. Fire. Snow. Cabin. It's very… atmospheric. This is about nature and cozy vibes, not about streaming the latest psychological thriller."
"Atmospheric," he repeats, moving closer. "Is that what we're calling it?"
“What would you call it?”
“Sexy.”
My nipples instantly tighten. I nod. “Agreed. That works too.”
"Lauren." He's standing right in front of me now, close enough that I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. “Should we take advantage of the sexy atmosphere?”
“I think it would be a damn shame to waste it.” I’m not going to write anyway. I can’t hole myself up in the bedroom and work on chord progressions when there is a gorgeous guy in the next room who can dish it and take it.
"I haven't been able to stop thinking about kissing you since this morning."
"Me neither," I whisper.
That's all the encouragement he needs. His hands come up to cup my face, and then he's kissing me like he's been waiting his whole life to do it. Not rushed or desperate, but thorough. Deliberate. Like he wants to memorize every single second.
I make a sound in the back of my throat—half sigh, half moan—and press closer. My hands fist in his shirt, pulling him against me.
This is different from the kiss this morning. That was sweet, testing. This is intentional. This is both of us admitting what we want.
"Couch?" Dylan murmurs against my lips.
"Floor," I counter. "By the fire."
He groans. "You're right. That would be the sexiest, most atmospheric, nature-inspired thing to do. I’m ashamed I didn’t suggest it."
That makes me laugh softly. “I didn’t hear a word you said after ‘you’re right.’”
Dylan gives a low growl. “Hold that thought.”
Then he disappears, running up the stairs and returning a minute later with a condom in his hand.
He pulls me down onto the floor. We sink down onto the nest of blankets and pillows we'd created the night before, and he pulls me into his lap.
I straddle him, my hands in his hair, kissing him like I'm trying to make up for every boring date, every disappointing relationship, every minute I've spent not kissing Dylan Lennox.
His hands slide under my sweater, warm against my skin, and I arch into his touch.
"Is this okay?" he asks, his voice rough.
"More than okay." I pull back just enough to tug my sweater over my head.
Dylan's eyes go dark. "Jesus, Lauren."
I'm wearing a burgundy lace bra that matches my sweater, and from the look on his face, it was absolutely worth the extra effort this afternoon.
“I might be speechless,” he says, running a finger over the swell of my breast. “I…wow. Just wow.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“You’re incredible.”
"Your turn," I say, tugging at his shirt.
He strips it off in one smooth motion, and I take a moment to appreciate what I'm seeing. Broad shoulders, defined chest, those abs I caught a glimpse of yesterday. He's gorgeous, and he's looking at me like I'm the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.
"Come here," he says, pulling me back down.
We kiss until we're both breathless, his hands roaming, first cupping my breast and teasing at my nipple, before slipping between my thighs. When he presses his thumb against the seam of my jeans, I gasp and break off the kiss. I need more.
“Take my jeans off.”
We help each other out of the rest of our clothes, laughing when my jeans get stuck on my ankle, groaning when Dylan fumbles with my bra clasp.
That seems to ease something between us. We're not performing for each other. We're just… us. Two people who like each other, snowed in together, choosing this.
When we're finally skin to skin, Dylan pulls a blanket over us and takes his time, kissing his way down my neck, across my collarbone, lower.
His finger teases between my thighs, and dips inside me, making me gasp with pleasure.
“You like that?” he murmurs.
“Hell, yeah.”
“Then you’ll really like this.” Dylan lowers his head and eases his tongue over my slit.
I about jump out of my skin it feels so good. “I do like that,” I agree, allowing my head to loll back and my eyes to drift closed.
He creates a slow and steady rhythm, kissing and licking my thighs, sucking my clit, sliding his tongue deep inside me. The man has a gift and I’m not talking about his cooking. Tight coils of heat form low in my belly and I’m moaning softly, relaxed and languid, boneless under his touch.
When he adds a finger to tease inside me, I shatter in a slow, rolling orgasm that takes my breath away.
“Oh, my God!” I cry out. “Dylan.”
Long delightful seconds later, he pulls back and smiles up at me. It’s a satisfied smile. “That was fun.”
“It really was. I should have known you'd be good at that. You are a smooth talker.”
He laughs softly and kisses me, a deep, intense kiss that is somehow both sexy as hell and sweet.
Then he’s easing between my thighs with that impressive cock I briefly felt the day before against my backside.
“Quit stalling,” I tell him, reaching down between us and giving him a squeeze.
Dylan gives a strangled laugh. “You’re killing me. But it’s called drawing the moment out, not stalling.”
“Well, I don’t like it.” I’m practically squirming in anticipation.
“Trust me,” he says. Then he moves and is fully inside me.
We both moan in unison.
“Fuck, Lauren. You feel incredible.”
“So do you,” I breathe. I grip his firm ass and let my knees drift further apart. I want more of him. All of him.
Dylan strokes inside me, slowly, his eyes locked on mine. We move together in the firelight, the only sounds our breathing and the crackle of the logs. It's unhurried, intimate, perfect.
The tightness is building inside me again and I easily come for the second time, marveling at how locked in on me he is, how natural and amazing this all feels. He immediately follows with his own orgasm, which tells me he wanted to make sure I did first and was holding back.
We lie tangled together under the blankets, my head on his chest, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on my back. I take a deep breath, inhaling the woodsy scent of him. I’ll never be able to see a wood burning fireplace again without thinking of this moment.
"That was…" Dylan trails off.
"Yeah," I agree. "It really was."
He presses a kiss to the top of my head. "Stay here tonight? In the blanket fort?"
"I'm not going anywhere."
We lie there for a while, watching the fire, not talking. My mind is spinning, trying to process what just happened. What it means. What happens when we leave tomorrow.
But I push those thoughts away. Right now, I'm warm and satisfied and happy. That's enough.
"Lauren?" Dylan's voice is quiet in the darkness.
"Hmm?"
"I'm really glad Jolene and Chance double-booked this cabin."
I smile against his chest. "Me too."
Outside, I can hear the wind picking up again, but in here, wrapped in Dylan's arms by the fire, I've never felt warmer.
He kisses the side of my head.
“Did you know that you’re sexy, and you’re intelligent, and you’re funny, and you’re talented?”
Now I really feel warm, from the tips of my toes to my still wet inner thighs, to my flushed cheeks. It feels so right that it’s almost too much. I try to lighten the mood out of pure self-preservation. I can’t fall any harder for Dylan than I already have.
“How do you know I’m talented?” I say lightly. “I could be a total hack. Though I’ll agree with the rest of what you said.”
Dylan takes my chin with his hand and turns my head toward him. "I know you’re talented. "It's the way your face lights up when you talk about writing songs."
My cheeks flush again, and it's not from the fire. "How does my face light up?"
"Like you're talking about something sacred. Like the rest of the world disappears when you're creating."
"That's exactly what it feels like," I say softly. "When I'm writing, when I find the right words or the perfect melody, it's like everything else just... stops."
“You’re good with words, too,” he says. “You’ve got the whole package.”
“You’re not so bad with words yourself.”
And I'm pretty sure I'm going to remember every single word he’s spoken for the rest of my life.