Page 91 of Isla

"Absolutely nothing. The men are already waiting on me hand and foot. I'm actually surprised they let me come over here today. They're acting like I'm made of glass and could spontaneously combust any second."

"God. I'd be ready to give birth, too," I say, grimacing.

"I know I act like it's annoying, but they've been amazing. Not that I need to tell you that."

"I'm so happy for the four of you, Charlie. I can't wait to see you start this next chapter of your life."

"So tell me," she whispers, her eyes opening, "how's it going with the four of you?" Charlie glances around to make sure the guys aren't listening.

"Good. Really good. So good, I'm scared I'll jinx it if I talk about it."

"God, I remember those days. I'm here if you ever need to talk. Now go on," she says, shooing me away. "Dylan's waiting to sweep you off your feet." I look up to see Dylan standing off to the side, watching us with a soft smile on his face.

"What?" I ask, laughing as I stand and brush off the back of my jeans.

Dylan smiles, shaking his head slightly. "The bond the two of you have is really special."

"Exactly, so if you hurt her, I'll–" Charlie drags her thumb across her throat, winking at me before standing up and waddling off.

"Wow."

"You heard her." I chuckle as I watch her walk up the terrace steps and disappear inside before I turn back to Dylan. "Ready to go?'

"Yeah, Henry and Theo said they could finish up today's work without me, so if you want to leave now, we can."

"That sounds good to me. I need to grab some things from the house before we go."

"Me, too," he says, his voice dropping an octave, dripping with innuendo. My heart jumps to my throat at the heat in his eyes, and I bolt toward the house, realizing a few steps in that I have no chance against someone who competes in triathlons. He pretends to let me win until I take my first step into the house, and then he's at my back, slamming the door and pushing me against it, his lips roaming over my cheek, my jaw, my neck.

"I could spend forever with my lips on your skin, and it still wouldn't be enough," he murmurs, capturing my mouth with his. I open for him, inviting him in, our tongues tangling, teeth knocking asneed drives us closer together. I reach for the front of his pants, closing my hand over the hardness there, my lips curving against his at his swift intake of breath, his pained groan. He kisses his way down my throat to my sternum, pausing to drag his teeth across both of my nipples before dropping to his knees and tugging down my pants. The calluses on his fingertips catch on my panties as he drags his finger along the dampness of my slit. He hums his approval, the sound coming from deep in his chest, making my skin prickle with desire. Hooking his finger in the scrap of lace between my legs, he pulls it aside, tracing me with his tongue, lapping at my clit.

"Let's go to the bedroom," I rasp, my fingers tangling in his dark hair. A slight shake of his head and then two fingers are pushing into me. I roll my hips, pulling him close, grinding on his mouth as my orgasm looms closer. Just as I'm about to come, he pulls back, breathing hard, lips glistening.

"Not yet," he pants, readjusting his cock in his pants, a pained look on his face.

"Why not?" I whimper as he stands and pulls my pants back up.

"Because the longer we wait, the better it will be."

"But it will be good now," I object, my heartbeat pounding between my legs, demanding more.

"Trust me," he growls, pressing me back against the door, his lips covering mine, our tastes mingling on our tongues. I do my best to bring him over to the dark side with my mouth, but his control is infallible. "Grab what you need, and we'll head to the carnival," he says, breaking our kiss.

I take one look at the determination in his eyes and scamper off to my bedroom, grabbing a hair tie, chapstick, and my wallet. As much as I want to sleep with him right this second, I love that he's bossing me around. After being in control for my entire life, it's a relief to give it up in the bedroom sometimes. It allows me to step into my more feminine side and let myself be taken care of. To experience the softer side of life. Nobody has ever given me that option before.

I meet Dylan by the garage door and toss him the keys to the Mustang, ready for the ride of my life.

43

As much as I adore driving my car, there's something to be said about being a passenger princess for a day. Dylan surprises me by stopping at the café to pick up coffee for the drive–his hot, mine iced. He knows me well. I sneak glances over at him as he pulls back onto the main road, my gaze drawn to how the sunlight gilds the golden hairs on his arms. The way his hand grips the top of the steering wheel, veins riding over the back and up his forearm. And especially the way his hand makes its way to my thigh every time there's a straightaway. I bask in the glow of his love, feeling myself shed layers of my prickly exterior and sinking into the softness of being a well-loved woman. His skin is warm beneath my fingertips as I trace his hand, unable to stand the thought of not touching him. The Isla from a couple of months ago wouldn't recognize this gentle, soft woman content to ride in the passenger seat.

"What are you smiling about?" Dylan asks, noticing the grin pulling at the corners of my lips.

"Myself," I admit, shaking my head. "I'm not sure I recognize who I'm becoming with the three of you."

"How so?"

"I'm losing my edge."

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