Page 57 of Isla

"Now?" I ask, raising an eyebrow. "I guess I haven't really thought about it."

"You should." He motions for me to sit and points out the two glasses of wine on the coffee table. "I took the liberty of opening a bottle of wine I found. I hope that's okay."

"It's perfect. Thank you, Dylan."

"You're welcome, Freckles. What should we watch?" He picks up the remote and turns on the TV, scrolling through the apps.

"I've been wanting to watch this new show on Netflix calledFool Me Once.Have you seen it?"

"No, not yet." He navigates to the series, starting the first episode before taking a bite of his food. "God, this is good," he groans, his eyes rolling back as he chews.

"Do you cook, too?" I ask, realizing I've never seen him cook anything before.

"Only if it's something simple like a fried egg or grilled cheese. I do love to bake, though. I had a job at a bakery when I was seventeen."

"What's your favorite thing to make?" I ask, trying to imagine a younger version of him covered in flour, kneading a loaf of bread.

"Bagels, probably."

"It's been forever since I've had a bagel," I groan, practically drooling.

"We'll have to fix that, won't we?"

We both finish our food at the same time, falling into companionable silence as we watch the show. It's a murder mystery that sucks us in quickly, and before we know it, we're on the third episode, and I'm cuddled in Dylan's arms while we're spooning on the couch. It's nice. More than nice.

As the evening passes, the tension between us grows, ratcheting up my heartbeat, butterflies going haywire in my stomach. When I can't stand it any longer, I act like I'm adjusting my body to get more comfortable, but it's really so I can get my ass closer to his lap. He splays his hand over my stomach, pulling my body flush to his, his cock already standing at attention.

"Why didn't you say something?" I ask, looking back at him and biting my lip.

"Because I didn't want you to think that's the only reason I want to be with you."

"You know, there's such a thing as being too nice," I say, laying my head back down on his arm.

"You don't want me to be nice?"

"Not right now." My whisper turns into a groan as he slides his hand underneath my shirt and cups my breast. I arch my back, pushing into his hand. He growls deep in his throat, the sound making goosebumps erupt over my entire body. I turn to face him, and he caresses my cheek, sweeping his hand over my shoulder, down my back, and over my ass, cupping the back of one thigh to pullmy leg over his hip. In one smooth movement, he maneuvers us so his back is flat on the couch and I'm straddling his hips.

"You're so fucking beautiful," he breathes, tugging on a strand of my hair, the back of his fingers grazing my nipple.

"Even with my guinea pig pajamas on?" I tease, leaning over him, my hair creating a curtain around our heads.

"Especially with your guinea pig pajamas on," he says, his voice dropping as he drags his thumb over my lips. I lower myself as he surges up, our mouths colliding in a war of teeth and tongues. I lose myself in the feel of his body against mine, the way he holds my face like I'm a precious, fleeting thing that may disappear at any moment. It makes me feel cherished and wanted and–andloved. My heart jumps as that thought registers. I break away from him, trying to catch my breath.

"Are you okay?" he asks, studying me with concern in his eyes.

"More than okay," I say honestly, unable to hold back my grin.

"Good," he says, returning my smile. "Should we take this to the bedroom?"

"Why would we do that?" I ask, rocking my hips against him.

"Fuck, Isla," he groans, reaching up to squeeze my breasts, rolling my nipples between his fingers. A bolt of lust streaks down my spine, desire crackling through my veins like electricity before settling low in my stomach, a ball of raw, aching need. Nimble fingers undo the buttons on my top, and he slides it off my shoulders. Swinging his legs over the side, he sits up, leaning against the back of the couch, pulling me close. He buries his face between my breasts, breathing me in before catching a nipple in his mouth and swirling his tongue around it.

"I'll never look at your tits the same way again. You know that, right? That night was fucking amazing." He switches his attention to the other side, worshipping my body. Worshippingme. Making me feel like the most desirable woman on planet Earth. He looks at me the way people gaze at a once-in-a-lifetime sunset. Bathing in me, drinking me in like I'm the elixir of life, and he's on death's doorstep.The reverence in his touch topples my already crumbling wall of doubt, paving a new path to something I've only dreamed about.

"Take me to the bedroom, Dylan," I murmur, emotion clogging my throat. "Make love to me."

"Do you mean that, Isla?" he asks, pressing his forehead to mine, hope bubbling up. "The love part, I mean," he clarifies, running a finger over my cheek.

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