Page 27 of Our Secret Summer

She wanted Raffo with a fierceness that was completely alien to her. She knew very well she shouldn’t have said any of the things she’d said, per their agreement, but fuck their agreement. Dylan didn’t care about their deal. She cared a lot about Raffo, though. Now she’d seen Raffo’s work, her heart as well as her clit were about to explode. And yes, it made her feel silly, but it also felt completely inevitable. What did Raffo think? That she could just casually show her this work—this artistic depiction of Dylan’s faceandbreasts—and get on with her day? That they would have dinner and some easy conversation about some mundane topic?

That painting most likely meant something entirely different to Raffo—she’d have to ask her later—but to Dylan it was a huge boost to her self-esteem. That someone so exaggeratedly talented as Raffo Shah would paint little old her? She, the woman who had lost all that money and who was hiding out from her life, and her son, because of it?

Dylan felt seen and heard and acknowledged as a fully accomplished human being for the first time since she’d arrived here. She wasn’t just lucky that Raffo had come here and had wanted to paint her—and generally delight her with her company—but also that she, simply, was here, and had chosen to dothiswith her presence. Dylan wasn’t foolish enough to mistake Raffo’s desire to paint her as some artistic version of love at first sight. But there was something there—even if it was purely creative inspiration on Raffo’s part, it still meant something.

Most of all, Dylan had wanted to kiss Raffo again because of the power that painting had over her. Because of the emotions it unleashed in her. Because of how it had shocked her, in the space of a few seconds, into thinking about herself as the opposite of a gigantic failure.

And then there was last night. All day long, Dylan hadn’t been able to think of anything else, despite the deal they’d made. And then she saw the painting, which practically equaled the two of them naked in bed together, Raffo pinning Dylan’s hands above her head. It was like Raffo asking her not to kiss her while her lips hovered a mere inch away. Dylan wasn’t having any of that. She didn’t want to ignore how she felt. She didn’t even want to take the time to go upstairs.

While their tongues danced their delicious dance, she yanked up Raffo’s T-shirt. That lounger over there would do nicely for what Dylan had in mind—for what she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about all day.

Dylan’s hands went for Raffo’s bra clasp next. Oh, how she couldn’t wait to wrap her lips around the tight bud of her nipple. To feel it go hard against her tongue. And then…

In no time, they were naked from the waist up. Dylan swiftly walked them to the lounger. Raffo sat, and Dylan straddled her. Raffo cupped Dylan’s breast while she peppered kisses along her neck. Raffo would probably scoff at the notion, but seeing that painting had left Dylan starstruck. There was no other word for it. Raffo hardly had an abundance of women to choose from in this house but still, they could also not be doing this. Raffo could also not have ogled her more ostentatiously as the week progressed. Raffo could also not have painted Dylan’s bare breasts—her nipples painted in the most improbable colors that were, somehow, just right. Dylan was starstruck and flattered and aroused beyond anything—beyond her common sense, that much was for certain.

There was something dangerous about feeling like this. The last time Dylan had lost her common sense, she’d also lost half a million bucks. But she was convinced she only stood to gain by doing this. By pushing Raffo down in this lounger and making quick work of unzipping her shorts, lowering her panties, and having her lie deliciously naked in front of her.

Raffo was not a tiny woman—to Dylan’s endless delight—and it took some maneuvering for Dylan, after she’d slipped out of her own shorts and underwear, to slot into the lounger with her. But they didn’t need much room for what they were doing—as long as Raffo could spread her legs.

Dylan lay on top of Raffo and, in between kissing her, she simply couldn’t stop smiling. Happiness rushed through her, mixed with unbridled, unstoppable lust. Dylan’s clit pulsed hard between her legs. She let her knees slip either side of Raffo’s upper thigh and the mere touch of her clit against Raffo’s leg sent a sparkle of heat along her spine.

When they broke from their kiss, Dylan looked into Raffo’s eyes. “Can I fuck you,” she asked, in between the shallowest of breaths.

Raffo swallowed hard, then nodded. “Yeah,” she said on a throaty moan.

Dylan slipped off Raffo as best she could. The armrest poked into her behind and her left arm was awkwardly stretched under Raffo’s neck, but none of it mattered. Any discomfort was easily overridden by the heat in her flesh, by the desire that made her fingers tremble as she skated them along the skin of Raffo’s belly.

Dylan angled herself toward Raffo’s breast and licked her nipple into the hardest pebble, while her hand, slowly, drifted between Raffo’s legs.

To find her wetness was another jolt to her revved-up system. Dylan circled Raffo’s clit and it felt like her own clit was being touched at the same time, that’s how out of control it pulsed between her legs. When Dylan slid a finger inside Raffo, her breath stalled in her throat. Dylan had done this with other women before—two to be exact—but she didn’t remember it feeling this way. This hot and intimate. This excruciatingly arousing—as though she might come just by having her fingers inside Raffo.

“Aah,” Raffo moaned. “Oh, Dylan.”

Dylan’s clit reacted as though instead of saying her name, Raffo had just swept her tongue over it.

Raffo’s hips moved toward Dylan’s hand, meeting it, demanding more of her fingers—and Dylan gladly gave them. She pushed two fingers inside Raffo and was floored again by the warm grip Raffo had on her. She could feel it in places that weren’t her fingers. Her clit, first of all but, also—and she wouldn’t be sharing this information with anyone any time soon—a little around her heart.

It wasn’t because she was extraordinarily aroused, to the point of orgasm, that Dylan couldn’t tell the difference between doing this now and having done it last night. Already, it felt like a world apart. Because when Dylan gazed at Raffo’s scrunched up face, her eyes closed and her mouth wide open, she didn’t just see the exquisite woman, she also saw the magnificent artist who produced magical paintings with colors so improbable, she must be inventing new ones. That touch of green in Dylan’s nipple that, realistically, shouldn’t even belong there, was kind of like the green of the fir trees on the mountains at the very height of summer, but it also decidedly wasn’t. It was its own green. It was Raffo’s green and it made all the other colors she used shine and come together in a way that Dylan had never seen before.

Dylan’s body was in thrall to everything that was happening—and had occurred the past week. To her fingers inside Raffo. To the look of bliss on Raffo’s face. To the groans rising from her throat. To Raffo’s body surrendering to her touch so willingly and easily—despite their dumb deal. But also to Raffo’s finished painting and to how Raffo had come to her in the middle of the night. To everything Raffo had revealed about herself and, perhaps, most of all, to how it felt for Dylan to simply be with Raffo. Not just in this fiercely intimate moment, nor to see her paint, but just to be in the same space as her. To look at her as she moved across the deck, or inadvertently swayed to a song on the speaker. To simply see her as she was, which was like the best fever dream you could ever have.

So, of course Dylan’s body surrendered at the same time as Raffo’s. As Raffo clenched hard around her fingers, spreading even more delight through Dylan, heightening her own pleasure. Dylan came hard, her untouched clit throbbing, and her moans of ecstasy mixing with Raffo’s as they bathed the deck in the most rapturous sound ever.

“I would like to propose a new deal,” Dylan said. “The old one isn’t really working for me.”

They’d jumped into the lake, skin bare to the cool water, and rested their arms on the weathered wood of the jetty extending from Dylan’s property.

“The old one isn’t even old yet.” Raffo’s gaze was soft, her features a mask of satisfaction.

“It was a bad deal. Completely unrealistic. What were we even thinking?” Beneath the surface, Dylan caught Raffo’s ankle between her legs, drawing her closer. Even inches of space felt like too much distance now. “We both have our reasons for being here,” Dylan said. “Let’s stay and agree that resisting each other is not an option. It’s simply not. But let’s also agree to leave Connor out of this. Connor is not here and he has nothing to do with this. This isn’t about him. This is about us, here and now. In Big Bear, in this house, where I want to stay. With you.”

Raffo lay her head on her crossed arms and gazed at Dylan. “I’d like to stay. I’d like to paint something else. I feel if I can paint one more, and feel that thing inside myself that I so crave, I’ll be ready to go back to LA. I don’t feel ready yet.” Raffo nodded as best she could in the position her head was in. “Your new deal is pretty easy to agree to because it basically means we do what we want without worrying about the consequences.”

“Why wouldn’t we?” A flutter of anticipation danced through Dylan’s core.

“Because of Con, but you’re right. This isn’t about him. As long as we agree, and this is a deal I will not come back on, to never tell him about us.”

“Deal,” Dylan said. “Connor doesn’t have to know and he never will.” They’d agreed on a deal before and failed miserably to keep it, but this was different. The stakes were much higher.

---