Page 93 of Glass Half Full
“Not a chance.”
He drops his bags and sweeps me into his arms, kissing me deep and getting me turned on way too fast considering we’re in a bus station. The Montreal terminus is many things, but sexy is not one of them.
“We need to get out of here,” I urge. “Now.”
“I couldn’t agree more.”
I squeal and slap his hand away when he tries to squeeze my ass, but it’s only because I know I’ll just keep kissing him if he gets his hands on me.
My apartment is only a twenty minute walk away, but even that’s a struggle for us. Every time I look at him, I just want to jump into his arms. The fact that it’s February and cold enough to cause frost bite in record time helps speed things along.
This is the first time Dylan will be visiting my apartment. I only moved in at the beginning of the month. After a lot of talks with my therapist and parents, I decided I was ready to take the next step and move out. I have a tiny studio all to myself in the Plateau. I’m working full time at the bar to pay for it, and once school starts in September—if I even get into McGill, that is—I’ll have to keep working part time during the semester if I want to keep the place. It’s a lot for someone who could barely handle taking the Metro not even a year ago, but I’m handling it well, and I’m ready to put my health first if things get overwhelming.
Right now I’m just ecstatic I don’t have roommates or my family to worry about. The things I want to do to Dylan require privacy.
“So, this is me,” I say slyly when we reach my door. “Welcome to my humble abode.”
I’m not sure if he’ll get the reference to the words he said the first time he took me to his apartment. Everything about that night is branded on my brain like a permanent etching, but I don’t know if he’s clung to all the details like I have, hoarding them away to remind myself of where we started and how far we’ve come.
The way he goes totally still and fixes blazing eyes on me when I turn around in the middle of opening the lock doesn’t leave room for doubt. He remembers. He remembers that night as well as I do.
He wraps a hand around my wrist, tugging gently until I’m facing him, and then he brings my knuckles to his lips.
“I think I knew,” he breathes onto them. “Even then, I think I knew I loved you.”
“I love you too.”
I don’t hesitate. I never have when it comes to those words. We started saying them just a few days after he performed ‘Miracle’ at Taverne Toulouse, and they’ve always felt so effortless coming out of my mouth—not because their meaning is simple, but because it feels so right.
Dylan doesn’t waste any time exploring my apartment. I haven’t even got the door fully closed before he has my back up against it. I cry out when his mouth locks onto my neck, nipping and sucking, not bothering to go slow or be gentle. It’s been almost a month since the last time I saw him, and we both need so much more than slow and gentle.
He keeps torturing me with his lips on my neck. At some point we both slip out of our jackets without slowing the pace, and he trails his bites and kisses lower. The scrape of his teeth on my collarbones has me arching against the door, writhing in a heady mix of pleasure and stinging pain, moaning with the force of it.
Just when I can’t take it anymore and start reaching for the hem of Dylan’s shirt, he pulls back. Both of our chests are heaving as he gives me a sheepish grin.
“As much as I hate to put this on hold,” he announces, “I just spent two and a half hours on a Greyhound and feel the need to wash it off me before we continue.”
I want to tell him I don’t care—I doubt I’d care if he’d been on a bus for twelve and a half hours—but I understand the need. There’s really nothing less sexy than Greyhound.
“Fine,” I concede, making a big show of sighing and giving in, “but only if I get to join you.”
I push on his chest until he steps back, and then I lead the way to my bathroom. I pull my shirt over my head as I go and unhook my bra just as I step through the door.
“Fucking hell,” I hear Dylan mutter behind me.
I’ll never get tired of making him say those words.
My shower is tiny to begin with; Dylan’s bulky frame makes it look doll-sized. By the time we’re both naked and pressed up against each other under the streaming hot water, there isn’t an inch of extra space.
Which is just fine with us.
His hands roam my body, cupping my ass and skimming my waist before grazing the edges of my breasts. I tilt my face up, and he captures my mouth, his tongue stroking mine. I moan against his lips. One of his hands starts toying with my nipple while the other moves higher. He brushes my clavicle with his fingertips, fits his thumb into the hollow at the base of my throat.
He breaks the kiss and slides his grip even higher. I tilt my chin back as far as it will go, baring my throat to him. He knows exactly what this does to me, knows how I can’t help trembling under his touch whenever his hand is on my neck. I’ve felt it since the first time we spent the night together, but we’ve never taken it further than this.
“Can—Can I tell you something?” I stammer, as he drops his hand back to my breast and starts to flick his thumbs over both my nipples at once.
“Yeah,” he answers, clearly distracted by the rivulets of water tracing my curves.
