Page 60 of Glass Half Full
“I’ll make sure he knows this is all coming from me,” Dylan assures me, “but you both should have thought to call me or Monroe as soon as he needed to take off. This isn’t about me thinking you’re a damsel in distress. We don’t leaveanyoneon their own here. You understand?”
I give in and nod. Dylan softens again.
“God, if anything had happened to you...” He cradles my face with his hands, brushing his thumbs along my cheeks. “You mean so fucking much to me, Renee.”
A soft sound of surprise slips past my lips.
“Was that too much?” he asks, his face creasing with worry. “I know we’re taking it slow, but...I just...The thought of you—”
I cut off his stammering with a kiss. At first it’s slow, tender, as we seek reassurance from each other. His hands find my back again, stroking up and down in a way that’s meant to comfort but quickly starts to set me on fire. I need this. I need to burn all the fear away and feed this heat between us.
I sweep my tongue along his lips before darting between them. He groans somewhere deep in his throat, and his hands still on my waist before gripping me tightly. The heat keeps growing as my tongue explores his mouth. I flick the tip of it against the back of his teeth, and he groans again before pulling back.
“Renee...”
“Harder,” I urge. “Kiss me harder.”
“Are you sure? Maybe you should just, um, sit down, or—”
“Dylan.” I fist my hands around the collar of his jacket. “Please. I need this. Kiss me as hard as you can.”
He gives me a hard stare, and then he’s doing what I asked, stealing the breath from my lungs as he kisses me with more force than ever. He nearly lifts me off my feet as he backs us up against the bar, and I don’t care who’s walking by outside. The whole damn city of Montreal could be pressed up against the glass, and it wouldn’t stop me from pulling him closer. His mouth roams over my neck, across my collarbones, back up to suck on my lips before moving to my ear. The sound of his breath overwhelms me, blocks everything else out, and when his tongue traces the shell of my ear, I cry out louder than I ever have for him.
“Jesus,” he hisses. “The sounds you make...”
His hands are at the hem of my t-shirt, and his thumbs hook underneath it to brush the bottom of my stomach. My hips thrust up toward him of their own accord, and already I can feel a pressure inside me, a heady demand for more, more, more.
“Your body...” Dylan pants as he speaks. “God, look at you. The things you do when I touch you...”
“Touch me.” My voice is breathy and thin. “Please touch me.”
His eyes roam over me, down my neck and chest to where his thumbs disappear under my shirt. He looks hungry.
“Not like this,” he finally says, wincing like it’s painful to get the words out. “Not here. When I touch you, I’m going to do it right.”
He steps back, letting me go.
“Let’s, uh, let’s get you home.” He runs the back of his hand along his mouth and stares up at the ceiling, like looking down at me is going to obliterate his restraint.
I don’t want his restraint.
“Dylan, I don’t...I don’t want to go slow tonight.”
He sucks in a breath.
“I want this now. I need it.”
“You’re just upset because of what happened,” he says gently, eyes still fixed on the ceiling. “I’m not going to be the guy who—”
“Dylan.” I let some of my frustration slip into my voice. “Please trust me, okay? Trust that I’m saying this as an adult woman who knows what she wants and needs. I want to be with you tonight. I don’t want to go home. I want to go home with you.”
He’s standing completely still now, like he doesn’t even trust himself to breathe anymore. I’d laugh if I weren’t so exasperated.
“Please give me tonight. We can go back to taking it slow tomorrow, if that’s what you want, but tonight...I need you tonight.”
“You’re sure?” He’s still looking at the damn ceiling.
“Yes, Dylan, I am very fucking sure.”
