Page 80 of Sweet Chaos
Dylan laughed and got to his feet, knowing they were too late. The blue and red lights flashed across his face and I flew to him, my arms wrapping around his waist, my face buried in his chest.
“You okay?” he asked, wrapping his arms around me and holding me close.
I nodded against his chest then lifted my eyes to his face. He wiped his bloody nose with the back of his hand and I took his face in my hands to inspect the damage. “Are you okay?”
Running his tongue over his busted lip, he did that half-smirk, half-smile thing he did. “Feels like old times.”
* * *
“Don’t worry about it,” he said, pulling my hand away from his face. I’d been tending his cuts and bruises, cleaning off the blood with a washcloth and treating his cuts with antibiotic ointment because, of course, he’d refused medical treatment when the ambulance and paramedics had shown up.
“Tough guy, huh?” I rinsed the bloody washcloth in the sink and wrung it out then washed my hands and dried them on a kitchen towel.
“I can take a punch. Been doing it all my life.” He disappeared into the laundry room with the washcloth and returned when I was taking two plates out of the cupboard for our dinner that was on the way.
“So, how do you know Corbin?” he asked, pouring a glass of the overpriced wine and setting it in front of me on the island.
It made my heart hurt that those assholes had picked on Corbin. The story they’d told the cops was that Corbin had tried to mug them and it had been self-defense. Which was ridiculous.
“Just from walking to work. He sleeps behind the dry cleaners in the alley. A few months ago, I started dropping off food for him on my way to work. We talked a couple times.” I took a sip of the wine and had to admit it was pretty good. “He did two tours in Afghanistan. I don’t know what happened to him but whatever it was it messed up his head. He used to have a wife and a little girl, he told me. I don’t know what happened to them though.”
Dylan took a swig of his beer, eying me. “Where did you come from, Mother Teresa? How did you turn out so good?”
I laughed a little. “You know I’m not good.”
“You are. In the ways that count.”
“You just jumped right in, no questions asked.”
“Not because I’m good. I love a fight. Can’t get enough of them.”
I smiled. “Well, good thing there’s always something to fight about then. For your sake.”
“I’ll always fight for you.Always.”
Those words just about killed me. I was so crazy about this guy and here he was, pledging to always fight for me. I chose to hear his words differently, that not only would he fight for me physically, but he’d fight to keep me. At last, that was what I hoped.
Conscious of his busted lip, I kissed him softly. It had only been a month since that day he showed up in Remy’s office, but it felt like our relationship had been taken to the next level. It felt real and good and I knew that I loved him. And that I was in love with him.
The doorbell rang, and our food arrived before I could open my mouth and spill any true love confessions. Being Dylan, he’d ordered almost everything on the menu. The black granite island was covered in a sea of takeout containers, the spicy, garlicky aroma making my mouth water. I didn’t know why I’d bothered with plates.
We used our chopsticks and ate right out of the containers, passing them back and forth until I was so stuffed I couldn’t eat another bite. And then we stumbled upstairs, buzzed on wine and beer, lost our clothes and tumbled into bed.
“Every asshole in your life has let you down,” Dylan said, pinning my wrists to the mattress, his dark hair falling over his forehead, his face hovering only inches above mine. My legs cinched his waist, trying to pull him closer, wanting to feel him deeper inside me. I rocked my hips, needing more. He tortured me by gliding out until only the tip was inside me.
He dipped his head and flicked his tongue over my pebbled nipple then tugged it between his teeth before he did the same to the other one. Torture. Pure torture. My back arched off the mattress. “Dylan. I need more,” I gritted out.
He ignored my plea.
“I don’t want to be just another asshole,” he said, pushing my wrists into the mattress when I tried to break free of his hold and take control of this frustrating situation.
“You’re not. You’re in your own league. You’remyasshole.”
That made him laugh. Hard. So hard it split his lip again.
“Your face is a mess.”
“Your face is beautiful,” he said, voice husky, eyes stormy as he thrust inside me, finally giving me what I wanted. I stopped short of singing Hallelujah when he lifted me off the mattress, my breasts pressed against his bare, sweaty chest, my thighs squeezing his and he was buried to the hilt.
