Page 68 of Sunshine
I shake my head, not trusting myself to speak, not really understanding the question or what answer Dylan wants to hear. I know he’s not angry with me, so why does it feel like my fault that no man has ever been this good to me?
I drop my eyes, and my focus goes straight to the hard-on still hiding beneath his apron. Curiosity stirs in my chest as desire starts to regroup in all the usual places. Nipples hardening. Stomach tightening. Heat building and core pulsing all over again. Here he is, barely clothed and beautiful, and I’ve barely laid a finger on him when all I’ve ever wanted to do istouchhim.
I reach for him, but he swings his hips out of reach. When I raise my brows, his clenched jaw softens, and he shakes his head as he continues stroking my skin with the warm towel.
“You put your hand on my dick, and I’ll lose it.” He sweeps his cloth-covered hand around the swell of each breast. “And I can’t take care of you if I’m too busy ruining you.”
I nibble my lip to hide a smile, pretty sure I can persuade him to do things my way. “But what ifIwant to—”
“Don’t get me wrong, Sunshine. I want your hand on my dick. Trust me. Just not now.”
Dylan raises one thick eyebrow, and his mouth lifts with a knowing smile as he moves the towel between my legs, and I open them like this is foreplay.
“So needy,” he murmurs, coasting the towel over my thighs. “I think I like you like this.”
“Frustrated?” I reply with a hint of snark.
Dylan laughs under his breath as he finishes with the wet towel, takes my hands, and helps me to stand. He kneels in silence and guides me as I step into my underwear, then my jeans. When he stands, he’s holding my bra and t-shirt and sweater—and insists on dressing me.
He hands me a cold bottle of water from the bucket with the champagne, then wraps his arms around my waist. I slide my palms up over his chest and around his neck, my fingers sifting into his hair.
Dylan groans a little as he pulls me close so that his lips hover just above mine—and his hard cock pokes temptingly into my stomach. And then he kisses me, long and deep, his tongue delving me with languorous strokes. I melt against him, and he starts to sway, moving in time with the music still playing. The kiss goes on. Soft, tender, and patient. I can almost believe Dylan went to all this effort to just kiss me, likethiswas the point of the entire night. Dylan’s kiss is the kind that dismantles me from the inside out.
I protest with a whimper when his mouth leaves mine. I’ve lost my ability to stand, and I’m practically hanging off him now.
He tucks my head underneath his chin. “I like you like this,” he murmurs against my hair. “Soft. Needy. A little on edge. Ilike knowing that when you walk out of here tonight, you’ll be thinking about me at least as much as I’ll be thinking about you.”
That wakes me up, and I freeze mid-sway, drawing back to look up at him.
“You think about me?” The words are out before I can stop them.
A crease pops up between his brows, his blue eyes grow intense, and his arms tighten around me.
“All the fucking time.”
nineteen
Dylan
It’s mid-afternoon on Tuesday,and the restaurant is quiet, so I make a last-minute decision to dip out for an hour and surprise Poppy at the house. We haven’t had a minute alone since Valentine’s Day, and midnight sexts aren’t cutting it anymore. Not when I know what she tastes like and I’m craving the full course.
I make it back just in time to catch her pulling out of the gravel driveway to pick up Izzy from school, and I wave her down before she can leave. She pulls over and rolls down the passenger-side window with a pleased grin. “What are you doing here?”
I give her a wink that makes her nose crinkle with affection. “Playing hooky from work.”
I open the door and slip into the seat, then glance in the side mirror and out the back windshield. I can’t tell if there’s anyone nearby to see me kiss her, so I take her hand instead. “Step on it so we’ve got time to make out in the back seat before Izzy is let out from school.”
Poppy laughs as she checks the road and pulls out onto the street. “How old are you?”
“Don’t know. Don’t care.”
I extract my fingers from hers so I can slide a hand along the inside of her denim-clad thigh, starting at the knee and moving higher. When my fingers brush the center seam of her jeans, Poppy bites her lips and stares harder at the road, and my dick is instantly hard.
“I’m trying to concentrate,” she mumbles. “And you’re not helping.”
“Sorry.” I remove my hand and shift in my seat, tugging at my pants to give myself more room in the crotch. “Can’t help it.”
Her eyes dart to the bulge between my legs, and she moans softly with regret. “Let’s talk,” she suggests. “To take our minds offthat.”
