Page 61 of Dirty Dylan: Dirty Dusters

That’s all I ever was to Dylan. Friends with benefits. Still, I knew that; accepted it. It’s no wonder he was practicing so much. He wants to impress his new fiancée. His new wife. Show off his sexual prowess. A craft that’s now been honed to perfection.

As far as he knows, I’m still an ignorant fool. The idiot who’s blissfully unaware he’s about to enter the courting process with someone else. That big announcement is expected to take place this afternoon, I’m told.

Guess it’s time for one last hurrah.

Dylan’s Apartment, Hudson Yards, New York

“Jessie.”

My name’s a whisper on his lips. It’s the best thing I’ve ever heard in my life. I don’t want him to whisper any other woman’s name like that. Like a caress. Not ever.

But he will. Hers.

His girlfriend. His fiancée. His wife.

He’s obviously just showered as beads of water still kiss that pale Irish skin of his. I have to fight the almost overwhelming urge to walk over and lick them off.

One. By. One.

A pair of grey jogging pants hang low on his slim hips. He’s wearing nothing else. I let my eyes trail slowly up his lean muscled torso until our gazes connect.

Deep wells of sapphire blue. I want to drown myself in the very depths of the soul they currently expose.

He licks his lips, and my gaze drops to his mouth. I want to bite down on that full bottom lip of his. I want to feel it on my fucking skin. Along with his hands. His teeth. His tongue. My eyes rise to his face once more. He's fucking breath-taking.

Delectable. Delicious. Divine.

Walking forward, I place one hand against his chest. I push him backwards before closing the door behind me. I’m only wearing a slip. Nothing underneath. That much will be evident, as my nipples are now waving at him. Demanding attention from his mouth. His hands. His anything.

“Fuck me.”

Two words. All that’s needed to unleash that Duster monster in him. Yanking my slip over my head, I stand naked. His eyes roam over me, lust blazing in their depths with such an intensity it feels like they’re scorching my skin. He slowly drinks me in. Taking his time. He’s imprinting me to memory. I know he is.

And now I know fucking why.

Spinning me, he pushes my back against the wall. I shiver at the coldness of the surface, or is it at what’s about to happen this one last time?

His hand fists my hair as his lips cover mine, his tongue thrusting deep, possessing my mouth, claiming it as his. Itishis. It will always be his.

Tasting. Tangling. Torture.

I can taste his desperation. His craving. His desire. All sprinkled with the carnal sin that is lust. He wants this as much as I do. Maybe even more.

Pushing his sweatpants down, he lifts and thrusts into me in one movement. I whine as I anchor my legs around his hips. I lean my head back against the wall, waiting while my body adjusts to accommodate the physical intrusion that’s taken my fucking breath away. His dick feels different.

Harder. Longer. Thicker.

I can feel it pulse inside me as we stand there, not moving. He pulls out and thrusts straight back in. And then? Then he’s fucking me for real.

Hard. Fast. Deep.

There’s no kissing. No encouraging words. This is just sex in its simplest form.

Raw. Pure. Forni-fucking-cation.

Both of us are taking what we need from this. I’m hoping it’s enough to last a lifetime. It has to be. For my sake.

He angles my hips and pistons into me, and I cry out as I shatter all over his cock. Still, he continues.

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