Page 141 of Dirty Dylan: Dirty Dusters

Will the others wonder where we’ve gone? Maybe. Will they wonder what we’re doing? Probably not.

“Where are we going?” I mumble against his lips.

“Shower.”

It’s a walk-in. And that’s what we do. Fully clothed. He turns the water on full. It cascades down us both as we hurriedly strip, parting our hungry mouths as little as possible. I struggle with my leathers. In the end, he has to kneel under the steady stream of water and pull the clingy material down my legs, along with my panties.

He growls as he runs his fingers through my folds. I’m soaked. And it’s not from the shower. Standing, he picks me up. I anchor my legs around him, and he thrusts deep. We stay there. Connected. As one. I can feel his dick pulsing inside me where it belongs.

The perfect fit.

He sucks on my neck bruising my skin before pulling out and pushing back in. Water pours down. Over us. Between us. Washing away the layer of blood as he fucks me hard against the shower wall. My back hurts, and my legs ache trying to stay anchored around him, but none of that matters either. All that matters is the feel of his huge cock inside me, the painful grip of his fingers as he holds me in place, and his tongue in my mouth. Filling it possessively. Tasting every inch. Claiming it as his.

And itishis. It will always be fucking his. Every part of me belongs to him.

He angles me so his groin bangs against my clit with every thrust. I feel dizzy. Delirious. Full. Fucked. And I am. Well and truly fucked.

In more ways than one.

“I’m going to come, Jessie.”

He can’t hold on. His thrusts are erratic as he loses all sense of control.

Pounding. Harder. Faster. Deeper.

He growls and curses as he embraces the first licks of his pleasure, and the animalistic sounds he makes as he does push me over the edge. I shatter around him, my walls clenching his dick so tight its veins and ridges will be forever imprinted.

Never forgotten.

His fingers dig in further. Bruising my skin as he fills me completely, and in return, I milk him dry.

We stand there under the steady flow of water until it turns cold. Then he lowers me to the floor, and we wash each other off using his citrus body wash.

* * *

We liethere in the lumpy bed, having only slept a few hours.

Dawn is breaking. The blinds are down, but the soft orange glow still manages to steal from the darkness that surrounds us, a reminder that it’s the start of a new day. A reminder that it’s time to move on. My head is on his chest, listening to his heartbeat. It’s a sound I never thought I’d get to hear again.

“Jessie, I….”

I raise my head and press a finger to his lips. “I’ll listen, but on one condition. We don’t talk about the past. We don’t talk about the future. Because whether we want one or not, we can’t have one. We also don’t talk about feelings. Because if we don’t have a future then they’re irrelevant. They won’t change anything. Instead, we can talk about the here and the now. That’s it.”

He nods. It’s followed by a deafening silence.

It’s confirmation he was going to talk about one of the now-banned topics so I’m glad I got in there first because there really is no point.

It also speaks volumes. Because the silence is confirming what I already know. What we both already know. That we have no future

Our paths are mapped, or at least his is, which means mine is too.

As much as I want it more than anything in the world, Dylan O’Connell is not mine. Dylan O’Connell can never be mine. And this really is our last hurrah. A reaction to everything that happened. A physical release. Nothing more. Because it can’t ever be anything more.

Because his silence is also proof paramount there’s nothing more he’s able to give.

CHAPTERFIFTY-NINE

DYLAN

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