Page 33 of Dirty Dylan: Dirty Dusters

I close my eyes, leaving the decision in his hands.

Is he going to? I breathe in through my mouth, suddenly filled with the overwhelming need to capture him in my lungs. To oxygenate my heart with his expelled air.

His breath is hot against my lips. Is he stealing my oxygen, as I suddenly can’t breathe. Every part of me is just anticipating.

Wishes. Waits. Wants. Seconds. Minutes. Hours.

His lips brush mine. At first, I think it’s just my imagination as the touch is nothing more than an almost non-existent caress. They brush mine a second time, and it’s followed by a soft moan that I know came from me.

He. Kissed. Me.

He made the first move. It proves he wants this as much as I do.

Snaking my arms around his neck, I close my eyes and press my nose against his throat, inhaling his masculine scent. He swallows thickly. Is he as nervous over this moment as I am? The one that’s been building between us for weeks. For months.

Since forever.

Slowly lowering my hands, I press both against his chest. I can feel his heart beating. Its rhythm matches my own.

Fast. Furious. Erratic. Synchronized.

I push him gently, and he lands back on the sofa. As I straddle him, his hands instinctively move to cup my ass. It feels right. He feels right. Everything about this feels right.

It’s like his slim hips were made to fit perfectly between my thighs.

He lifts his face to look at me. His cocky smile still lingers on his lips, but his eyes are dark now. He’s watching and waiting for me to make the final decision.

Lifting my hands, I run them through his still damp hair before tugging on it. Hard. He growls, and I silence him by pressing my mouth against his, running my tongue along his full bottom lip before pulling it down with my teeth and dipping in to taste him.

His unique flavor explodes on the tip of my tongue. Salt from the chips mixed with adrenaline and everything else that makes up Dylan O’Connell. An instantly addictive taste. One I know I’ll never get enough of, and one I know I don’t ever want to share.

My tongue asks his to dance with mine. I groan in response when he immediately accepts by filling my mouth.

Claiming the space. Claiming me.

His mouth is firm, his breath is hot, and when his teeth bite down hard on my bottom lip, it causes a gush of wetness between my legs. Sensing my arousal, the wild animal in him is instantly unleashed. Fisting my hair, he bites and sucks on my neck before his mouth devours mine once more. I can’t breathe. I’m not sure I want to. What a perfect way to fucking die.

Lips. Tongue. Teeth. I want them all.

His hips thrust upwards instinctively. Hard. Huge. Throbbing. I’d heard a rumor about the O’Connell boys, and given what I can feel beneath me right now, I’d say those rumors are both accurate and well-deserved.

I grind against him in silent invitation, and his hands grip my hips, holding me in place so he can thrust back his acceptance over and over, his dick pressing deliciously against my clit each and every time.

“I need you to fuck me, Dyl.” My breath is hot against his ear.

“I realize that’s what you’re chasing, Jessie, but I haven’t got a condom.” The words are spaced out, his mouth sucking hard on my neck in between each one.

“I’m on the pill. Are you clean?”

“What do you mean?” His mouth stops. I’m not sure what part of that is difficult to understand. My hands fist his hair, yanking his head back.

I frown down at him. His lips are swollen, and his eyes are drunk with desire. “I mean, have you been checked out recently? Since you were last with someone else?”

He tenses. “There’s never been anyone else.”

I’m not sure how long it takes for that reply to filter through my lust-addled brain and finally sink in. Is he saying what I think he is?

“Dylan, are you telling me you’re a virgin?”

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