Page 37 of Dirty Dylan: Dirty Dusters

“Your first time should be… I don’t know. A momentous occasion. A fireworks display. A big deal.” I’m clutching at straws.

“Was yours?”

My thoughts drift to the old pick-up truck I lost my V-card on the back seat of while parked behind the diner on Colton main street. I had just turned sixteen, and he was eighteen. He was a brand-new prospect with the Undertakers. A man of the world, or so I thought. All the girls were chasing him, but I caught his eye. After several weeks of dating and him promising me the world, I caved in and let him fuck me. He did so exceptionally well and set an extremely high benchmark. But then he dumped me the very next day.

At least he did the decent thing by letting me go before he moved straight on to the next in a long line of eager-to-be-filled holes.

It hurt.

Both physically as well as emotionally.

Thankfully I didn’t see much of him after that, what with me going to school in Vegas and then heading straight to college.

Then again, I was a Son and he was an Undertaker. That right there was a sure-fire sign we were ill-fated right from the start.

“You’re different from me.”

He laughs dryly. “Stop lying to yourself, Jessie. You and I both know that’s not the case. We’re the same. We just express ourselves differently, that’s all.”

He folds his arms across his chest, causing his pecs and biceps to bulge indecently. I don’t need any more temptation, thank you, God. I drag my eyes back up to his now smirking face.

“You’re way more sensitive than I am.” I toss in another flimsy excuse, and one we both know is definitely not true.

“You cried over a movie.”

“I dare anyone not to cry overThe Notebook.” I laugh, too exaggeratedly

“I didn’t.”

“No. You’re right. You didn’t,” I answer quietly, my laugh evaporating. Seems he’s not in a jokey kind of a mood.

We stare at each other. The atmosphere is changing. I need to get out of here. There’s only so much willpower a girl can be expected to have in any given period of time, and the little I do have is rapidly dwindling.

“I should go.” I quickly make my way towards the door, slowing when I realize I need to walk past him in order to leave. Shit. Did he position himself there on purpose? “If we can go back to being friends and being civil to one another, that would be great.”

He grabs my arm when I reach him, much like I anticipated he would.

Much like you hoped he would you mean.

“And what if I don’t want to be friends?” He pulls me flush against his hard body, his arm snaking around my waist giving me no choice but to place my hands against his chest.

Jesus Christ, he feels so fucking good beneath my fingertips and doesn’t he just know it.

Smug sapphire blue eyes bore into mine.

Lust. Desire. Determination. It’s all going on in there. They’re also letting me know there’s no escape for me this time.

His gaze drops to my mouth. He’s going to kiss me. And I won’t stop him.

“With benefits.”

I stare at him, momentarily confused by his words. Then I understand precisely what he’s suggesting.

“Are you okay with that, Jessie? That you and I are friends with benefits.” He raises one eyebrow. It’s not a question. It’s more a case of him being polite and letting me know how it’s going to be from here on in.

“I….” I don’t even get the chance to respond before his lips capture mine, his tongue pushing past to fill my mouth. The familiar taste of undiluted adrenaline and everything Dylan O’Connell floods my senses, drowning every inch of common sense in its path.

His hand fists my hair as he devours my mouth and I snake both arms around his neck in silent acceptance.

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