Page 81 of Dirty Dylan: Dirty Dusters

“So, did Sarah ask when you’d be back? It’s all she ever talks about these days.”

“I need to be back inside the next six months.”

“Wow. So specific. Need? Or want.”

“Need.”

* * *

You knowFate himself has got it in for you when you leave the safety of the restroom and collide with the person you’ve managed to successfully avoid for days.

Dylan immediately steps back like a scalded cat, and I do the same, but it’s way too late. The citrus notes of his body wash have already wrapped themselves around me like an aphrodisiac, and my panties are wet as a result.

Great. Just fucking great.

Don’t speak to me. Do. Not. Open. Your. Deceitful. Mouth.

“Jessie.”

That New York accent right there, with just the perfect lilt of Irish.

Well, fuck me. Why yes, please do. Right here. Right now. In fact, wherever you like. However you like. I’ll even make do with a wall bang in front of Candice. You know the woman who’s standing in front of the copy machine with her arms folded, wearing a massive grin on her face as she takes in this laughable visual going on right in front of her.

Kindred spirit? My ass. Bitch.

I fully realize my gaze will be lust-filled, and my nipples will be standing to attention as I admire the complete snack that is Dylan O’Connell. I’ll bet I’m even drooling.

“Can we talk?”

To do that, you need to be able to breathe. I can’t. I count to ten slowly in my head as I try to recall how to inhale and exhale.

“There’s nothing to talk about. Unless you want to discuss the fact that you’re a piece of shit.” I look behind him exaggeratedly. “Where’s your cliché blonde lady friend? Is she off wedding dress shopping with the other two arranged fiancées?”

He closes his eyes. If he was trying to use the Lord God’s name in vain silently, he failed miserably. I heard the blasphemous usage of ‘Jesus Christ’ quite clearly.

He runs his frustrated fingers through his hair. Inky black strands that I’ve fisted a million times in my hands as he’s fucked me to within an inch of my life.

I want that. Right here. Right now. This fucking instant. I’ll worry about the implications of it all later.

“We haven’t started the courting process. We’re not engaged. I haven’t kissed her. I haven’t fucked her. Happy now?”

“Yet.”

I get that in there. Because it’s true. He will court her. He will kiss her. He will get engaged to her. He will marry her. He will fuck her.

He’s staring at me. I know I’ve flicked that switch of his, and he’s now entering Duster mode.

“You’ve been avoiding me for days, Jessie. We need to talk.” His voice is firm as he grabs me by the wrist and starts dragging me towards his office.

My useless four-inch stilettos are no match for the marble floor. I might as well be fucking ice skating the way he’s dragging me along. The sound of my cursing is met with snickering from the delightful Candice.

Did I already say bitch? Well, let me reiterate that.

Bitch.

CHAPTERTHIRTY-FOUR

JESSIE

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