Long Ball(58)

Or maybe I’m afraid that I won’t end up sharing anything. That I’ll let this moment pass me by without connecting.

I try again. Try giving something that is real. “I must seem like a spoiled brat. I mean, maybe I am. I never thought of myself as a greedy child, never demanded new cars or designer anything, but I always had the best anyway.”

“I’ve only known you for a short time, Rachel, but I promise that you’ve done nothing to indicate you’re either spoiled or a brat. So you have nice things. I’m guessing your parents have money? That doesn’t reflect on you.” He shifts to look at me better. “What I see of you is someone who works for what she wants, even if she doesn’t have to. If you have as much as you’re hinting at, I’m guessing you didn’t need a career. It’s admirable that you pursued one anyway.”

His voice lowers, as he grows more serious. “I also bet you’re really good at that cello of yours. With all the things that money has bought you, maybe music is the only thing you’ve found you can truly own.”

My throat is suddenly dry. How does he know me so well? This stranger who’s known me all of a couple of hours? I want to tell him how perceptive he is, how well he’s hit the nail on the head.

But the words stay silent on the tip of my tongue.

Dylan finishes off a cracker, dropping peanut butter on his thumb.

I use the opportunity to change the subject. “You have some…on your hand…”

He extends his hand toward my mouth, sticking his thumb between my lips. His lids grow heavy as I lick off the peanut butter, swirling my tongue around his knuckle like I did around his cock not too long ago.

“That mouth.” The gravel in his tone says he’s remembering the same thing. He breaks into a song, something I don’t know about doubting I kissed my mother with “that mouth”.

I have a feeling the song’s supposed to be suggestive of something. Not only do I miss the reference, but I’m too distracted by the clarity of his rich tone. It sends a jolt down my spine, curling my toes as effectively as the orgasms he gave me.



“You have a really good voice.”

“So does everyone nowadays.” He shrugs off my compliment as if I’ve finally found something that makes him uncomfortable.

“No, I mean, like, really good.” I’m fascinated by his sudden shyness. Also, I want to hear more. “Sing me something else.”

He digs another olive out of the jar and pops it in his mouth. “Can’t.”

“Why not? Shy?”

He crawls around the perimeter of the blanket. “My mouth is busy with other things right now.”

I swallow my bite just as his lips hit mine. Our kiss tastes like a warm, dirty martini, and even though Dylan left me completely satisfied not even half an hour ago, I want him again.

I want him inside me again.

I suck his tongue into my mouth, sighing happily when he understands my physical invitation and presses me to the floor, plunging his tongue deeper, kissing me harder. The carpet provides minimal cushioning so when he lies on top of me it’s like being embraced from both sides. He nudges my legs apart, sensuously grinding his hips in a slow, rolling motion that tips my head back.

He licks and sucks his way down my neck, shaggy hair tickling my skin as he moves lower, stripping off my shirt and covering the skin beneath with kisses and caresses.

“Hold on a sec.” He abruptly stands, leaving me panting on the floor.

“Where are you going?”

He doesn’t answer as he moves the cranberry-grape juice to the coffee table. “Don’t want to lose your deposit,” he says with a wink.

“Thanks.” I’m shocked that I hadn’t even thought about the mess that could have been made. It’s exactly the kind of thing I normally fret about. Who am I with this guy?

This guy shoots me a sexy glance. “Stay there.”

I watch every ass-flexing step he takes to my bedroom, entranced with him. Entranced with who I am with him. I wonder if she’s someone I could be more often. If she’s someone I could grow to like.

Dylan’s back before I have an answer.

“I believe we were going to use this.” He throws his hand out.

Something soft lands on my chest. My scarf. Oh, boy. “I’ve never actually—”

He laughs, but it’s not mean. More…adoring. “I know you haven’t. I bet there’s all kinds of interesting things you haven’t done.”

I prop myself up on my elbows. “We’ve done a few of them tonight.”

“I bet we have.” He stands over me. “Hold out your hands. We’re going to do a couple more.”

I kneel, the fabric delicately sliding across my inner wrists, and before I can think of worrying that letting a stranger tie me up is a Very Bad Idea, my hands are bound in front of me.

He pulls a condom from the band of his boxers, kicks them off and slides the protection down his erection. “Stand. Now, I want you to walk to the window.”

I scramble to my feet. “What?”

He slaps my ass. “Don’t argue.”

I let out a gasp. My ass stings where he hit me, but as it dissipates it sends a hum to my lower regions. A delicious hum. So delicious, I consider not doing what he says, hoping he’ll do it again.