Long Ball(59)

But I’m too eager for what he has planned. Folding my hands up so my forearms cover my nipples, I walk to the window. “What now?”

The lights go out and a moment later, his chest heats my back. “Now you look down on the street where you’ve lived, where you’ve given all these people songs of their own. And this time, instead of giving, you’re going to take.”

I lean back against him. “What am I going to take?”

My shorts and panties hit the floor.

“Whatever I give you.” He guides my hands up and hooks them behind the back of his neck, baring my breasts for the street to see—if anyone cared to look up. I suppose I’m not really exposed up here, but my breaths leave my lungs in ragged gasps.

Dylan pushes me forward until my nipples press against the cold glass, and reaches between my legs from behind, plunging two fingers deep inside me, buckling my knees.

“You like this, don’t you? I can see your face in the reflection, Rachel.” He adds his other hand, pinching my clit between two fingers.

I whimper.

“Look at yourself,” he whispers, breath hot in my ear.

My gaze obeys him, shifting focus from the street below to my face, pale and perfect in abandon, in pleasure.

“You’re so sexy.”

I am. Right now, I am, and it’s because of this man. “I want…”

“What do you want?”

“I need...”

He sucks my earlobe into his mouth, and presses his hard cock against my ass. “What do you need?”

“I—”

“Rachel.” He nuzzles my neck. “Don’t be ashamed to ask for the things you need.” He abruptly takes his hands away from me, and I groan.

“Please.”

“Tell me what you need.”

Frustration borne of desire tears the words from my mouth in a demanding voice. “I need you to f*ck me in front of this f*cking window.”

He kicks my feet apart and nearly splits me in two with the depth of his first thrust. I cry out and pull on the scarf, wanting desperately to brace my hands on either side of the window, to push back against him to better feel every inch of his cock plunging inside, unable to do more than spread wider and moan, taking what he gives me.

“Anyone could look up and see me f*cking you.”

Exhilaration and fear jolt through me, spiraling in my belly, sharpening my senses, which only makes everywhere he touches that much more sensitive. I’m hyper-aware of his hard body pressed against my soft curves.

Of his mouth, tracing patterns with his lips and breath against my neck and jaw, and the incredibly delicate skin below my ear.

Of his ten fingers digging into my hips, urging me off and on his cock to a rhythm he’s creating.

Of that cock, stretching and filling me, stroking my g-spot, weakening my knees.

Of my spine curling when everything tightens and blows out my senses with a deep orgasm wracking through my core and rippling out in a crescendo of yes.

He unhooks my bound hands from behind his neck and holds me tight, pressing me against the window, burying himself deep as he comes.

I can feel his cock twitch inside me.

Our breath fogs the window in fast bursts, tiny patches of condensation that disappear as quickly as they’re made.

I never want to forget this feeling.

While keeping me in his arms, Dylan’s fingers make quick work of the knot in the scarf, and I’m freed.

But I don’t want to be. “Thanks.”

I’m almost indecently wet when he pulls out. He smiles and rubs my wrists, encouraging more blood flow into the indentations—I pulled the knots harder with my movements while we were having sex.

“What’s that smile for?” he asks.

I shake my head, not knowing how to explain that tonight was like a vacation, like being dropped into someone else’s life and instead of being strange, it was empowering. “I feel really good.”

“Good.”

“And I was thinking about what you asked me earlier—about your soundtrack. I know what it is now.” I heard it the whole time he moved in and out of me, the melody of it spinning in my head as he pounded out the rhythm with his thrusts.

He raises an expectant brow.

“It’s that song you played me at the bar. It’s you. Completely.” Maybe the association simply comes from the fact that he’d been the one playing it for me, but it feels like more. It feels like it was his song. “I don’t think you ever told me the name of the band that sang it.”

Dylan looks away. “Uh, it’s Fallen Angels. I’ll be right back.” He scoops his boxers up off the floor on his way to the bathroom.

Slowly trailing my hands over my arms, luxuriating in the sensation, I gather my clothes and put them on, unhurriedly in the dark. I’m more comfortable in the afterglow than I was last time, and my thoughts get away from me. Maybe Dylan will stay all night. Maybe he’ll curl up with me in my bed, holding me, making love. We’ll have to go out for breakfast, though. I really have nothing in the house. I wonder if the diner down the street delivers…

Again, I take the bathroom when Dylan exits, cleaning myself up a little, and brushing my teeth before heading back out to the living room. I’ve decided to be brave and invite him to spend the night.

But when I find him, he’s fully dressed and talking on his phone. “Thanks.” He hangs up and turns to me. “Cab will be here in a few minutes.”