How the Light Gets In (Cracks Duet #2)(27)

“Stop. Now I’m just picturing Conor’s face on a butterfly,” Dylan chuckled, and for some reason I thought it was the funniest thing ever. Obviously, my drunk self had a very basic sense of humour.

“What are you two laughing at?” Conor asked as he and Yvonne came to join us.

“You’re such a pretty butterfly, Conor,” I said and his brows furrowed.

“If you say so.”

“He’s more like a panther, a sexy panther,” Yvonne blurted, and I knew she’d be embarrassed when she remembered saying that in the morning.

He shot her a flirty look. “If I’m a panther, you’re a fox.”

“Rawrrr,” she growled. “Hold on, what sound does a fox make?” She was officially suffering from ‘too much alcohol and dancing with a younger man all night’ syndrome.

“Okay, I think it’s bedtime,” Dylan announced, standing from the couch. “Ev, you can stay in my room. Conor, Yvonne’s staying with you, right?”

Conor opened his mouth to answer in what I suspected was a resounding yes, when my aunt butted in. “What? No. No way. This house is huge, there must be spare bedrooms.” Maybe she wasn’t as drunk as I thought.

“There are,” Dylan said, “but they aren’t made up.”

“You can have my bed, and I’ll sleep on the couch,” Conor offered kindly.

She waved him away. “No, I couldn’t possibly—”

“It’s no trouble, I mean it.”

Okay, someone needed to take control of this situation. “I tell you what. Why don’t Yvonne and I sleep in Dylan’s room, and Dylan, you can bunk up with Conor for the night. That way everybody gets a bed.”

Dylan grabbed my hand, pulling me close. There was warning in his tone. “Evelyn.”

“I think that’s a great idea,” Yvonne said, happy now.

Dylan let out the surrendering sigh of a man who knew he wasn’t getting laid. “I’ll go grab you both some T-shirts to sleep in.”

“I’ll get one for Yvonne, Dylan,” Conor was quick to offer. God. No doubt he wanted that visual to last. Yvonne in one of his shirts.

Dylan cast him an arched look but didn’t argue. He tugged on my hand and led me upstairs to his room, where he pulled two T-shirts out of the dresser. I plucked one from his hold, recognising it instantly. “Oh my God, I remember this.” It was the exact same dark green Oasis T-shirt he’d worn when we were teenagers. “I can’t believe you still have it.”

Without thinking, I pulled my blouse up over my head and replaced it with the T-shirt. The room went so quiet you could hear a pin drop. I glanced at Dylan and his gaze darkened. He’d obviously caught a glimpse of my bra.

“Your boobs have gotten bigger,” he commented.

I arched a brow as I tried not to blush. “They have not.”

“Yes, they have. Want me to prove it?”

“Not if proving it involves you copping yourself a feel,” I said, narrowing my gaze in playful suspicion. I really, really wanted him to cop a feel.

“Damn, foiled at the first hurdle.”

I laughed, shucked off my jeans and climbed onto the bed. His navy duvet set felt cool and soft, probably Egyptian cotton. I laid my head against the pillow and closed my eyes. I was so tired, and the alcohol pulled me under.

I snapped alert and opened my eyes when I heard the slow scrape of Dylan’s hand run across his stubble. He stared at me like I was a very tempting slice of chocolate cake.

Unconsciously, I wet my lower lip with my tongue.

“Fuck it,” he swore and a second later he was on me. Before I had time to react, his mouth met mine, and my brains cells shut off. He cupped my jaw, and kissed me deeply with tongue. I wrapped my legs around his waist and his erection pressed between my thighs. I huffed a needy whimper and pulled him closer. He kissed me like he was already inside me. I clawed and pulled at his shirt buttons, needing them open. It was the sweetest relief when I finally got his chest bare and ran my hands down his smooth, hard abs. He might not have been a fan of the gym like Conor, but his body was absolutely one of my favourite things.

I’d never tire exploring the pathways of his skin.

“Oh, God. Sorry,” came Yvonne’s voice.

I pulled my mouth from Dylan’s. My aunt stood in the doorway, hand covering her eyes. I’d find it adorable if I wasn’t feeling so cock-blocked. Or well, vagina-blocked I guess. I dropped my head onto the pillow and burst out laughing.

“Go to sleep, you’re drunk,” Dylan whispered in my ear before he climbed off the bed. I noticed Yvonne wore a grey T-shirt Conor must’ve given her, but I didn’t comment on it.

Dylan shot me one last hot look, a look that said next time, then closed the door behind him. I sighed and got up to use the bathroom. I splashed water over my face, having sweated off most of my make-up from earlier, and gargled with some of Dylan’s mouthwash. I needed to get his taste out of my mouth, erase it from lips. I felt so aroused, so hot and bothered. I definitely wouldn’t sleep with his kiss flavouring my lips. There wasn’t much I could do about his smell though. This was his room, and it was everywhere. It was just as much a comfort as it was torture.

And I wondered, if my aunt hadn’t interrupted us, would we have gone all the way?