Sweet Liar (Dirty Sweet, #1)(24)

There were more murmurs from Dylan, more sighs from me, and then he was pulling my leggings down to my thighs, exposing the recently trimmed (thank heavens) patch of hair above my naughty bits, to borrow the British term. I spread my legs farther, unabashedly. Showing him. Begging him.

And somehow he knew.

Because his fingers found his way between my pussy lips, and with expertise, he strummed my skin, he stoked the fire, until fireworks were going off in front of my eyes and my head was spinning in circles, and I was clutching onto him while the most beautiful, most tremulous climax wracked through my body.

Oh, my. Oh, wow. That was…it was everything. It was ecstasy and paradise and yes, oh, yes, sex was definitely better with another person. Dizzying and delicious and divine.

Slowly, I came to my senses again, and I realized Dylan was kissing my jaw and stroking the delicate skin above my clit, easing me back to reality.

I moved my hands up his arms and braced them on his shoulders, steadying me as I looked into his eyes. I had to tell him how good it had been, how perfect. How monumental.

But all that came out was, “I liked that.”

He laughed lightly. “Which part?”

“All of it. Every single bit.” I couldn’t narrow it down if I’d tried. I’d been too captivated by feeling to even know what had happened.

Which was entirely beyond the point of this exercise. I needed to be able to recall every detail. “What did you do?”

He leaned back to study my face. “Can you stand through another one?”

“I think so.” My legs were wobbly, but I had the wall at my back, and Dylan to help keep me up.

“Then this time I’ll tell you. Try to pay attention.” He moved his hands back to my breasts, plumping them. “I watched how your body leaned into me. I watched where. Those were the parts of you begging for attention.”

He pinched my nipples now, light at first, then, when I moaned, harder.

He waited for me to quiet before going on, his voice so low it was almost a whisper. “I listened to your whimpers. If you’d backed away, I would have known it was too much. But you arched your back toward me. So I gave you more.”

He continued this way, easing through each of the same movements as before, showing me how he decided he’d touch me based on my reactions. Teaching me that I was the one who ran the show. All he had to do, he said, was observe. Observe how my breaths grew shallow the closer I got to orgasm. Observe how my grip got tighter on his shirt. Observe how my eyelids fluttered and my head fell back.

I heard him talking. I heard what he was saying, but also I didn’t. I was whirling again in a second, more powerful climax. I exploded like a bomb, shaking and crying out with volatile pleasure. It was agony. It was rapture. It was fire and ice and everything in between.

And I knew—absolutely without a doubt knew—that I was in trouble.

Not only because I was bound to become very fond of this man—more likely, it had already happened, and I just hadn’t admitted it—but also because I was one thousand percent certain that whatever it was that he’d done to me—twice now!—couldn’t be taught to someone else. It was a skill. It was a talent. Something a person was born with or wasn’t. Maybe it could be honed, but only if there was already a natural inclination and a desire to please, and I’d never dated a man like that before. Never dated a man with those gifts.

I couldn’t teach this to a lover.

Dylan Locke was meant to make things better. Instead, he’d ruined me forever.





Nine





Dylan





I was caught. Ensnared in her net. I’d taken the bait, and after one sweet taste, I was captured. There was nothing left for me to do but surrender, let her cut me open and skin me. Let her feast.

I’d never guessed that my end would be so inviting, yet here it was, so delicious and tempting.

After watching her beautifully fall apart—not once, but twice—I knew there would be no sleeping that night. I had to have her in every way. I’d devour her, let myself be devoured, until dawn, if she let me. We still hadn’t made it past the foyer. There were so many places left in my flat to defile her, and I planned to take advantage of them all.

I pressed tightly against her, grinding the steel rod in my trousers into the softness of her belly while I kissed her with abandon. With one hand braced on her hip, another cupped under her chin, I anchored myself in the moment, ignoring the nagging worry about tomorrow and the late hour and the incessant vibration of my phone in my pocket, and kissed her so deeply I lost myself.

“What is that?” she asked, breaking away suddenly. “What is that buzzing against me? Do you have a vibrator in there?” She moved her hands down to my trousers and reached, not for the aching rod of my cock, but into my pocket.

Then she withdrew my phone, still buzzing, the screen lit up brightly in the darkness with a single name—Ellen.

It should have been Hell-en. That would have been more fitting considering the moment she seemed desperate to destroy. She was, in every way, a devil.

The ringing ended and the screen showed I’d had six missed calls. A second past and it began buzzing again.

That’s when I came to my wits.

Ellen calling, late at night, over and over—it had to be Aaron.