Freedom (27 page)

My breath hitches when I feel her fingers dance lightly across my back. I open my eyes and look at her, searching for a sign that we’re good and sex is imminent.

“Did you miss me?” I ask, ready to make a move on her.

“Turn over,” she says. “Don’t talk.”

I am already salivating at the thought of ripping her clothes off and putting my mouth on her perfect breasts that seem to be fighting their way out of her shirt. She has me turned on all right, and I am ready for whatever she has planned. I want to forget about all the bad shit, especially friends who commit suicide. I want to block it all out.

I turn over, and as I reach out a hand to cup her face and bring her in for a kiss, she quickly pushes my hand aside.

“No touching,” she demands. “Lie back.”

I scoff, about to laugh.

“Do you want to sleep on the couch?” Her beauty is inviting, but her tone is severe. “If not, do as I say, Dylan.”

At that, I lie back and watch her with fascination.

“Grip the bottom of the headboard,” she says. “You can’t touch me. At all.”

My mouth quirks, ready to protest, however my cock also twitches in betrayal, eager to do as she says. I reach above my head and slip my hands under the base of the wooden headboard.

Emma tugs my briefs down while I lift my hips so she can pull them off. Then she straddles my legs and I become more aroused as her firm tits fall forward when she leans over my cock. She takes it in her hand, stroking it slowly from under my sack to the tip then runs her thumb across the tip until it is slick with wetness. I groan and dig my fingers into the headboard. Watching her do this to me is too hot. I want to throw her on the bed, strip her and fuck her.

She leans over and licks the tip of my cock, and I desperately want to warn her that I could easily blow my load. I think better of saying anything, though. Something about this ninja Tinkerbell ordering me around tells me I better obey her or she will leave me high and dry with a painful boner as my punishment.

Her tongue swirls around the head before she licks my cock with long strokes, going all the way down to my balls. She begins sucking the sensitive skin under my sack, and then sucks her way up to the top again. My dick is standing straight up, ready to shoot. I look at the ceiling, trying to keep my grunting to a minimum. Just when I think I am able to hold out longer, she takes me in her mouth—and this isn’t a little bit of sucking—pushing me all the way to the back of her throat.

“Ah, Jesus,” I groan as I thrust myself further into her mouth. No sooner do I say that than I feel uncomfortable cool air on my wet cock. Emma is holding my dick in one hand and her mouth is nowhere near it.

“What part about
not talking
do you not understand? If you talk, I stop. And I’m Emma, not Jesus.” She looks at me and I want to laugh, but I squash that idea, too.

My desperate cock doesn’t have to wait long before it’s submerged in her warm wet mouth again. Now she doesn’t mess around with tantalizing strokes and licks; she sucks me off hard. She is relentless as her mouth and tongue take over my engorged, pulsating dick. My breath releases in quick pants as I am about to come. My mind is begging for it to never end, and my body is ready to explode.

I pull my hips back to let her know that I am coming, expecting her to let me ejaculate onto my stomach, but she grips my hip and cock harder. She doesn’t let go, and I can’t stop myself from erupting inside of her mouth. She keeps sucking me off as I thrust and empty myself completely.

I have a few choice words I would like to say right now, however I stick to the code of silence rule. When Emma gets up and goes into the bathroom, I am too spent to move. I close my eyes and my mind plays back what has just happened.

My hands are still gripping the headboard when I feel a gentle tug as Emma pries them off and places my arms at my sides. Her calm expression is strange because this is the girl that loves to talk. She runs a finger down my chest to my stomach and my dick actually twitches again. She chuckles.

“Now you should be able to sleep,” she says. “You’re relaxed, right?”

“Very,” I say hoarsely.

She lifts the comforter from the side of the bed and covers me, tucking me in.

“And you’re naked, so you shouldn’t have any problem sleeping tonight.”

“Emma,” I begin to say.

“We’re not talking. We’re going to sleep. But Dylan, I am very sorry about your friend.” Without another word, she goes back to her side of the large bed, which seems really far away from me.

Twenty-two

Emma

Dylan’s heavy arm is draped over my waist when I wake up. The comforter is off, and his naked body is spooning me. It feels delicious, and my first thought is to turn into his embrace and kiss him. My second thought is to get out of bed before he wakes up and thinks everything between us is normal and as it should be. Going with the latter thought, I slip out from underneath his arm, strip my clothes off, and get into the hot shower.

I can’t believe how brazen I was last night, ordering him around, and this after I threw a hissy fit saying I won’t sleep with him. I get to blame some of this on the booze that Steve Mercer kept shoving into my hand, though.

God, I loved seeing the shocked expression on Dylan’s face when I went down on him. I actually shocked myself. I didn’t plan it, but his insistence on not talking about his grief over his friend’s death was hard to take, even though I know it sounds extremely selfish for me to think that way. My ranking on Dylan’s list is well below Carson and Dylan’s doctor, although I would like to think I am inching my way into his heart and that a time will come when he trusts me.

It was an odd, unplanned strategic move to render him speechless and immobile. He thinks he has control over everything he does, so I gave him a taste of my being in control. It was a powerful feeling to give him pleasure while at the same time boxing him in. He was frustrated at not being able to touch me or talk, but I wasn’t going to let him speak if he couldn’t share something meaningful beyond sexual utterings.

True, he has admitted what the phone call was about, however he thought he could brush aside discussing the death of someone who clearly was important to him. I can’t accept that. Does that mean I can’t accept Dylan the way he is? I refuse to believe that since I have no intention of trying to change Dylan. I like him as he is. I may, in fact, love this man who baffles me, so I am sure as hell going to weasel my way into his life, yet this has to slow way down.

Despite my upbringing, I am a romantic at heart. My physical gesture was not a cure for the grief he withholds, but after he shared a brief part of himself, I wanted to do something that didn’t involve me begging him to talk when he clearly wasn’t going to. Boy, did I find the best way to distract him from his negative thoughts.

I stand under the shower and let the water drown out any residual embarrassment I may have. After all, I pushed the guy away the night before, refusing sex and to share a bed, only to bring him to his knees with my mouth. When I put my face into the stream of water, I feel two hands settle firmly on my breasts, and a large, hard body meets every part of my flesh from my calves to neck. My eyes pop open, and I turn my head to see Dylan smile as he brushes his head against my cheek.

“You left the bed too soon,” he murmurs into my ear while his erection pushes into my lower back.

“No. Last night was a one-time thing. I wanted to make you feel better. To make you feel something good. But we’re not going to jump back into sleeping together and banging each other at work. I’m sorry if I—”

“I know, Emma. I know what you’re doing,” he says, turning me to face the shower wall and away from the water before he places both of my hands on the cold tile.

“What am I doing?” I am trembling from both the absence of the hot water and from his firm but gentle hands that glide down to my waist.

“You’re showing me who I am,” he whispers in my ear. “You’re showing me what it’s like to go through the motions of being with someone, giving in sexually while managing to be empty inside. I’m not a poet, but I understand you. And I’m not empty inside when I’m with you.”

His voice is husky with desire and restraint.

“I sent the wrong message, Dylan.” My words are a complete lie, and I am a terrible actress. I have conflicting thoughts about what I’ve done. Giving him a bit of pleasure because he’s become more to me than anyone else, and at the same time, I thought I could act like a heartless sex fiend—a taste of his past. They are contradictory acts, and I’ve proven that.

“No, you didn’t. Don’t move and don’t talk.”

“Oh, please. You can’t copy me and expect me to—”

“Hush, woman. It’s my turn. This isn’t a one-sided relationship.” His mouth tickles my neck.

“It’s not a relationship, Dylan. Not that kind.”

“What kind? Where two people like each other a lot and spend time together, maybe live together and deal with their problems together? If you don’t think it’s that, then you really don’t know jack. And by the way, I get bonus points for remembering your name. Emma.”

I can hear the smile in his voice.

“Dylan—”

“No talking.” He clamps his hand over my mouth before he grinds his erection against my backside, and I hear the intake of his breath.

His hand slides off my mouth and down my chest where he fondles my breasts as his other hand caresses my butt cheeks before slipping underneath to my sex. His fingers rub me slowly in soft, grazing circles, triggering little sparks of desire that make me shudder.

My forehead presses into the tile wall as he makes me wet, his fingers slipping in and out of me. He kisses the back of my neck and his tongue flicks down across my shoulder. He then pinches each nipple until they are hard, throbbing peaks while his kisses continue down my back to my ass. He actually bites my butt cheek and I whimper. Then he turns me around so my back is flat against the tile. He begins kissing my stomach, and I reach out to touch his head. He immediately clamps both of my hands against my sides and looks up.

“No touching.” He grins.

That’s when I know I am in trouble.

As Dylan continues kissing my stomach, his tongue leaves a scorching trail down my pelvic bone. His knee pushes my legs farther apart as he nips and licks my center until my body is thrumming with a molten craving for more, then he sucks on my clit and makes my knees feel like goo. I can’t fall or move, however, because he is gripping my hands tightly against the side of my thighs to keep me upright.

His tongue slips in and out of me and I moan. I try to squirm as he then adds more pressure, yet I am stilled into a state of euphoric paralysis when he sucks so hard on my clit that an orgasm explodes through me. I can’t move as the spasms shoot through my limbs. I gasp and think I am falling when I realize that Dylan is pulling me into his arms and standing up, cradling me.

“Are you relaxed?” he asks with a hint of a smile.

“Perfectly.” I’m limp in his arms.

“Good. You get ten more minutes in bed while I shower.”

I am amazed that he actually deposits me onto the bed and then heads back to the bathroom with a full-on erection. He didn’t even try to get something in return. He has some major willpower, then again, maybe he’s going to take care of himself while he’s in there.

Twenty minutes later, we are both dressed in fresh suits and my hair is semi-dry and twisted into another bun. Dylan watches me primp and apply make-up, but says nothing about the hot sexual favors we’ve given each other.

***

We arrive at Mercer’s trendy warehouse style home décor store, a short walk from the hotel. It’s before retail hours so the vast space is empty. A pretty store manager leads us upstairs to the corporate offices where there is a spacious conference room with a breakfast spread and large, industrial windows that provide an inspiring view. I expected to be more nervous, yet having Dylan by my side has secured my confidence.

“Oh, my God,” I whisper to myself.

“What?” Dylan questions as we unpack our computers.

“I just realized I have spent every moment with you by my side since that night you gave me a ride home.”

“You left out the part about kicking me out of bed two nights ago,” he says wryly.

No one else has entered the conference room yet, so we are alone. Dylan whisks around me, setting up our gear for our presentations. He is chiseled perfection with the fine suit; his handsome face; the tall, muscular physique that can’t be camouflaged by clothing; and those scars that make him even more alluring. He is hot, and my nerves and senses are completely aware of his every movement. My mind keeps drifting back to us in the shower and every moment with him before that.

“I’m serious. It’s like we’re tied at the hip. This isn’t normal even for married people, Dylan.”

Dylan stops typing on his keyboard and glares at me then walks briskly over to my side of the table with a marked intensity. He puts his hands on my hips under my suit jacket and turns me away from the conference table.

“Listen to me.” His deep voice is strict. “This may have started because I said I wanted to help you—to make sure you’re safe from your ex and the shit he’s caught up in—but make no mistake, we are tied together. Aside from where we’ve come from or who we’ve been with, that was then, this is now. And now we’re together. I’m not the most talkative guy when it comes to
sharing,
but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to tell you what’s going on in my head. It means I’m not good at it. But I am trying. For you… I’m trying to do this because of you.”

His serious declarations are the most romantic words ever said to me, even more potent than Robert’s “
I love you.
” To me, Dylan’s possessive grip on my waist paired with those powerful statements is an unexpected intimate gesture. I am reeling from his physical and emotional hold on me, and I am no longer falling in love with him. I have
fallen.

Captivated by his unwavering blue eyes that touch me in a new way, I am about to respond when others begin filing into the room. He lets go of my waist.