Page 71 of Dirty Like Dylan

I licked up the stray come and generally worshipped his dick, because shit, if I was having sex with a guy this hot, I was gonna milk it—literally—for all it was worth.

… Even if I was already starting to realize how much I might regret this tomorrow.

In the moment, all caught up in my horny bliss, I told myself I didn’t even care if Ashley was looking at that sexy photo of Dylan the entire time.

And once, when I looked up at him… he definitely was.

Chapter Fourteen

Amber

The next morning was awkward, to put it ultra-mildly.

I woke up—in Ashley’s bed—to find him singing in the shower. After a few lines, I recognized the Red Hot Chili Peppers’ “Suck My Kiss.” He was really giving it his all with his sexy, slightly-raspy morning voice. Damn. The man had pipes. I giggled a little, sleepily.

Then I really woke up.

I leapt out of his bed like it was on fire.

The bathroom door was open a crack, but the shower was around the corner; he couldn’t see me or hear me, I was sure. But giggling in Ashley Player’s bed was so not happening.

I grabbed my clothes—or at least, my gray cotton panties, which had ended up on his floor—and scrambled the hell out of there.

I found my dress in the hallway, and his jeans in the dining room with my laptop. I didn’t look for his underwear; his undies were his problem. Was he wearing any last night? I didn’t even know. His clothes were off before I could really process such details.

I hurried into the bathroom in the hall, sped-showered, dressed, stuffed all my things into my backpack and got the hell out of there. Ashley’s shower was still running, he was still singing his way through the Chili Peppers’ catalog, and I felt like a grade-A asshole as I ran out the door; as I hurried down his driveway and out to the road, my hair still wet, the Grim Reaper in his gate giving me the finger.

It was the slowest getaway in history.

It wasn’t even eleven in the morning; I had over seven hours to wait until the ferry departed.

I went for a walk, pulling out my camera and photographing the shit out of the island, again. By one o’clock I was running out of things to shoot, as I stealthily avoided the section of road where both Ashley’s and Dylan’s houses were. By two o’clock, it was getting ridiculous.

Around three, he found me at the marina.

“You know,” he said, sitting down beside me at the end of one of the long wooden docks, “you really didn’t have to jet. I could’ve given you a ride to the city.”

“In Dylan’s boat?” I said neutrally.

“Yeah.” Ashley looked me in the eye, squinting a little in the midday sun. “His is better than mine. Story of my life.” He didn’t say it with an ounce of animosity. Envy, maybe.

Were we still talking about boats?

“Ashley—”

“You feel weird about what happened.” It wasn’t a question. “I get that.”

“Don’t you?”

A slight smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth and he looked out over the water. “Honestly, no. I know you’re hot for Dylan. You’re not the first girl who ever was.”

“I didn’t think so.”

He looked at me again, his expression growing serious. “So. You like Dylan. It turns me on. Now you’re gonna run away?”

“I’m not running,” I said, kicking my legs in the air a little where they dangled off the dock. “Obviously.”

So that was it, then? He’d gotten off on me getting off on Dylan?