Page 86 of The Way We Touch
Two medium-rare steaks with asparagus and a light lemon sauce are plated and reheated. I’ve changed into gray sweatpants and a white T-shirt, and she walks into the kitchen in her feet bare wearing nothing but my navy and red jersey.
I have to stop and admire her. A giant red 12 is on her chest, and her damp hair is over her shoulder. Her lips are swollen from my kisses, and possession burns in my chest.
“Damn, Dylan.” My hand covers the ache in my stomach. “I just want to fuck you again.”
She leans forward with a giggle and skips over to me. Rising onto her toes, she wraps her arms around my neck. I lift her onto the bar so I can kiss her properly, sliding my tongue with hers and slipping my hands under her top to feel her warm skin, her soft breasts.
Her lips break away, and she gives me two quick kisses. “You have to feed me first, because I haven’t eaten since lunch.”
I grin at her sassy tone, kissing her once more slowly before releasing her.
“Is that what you’re wearing to the gala?” I walk over to uncork a bottle of red wine.
“Of course!” She holds out her arms, looking down at the shirt. “And those beautiful pearls you gave me.”
I’m pretty sure I’ll be smiling all weekend. Everything she says, every sound she makes is the sweetest music to my ears.
“Here.” I hand her a glass of wine. “To staying in bed all weekend.”
“Mmm…” She clinks her glass to mine. “That sounds like a dream.”
I wish it were possible. The reality is, I have practice tomorrow and a light workout Saturday morning, but having her here, waiting for me when I get home, is the best reward.
“I can’t believe I haven’t seen my brother yet,” she calls from behind the closed door.
We spent our first night wrapped in each other’s arms. Friday morning we shared coffee and a light breakfast before I left for practice.
When I got home, she met me at the door in my jersey, so of course, I carried her inside and bent her over the couch. Again, I ordered dinner in, because we couldn’t seem to stop touching each other… or maybe that was just me touching her.
She’d spent the day running around Midtown then stopping by the American Ballet Company offices to see about getting an audition invitation for Mia.
“It’s the only way to get in,” she’d told me as I held her in my arms last night.
“All you have to do is ask for one?” I confess, I know nothing about ballet.
“Anyone can ask, but Constance Westwood carries a lot of weight in the community.” My brow furrows, and she explains. “She was my teacher when I was at the dance academy in Mobile. She’s an alum, and I hope saying she taught me, and Mia is one of my students, will get her toe in the door.”
“Wow.” My eyebrows rise. “I get why Mia’s mom was crying now.”
Her lips pressed into a smile, and her cute ears turned red. Naturally, I had to roll her onto her back and make sweet love to my beautiful, generous girl.
My girl. I’m not sure when I started calling her that, when the words first appeared in my mind, but they’re so right.
I can’t stop touching and tasting her. When we sit, I pull her into my side, inhaling her silky hair, and when we sleep, she’s wrapped in my arms. We’re like two stars pulled together by inescapable gravity.
Now she has me outside the bedroom door waiting while she puts on her dress for the gala. She went out this morning when I was at training to have her hair and makeup done—not that she needs any of that. Dylan is so naturally beautiful.
“You’ll see Garrett tonight. He had a pretty hard practice yesterday.”
“He texted me asking if we were ever leaving this apartment.”
“I hope you told him no.”
A soft laugh drifts from her to me, making me smile. “We’ll have to have brunch or lunch with him tomorrow.”
Her voice approaches the door, and I straighten, ready to see her again. I’m like a little kid unhappy when even a thin plank of wood keeps me from the object of my affection.
It took me a whole five minutes to pull on my basic black tuxedo pants, tie, and jacket, and when she opens the door, my breath disappears.