Ali bent down, already reaching for the ankle strap of one of the sandals Abigail had loaned her—six-inch torture devices, no matter how cute they looked.
But Dylan’s hand shot out, catching her wrist.
“Don’t,” he said, voice low and rough behind her.
She straightened slowly, brows lifting. “Don’t what?”
He looked her up and down, and the heat in his gaze was enough to make her knees wobble—especiallyin the damn heels.
“Don’t take them off,” he said again, stepping closer. “It would be a crime to get you out of that dress before I’ve had you in it. And those shoes?” His voice dipped darker. “Baby, I’ve been semi-hard since the airport. You’re not going anywhere.”
Her breath caught. “They’re not even mine.”
“I don’t give a fuck if they belong to Abigail, Cinderella, or the Queen of England,” he murmured, crowding her gently against the wall. “I want them on when I make you scream.”
Her stomach flipped. “Dylan…”
He kissed her then—deep, hungry, full of that quiet desperation they’d been sitting in for weeks. His hands slid down her waist to the curve of her ass, fingers digging in as he pressed her back, hips already tight against hers.
“You feel how much I missed you?” he whispered, grinding just enough to make her gasp. “You know how crazy I’ve been thinking about this body? Aboutyou?”
Her fingers tangled in the front of his shirt, anchoring herself. “You’re not playing fair.”
He kissed along her jaw, down to her throat, dragging his mouth slow and hot. “Wasn’t planning to.”
So High School
Ali
He pulled back just enough to look at her—really look at her—his hands still gripping her hips.
“You remember the wall at the fundraiser?” he murmured, voice gravel-dark. “Been thinking about that for a month.”
Ali’s knees buckled slightly, her back pressing against the cool wall behind her.
Dylan smirked like hefeltit.
“I’m starting to think I have a thing for you andwall things.”
“You’re ridiculous,” she whispered, breath catching as his hand skimmed up her thigh beneath the hem of her dress.
He slid his hand higher, fingers tracing over the edge of her panties—lace, damp, and ruined for anyone else.
“You wore these for me?” he asked, his mouth brushing hers.
“Maybe” she said, breathless.
His growl was low and guttural as he hooked her leg around his hip, her heel dragging across the back of his thigh. The angle made her breath hitch.
“I’m not going to make it to the bedroom,” he rasped. “Not with you looking like this. Not when I’ve been hard sinceSavannah baggage claim.”
He shifted, freeing himself just enough to press the thick, hot length of him against her through the lace. Her hips jerked, and he groaned, forehead pressed to hers.
“Tell me you want it here,” he said. “Tell me you want me to fuck you right against this wall.”
“I want it,” she whispered, shaking. “God, Dylan, please.”
And then he was pushing her panties aside and sinking into her—deep, hard,home—with a moan that sounded more like a prayer.
