Dylan’s hands on her waist. His mouth catching her gasp. His body, all hard muscle and desperation, pressing her against that wall like he’d been dying to do it for a decade. She’d never felt anything like that in her life. Not even in college. Not even back then.
It had been so long.
She hadn’t been with anyone since him. Not really. Not all the way. Not like this.
She didn’t trust easily. Didn’t date seriously. She told her friends it was because she was busy. Focused. Selective. And all of that was true. But deep down, she’d always felt like if she moved on, if she gave herself to someone else— really gave herself— it would be a betrayal.
To him.
To what they had. To what they lost— because of her.
But damn… he felt so good tonight. Better than she remembered. Like her body had been waiting, quietly, for him all along.
Ali groaned softly and rolled to her side. One hand slipped beneath the covers to play with her nipples, the other into her panties.
She didn’t tease herself. Didn’t drag it out.
She was already wet. Already aching.
She slid two fingers inside herself, eyes fluttering shut. Her hips shifted. Her breath hitched.
In her mind, it was still him.
His mouth on her neck. His hand fisting in her hair. The low growl in his throat right before he’d thrust into her so hard the breath left her lungs.
Her fingers moved faster, building against the memory. The sharp press of his hips. The taste of his kiss. The way he looked at her like she was still everything.
She gasped his name.
“Dylan—”
And shattered.
Her back arched. Her toes curled. And she came hard, her cry echoing in the quiet bedroom, the sheets twisted around her thighs.
After, she lay still. Chest heaving. Heart pounding.
She didn’t feel guilty.
Not anymore.
Just warm.
Just sore.
And maybe, for the first time in a long time… a little bit hopeful.
I Look In People’s Windows
Dylan
Dylan keyed into his hotel room in Peach Cove, the temporary suite arranged by the university for the fundraiser. Clean, modern. Too quiet.
He shut the door behind him with a soft click, tossing the clutch Ali had dropped onto the small couch. He’d make sure she got it back tomorrow. His fingers had curled protectively aroundit the entire ride over, like it was some kind of stand-in for her hand.
He passed the bed, peeled off his blazer, tugged at the tight collar of his dress shirt.
Everything on him felt too tight.
