Dylan followed right behind her, and I was right there as well.
The bedroom was dim, since the curtains were drawn against the late-afternoon light. Faye stopped at the foot of the bed and turned. She reached for Dylan first, pulling him into a deep, slow kiss. I watched, my blood heating as I waited for my turn. When she finally broke from him, breathless, she turned to me. She kissed me, and it wasn’t gentle. It was desperate, possessive, as if she were trying to relearn the shape of my mouth after a month, to erase every day we’d spent in different cities. Hell, I was too.
Then she stepped back, and her eyes flicked between us.
“Sit,” she ordered, nodding toward the edge of the bed.
Dylan and I exchanged a glance—a silent what’s-the-plan?—but we obeyed, and sat side by side on the mattress.
Faye stood before us, a sly smile on her lips. She began to undress slowly. The soft sweater came off, then her jeans. She was left in only her bra and panties, and every instinct in me screamed to reach for her, to pull her down between us.
But she didn’t come closer.
Instead, she walked over to the armchair in the corner—the big, upholstered one with a high back. She sat down, curling her legs beneath her.
“Faye?” Dylan’s voice was laced with confusion.
She leaned back in the chair. “You two don’t need me right now. I want to watch you.”
Shock sliced through me. My brain scrambled. Watch what? Watch us kiss? Touch each other? Or everything? The air in the room seemed to vanish.
This wasn’t what we’d talked about. Dylan and I had agreed to slow down, to keep one night at the villa from turning into some huge decision we couldn’t undo, but that didn’t mean I hadn’t been thinking about him. Over the last month, I’d caught myself watching his mouth when he talked, staring at his hands, wondering what it’d feel like to touch him without a girl between us to make it feel safer.
Across the room, Faye sat relaxed in her chair, watching us quietly, not asking, not pushing. Just there. The choice was still ours. Heat rolled through me as I looked at him again, my throat tight not because I didn’t want this, but because I did, and I knew once I crossed that line, it would be because I chose to.
Dylan turned to me fully on the bed, his knee brushing mine. “Jase,” he started. “What’s the play here?”
I swallowed; my mouth was dry. “I don’t know,” I admitted, just as quietly. “She said she wanted to watch.”
“Yeah.” He glanced at her, then back at me. His eyes were dark and serious. “You think she means …”
“I don’t know what she means,” I rushed out. “But I know what I—” I couldn’t finish.
He studied my face for a long moment. He saw it—the want, the fear, the hope. He let out a slow exhale, then nodded. It was a decision. “Okay,” he murmured, more to himself. Then, louder, to Faye, “Are you sure you just want to watch?”
Faye’s smile widened with a knowing curve of her lips. “For now. Show me.”
He turned back to me. The space between us on the bed felt both huge and tiny. He reached out, his hand hovering for a second before his fingers brushed my jaw. It was a tentative touch, a question. My breath caught. Then he leaned in and kissed me.
It wasn’t like the villa. That had been heat and impulse, and maybe alcohol. This was slow. Purposeful. His lips were soft against mine—exploring, asking. I kissed him back, my hand coming up to cradle the side of his face. The world narrowed to the feel of his mouth, the faint scratch of his stubble, and the sound of his groan.
He pulled back an inch, his forehead resting against mine. “Okay?”
“Yeah,” I managed to say, my voice uneven. “More than okay.”
His hand slid from my jaw to the back of my neck, drawing me in for another kiss, deeper this time. My other hand found his hip, holding him there. The kiss grew hotter, messier. My tongue slid against his, and he groaned into my mouth, the sound moving through me.
My palms moved over him, learning the shape of his back, the curve of his spine. His fingers were in my hair, pulling me closer. We kissed until we were both out of breath, until my heart pounded against my ribs and I was stiff and aching in my shorts. I broke the kiss to press my forehead against his shoulder, trying to get my head straight.
“Dylan,” I gulped.
“I know.” He pulled back, his eyes searching mine. “You want to?”
I looked over at Faye. She was watching, entirely focused on us, one hand resting on her thigh, her chest rising and falling quickly. She gave me the slightest nod.
“Yeah,” I answered, looking back at him. “I really want to.”
“Lube’s in my bag,” he told me, a faint, nervous smile tugging at his lips. “Front pocket.”
