The rain is coming down in heavy sheets, drenching everything in sight. Dylan and I rush inside, soaked from head to toe. We’ve just returned from the mall, where I finally replaced my dead phone. New device. New number. Clean slate.
Before my old phone gave out, I managed to speak with my parents. Apparently, Abigail told them I had a sudden scholarship emergency that required me to return to Paris. I didn’t correct the lie. I didn’t have the strength. They’re in their sixties; they don’t need the burden of this mess.
Dylan and I have been… dating, sort of. Over the past week, there’s been dinner, laughter, and lingering kisses. Nothing I couldn’t take back. And even though he’s sweet, safe, and knows me better than anyone, something still doesn’t sit right. There’s an emptiness when I’m with him. A hollowness Itry to ignore.
Because with Calvin, everything was fire. The feeling that I wasn’t just wanted, I was his.Stop that, Blair; he was never yours.
I’m trying to move on. Trying to be okay.
“Oh my God, I’m soaked,” I set our bags on the counter, dragging my wet sleeves across my arms.
Dylan steps closer, his voice low and teasing. “Yeah, you are.”
I laugh; the flirtation is easy and Familiar. We haven’t had sex since I got back, but the idea has been floating in the air between us. He’s been patient. Maybe that’s exactly what I need.
“So wet,” I reply with a grin, biting my lip.
He pulls me toward him and leans in. His lips hover over mine, but I whisper against them, “Wait, let me plug in my new phone first.”
“I’ll wait for you in your room,” he says, and I nod, trying to steady my thoughts. I plug in my phone and take a breath. I can do this. This is normal. This is safe. Don’t think about Calvin. Don’t think about the way he looked at you. Don’t think about the lies he told you.
But when I step into my bedroom and see Dylan lying there, completely naked and waiting for me, something twists in my stomach. Sadness. I try to ignore it. I undress slowly, leaving on my underwear and bra, and crawl onto the bed.
“You’re so sexy,” he whispers as I straddle him.
We kiss. I let myself get lost in the rhythm of his hands, the warmth of his skin. I reach for him, stroke him up and down. He moans against my lips, causing a mischievous smile to grace my face. Breaking free from his kiss, I trail wet kisses down his body, my lips tracing a path to my ultimate destination: his pulsing cock.
I place a gentle kiss on the tip, meeting his gaze, his breath growing heavier. I tease him for a bit, then I put his cock in my mouth, swallowing him whole. “Fuck, Blair,” I hear him say. I wrap my lips around him and start sucking him off, bobbing my head up and down, feeling him grow in my mouth. After a few more seconds of that, I pull him out with a pop. I spit on my fingers to lubricate my pussy before taking a condom and wrapping it around his dick before easing myself down.
“Fuck,” Dylan groans as I sink onto him, taking all of him in. I guide his hand to my neck, placing it there, silently asking him to squeeze. At first, his grip is hesitant, almost too gentle.
“Harder,” I whisper, breathless, rocking against him. When he doesn’t tighten his hold, I say it again, louder this time. “Harder.”
His hand closes tighter around my throat, and I feel it, finally, that edge of danger I crave. I want more. I need more. My body moves faster, chasing something I know isn’t there. I reach for sensation, not satisfaction. I don’t want tenderness. I want to disappear.
“Bite my nipple,” I say, and he does. I close my eyes, and that’s when Calvin rushes in.
The memory of his mouth, his teeth, the sound of his breath in my ear.
“Yes, please,” I cry, the words slipping out in a voice that isn’t meant for Dylan.
I ride him harder, desperately. Chasing pain. Chasing numbness. Chasing anything that will make me forget.
“Fuck, B, you’re going to make me come,” Dylan warns, voice strained. I don’t slow down. I’m not close. I’m not even in my own body anymore.
“Don’t you dare,” I bite out.
“Okay, slow down,” he pleads, trying to keep up. But I don’t listen. I ride him harder, faster, eyes shut tight.
“Fuck, fuck…” he gasps, and then I feel it. His hands leave my neck and clamp down on my hips, his body jerking beneath me.
“Fuck.” He groans again, and I know. He came.
I open my eyes and look at him, at the telltale expression on his face. “Damn, Blair… I’m sorry,” he says, guilt mixing with his breathlessness.
“It’s okay,” I reply softly, though disappointment weighs heavily in my chest.
“You want me to get you off?” he offers, reaching for me.
