Page 71 of Personal Foul
If I’m honest with myself, I knew kissing was on the table if I kept coming over. At minimum.
He propositioned me when I stayed the night after our date. And while he might like to get a reaction out of me, I never got the sense that he was joking about that. Yeah, we had a lot of banter, but his offer wasn’t just that.
If I weren’t okay with the idea, I wouldn’t be here at all, and I definitely wouldn’t have let him nudge and encourage me into this position.
The credits start playing, and Dylan’s hand moves up and down on my back, his other hand brushing away a few hairs, then trailing down my jaw, a thumb tracing my lips.
When I lift my head and look at him, he studies my eyes for a moment, then focuses on my lips, staring at them to the point that I’m starting to wonder if maybe something’s wrong?
My lips part, and that seems to be what he was waiting for, because that’s when he kisses me.
It’s just as good as the last time, his lips soft and plush against mine, and I sigh into the kiss.
Something about that seems to spur him on. He surges forward, one hand cradling my head while the other reaches for my hip, guiding me up farther until I’m straddling him. His arms wrap around me, pulling me close, and his hips rise up, grinding his hard cock against my center.
Sweet baby Jesus, that issomething.
I knew that from when he had me pinned against the wall yesterday. But it’s different in this position and from this angle. Harder. Bigger. More present.
More shocking.
Despite my declaration that I’m not a virgin—which is true—I don’t have a lot of experience. I’ve never had a guy grind against me on a regular basis.
At first, my nerves make me hesitant to do anything. But when his hands bracket my hips and pull me hard against him, my instincts take over and I grind on him.
He groans, a low rumble deep in his throat.
Encouraged, I give myself greater license, his sounds of pleasure spurring me on, my inhibitions falling away.
It’s heady stuff for someone to derive this kind of pleasure from my body, especially when we both still have clothes on.
His hands slip under my shirt, his fingertips drawing lazy circles on my lower back before making their way higher. At this point, he breaks the kiss, drawing his lips into his mouth as though wanting to suck the taste of me off them, his eyes bright, sparkling with lust.
Urging me closer, he nips at my earlobe and kisses my neck. I arch under the attention, inviting more.
“Christ, Spitfire. You’re so fucking sweet. I want to taste you everywhere.” His words make me groan, and he chuckles against my skin, rubbing his lips up and down the column of my throat. “Let’s go to my room.”
I swallow hard. I know what that means.
He pulls away, one hand cupping my face as his eyes study mine.
When I nod, his face breaks out in a grin. “You won’t regret it. I promise.”
Fortunately a response isn’t necessary, because he immediately maneuvers me off him and the couch, making sure I’m steady on my feet before releasing his hold on my hips. Then he sits up, lifts to his feet, but instead of standing, plants his shoulder against my middle and hoists me up in a fireman carry.
“Dylan!” I shriek, smacking his ass.
“Oh yeah,” he croons, giving my ass a squeeze in return. “That’s some good foreplay.”
“Put me down!” The demand is ruined by the laughter in my voice.
“Oh, I will. Don’t worry. Just hang on.”
In a few seconds, he shoulders through the door to his room, navigating it carefully so he doesn’t bang me against anything, then kicks the door closed behind him. I open my mouth to tease him about keeping out all the extra people in his apartment when the memory of his friend barging in pops up in my mind, and I close my mouth instead.
Instead of unceremoniously dumping me on the bed like I expected, he bends enough so I start sliding off his shoulder, straightening so I slide down his front, his hands ending on my ribcage under my shirt, his thumb caressing the sweep of my ribs.
“Hi,” he says, a grin tugging at his lips.
