Page 95 of Playing the Backbeat

For not telling her. For allowing her to find out here, along with everyone else.

Some sick part of me hopes she’s as disappointed as I was to hear the news at all. We’ve been living in our small bubble, the two of us—well, the three of us if you count her damn cat. It’s been easy.

But that ease doesn’t return as we eat breakfast, not when we board our flight, and not when we walk into our…herapartment.

I’m drowning in the ache left in its absence. So I go to work, and I don’t hurry home.

Chapter forty-two

Dee

Our flight landed this afternoon in Columbus, and Dylan didn’t wait more than five minutes before rushing off to the Bridge. Part of me thinks it’s his work ethic, another part of me thinks it’s his anxiety after being away for a week. But the part of me I trust the most thinks he’s avoiding me. Avoiding things we should talk about. Things we should figure out together.

I don’t know if either of us is ready for that conversation, but it doesn’t seem like it matters anymore.

There’s an apartment waiting for Dylan…and if he waits too long, he’ll lose it. So why does the thought of him moving out make me want to binge-watch season fourteen ofSurvivorall over again?

It’s almost ten at night and he’s still not home. I lie in bed, planning my day for tomorrow, wondering how far the closest gourmet popcorn shop is, when I hear the front door open and close quietly.

Dylan steps into my room a moment later, and in the hazy fog of post-travel exhaustion, I smile.

I don’t think about apartments, leases, job interviews, or career paths.

I simply watch as he steps into my bathroom, pulling his hair free of its tie. The soft strands fall around his shoulders and he reaches behind his neck, ripping the shirt off before dropping it onto my bathroom floor. His pants follow then he kicks them aside. He considers them for a moment, seeming to remember he’s in my bathroom, not his. He picks up his clothes, folding them and placing them in a neat pile on the counter. I watch his abs flex as he washes his face and brushes his teeth, having moved his toothbrush to my bathroom before we went on vacation. He strides into the bedroom. When his eyes find mine, I sense his surprise.

“You’re awake.” He immediately changes his path, walking toward me, then leaning down to kiss me. On instinct, my arms reach around his neck, pulling him closer. He lets me, pressing his arms to the mattress on either side of me, holding his weight off me before he settles against me, aligning our bodies.

God, I love the feel of him above me. “I’m awake,” I whisper between soft kisses.

He pulls away, staring at my lips. “I was going to slip into your bed.”

“I can see that.”

“Is that okay? I just…I wanted to fall asleep next to you.”

I didn’t think anything of it. I expected him to come in here; I wanted it. But now that he’s asking, I’m realizing this is what couples do. This isn’t fuck-buddy behavior, or even friends with benefits. And we still have so much to talk about. So much to figure out.

I don’t know what to think about it all, so I opt to ignore all the questions my mind starts to throw at me. Instead, I do what feels right.

“Stay.” I wrap my arms around his waist, opening my thighs for him, and I feel him hard against my center.

“Dee, I—are we…?”

I don’t let him finish the thought, not ready to face whatever questions his brain is tossing around. I silence him with a kiss, andGod, I love this man’s mouth. After a moment of hesitation, his tongue slips in, meeting mine. His body melts, all of the tension draining from him. I open my knees wider, tugging him closer with my heels around his thighs.

“Deanna,” he says again, more firmly, the weighted unanswered questions hanging in the air between us.

“Don’t, please. Just be with me,” I plead. What if we don’t like the answers we force ourselves to give? I want this feeling for as long as I can have it.

His gaze lingers on my lips and he nods. I moan as his lips seal and suck on my neck and he palms my breast with one hand, the fabric of my oversized T-shirt—his T-shirt—dragging over my sensitive nipples. He trails kisses along my collarbone before forging a path lower, and lower until he lifts the shirt off my body, sucking my other nipple into his mouth.

His hips begin to grind, and I lift mine to meet him. I slide my heels over his hips, dragging his sweats down, freeing his cock. He doesn’t make me wait; he slides in, and my chest squeezes. How right this all feels.

I arch my back, the stretch felt all throughout my body, my skin buzzing with every touch. His hands wander, his grip firm and hungry.

He pulls out slowly, filling me again just as slowly, finding a different rhythm than our typical hurried sex. This is different, and I close my eyes, letting that fact wash over me, terrifying and exhilarating all at the same time.

“Open your eyes, Dee. Be here with me.” I hear the desperation in his voice, echoed in my entire body.