Page 122 of Dirty Like Dylan

Ashley pulled over. He pulled off the busy street and down a side road, then down another, quieter road off of that one, and parked. There was nothing around. We were in some suburb. Just some houses farther down the street, nothing close to us but trees.

Ashley took one glance at me and turned off the truck.

Then he waited.

Maybe he thought I was going to burst into tears. Maybe he thought I was going to start screaming and bitching, venting about my mom.

Instead, I unbuckled my seatbelt and threw myself on him.

The result of that was fast, hot, greedy, bitey, scratching, passionate comfort sex. Sex that I needed right now, so fucking bad, and he gave it to me.

He reclined his seat back as far as it would go and I rode him in a frenzy as all my emotions—fear, longing, anxiety, frustration, desire—crashed through me. And he drove up into me just as hard. Just as needy.

I didn’t even wait for him. The orgasm hit me frantic and fast, splitting me open. I whimpered and moaned, and he gripped my hips, holding me still as he pumped up into me and let go. He was breathing hard as he came, kissing and sucking on my throat, and I realized I hadn’t even kissed him.

I’d raked my fingernails through his hair and gripped his neck and pushed him down against the seat, but I hadn’t kissed him.

I kissed him now, shuddering and softening as I relaxed. I kissed him slowly, tasting him, breathing with him as he came down.

I looked into his blue, blue eyes, and he looked up at me.

And, okay.

Maybe it had taken me a while to admit the depth of my feelings for him, but I did care about Ashley. A lot.

And it bothered me.

Maybe because something else was bothering me, too.

It was the way I’d seen him look at Dylan; that exact same way he just looked at me when he came. Enraptured. Lost. Fucking helpless.

And the way Dylan pretended not to notice.

It was confusing and fascinating and painful to watch.

I was growing more certain by the second that whatever was going on between them was bound to self-destruct; like a powder keg, it would blow—and very possibly, take out everything around it.

How could it not?

I climbed off of Ashley and righted my clothes.

I’d entered into this whole thing terrified of getting myself hurt. But the fact was that as the days passed, I was getting more and more scared of one—or both—of them getting hurt, too. And the thought of either Dylan or Ashley getting hurt didn’t sit well with me. At all.

I glanced over at Ashley, and he shook his head at me a little as he zipped up his jeans. That look said, You’re fucking crazy, and I like it.

And I tried to smile. But it was getting hard to do when I just didn’t know how we were all getting out of this damage-free. It’s not like the three of us were gonna ride off into the sunset together in some kinky three-way marriage or something.

I knew that.

Someone was bound to get hurt here.

And whoever it was… I knew we were all going to suffer for it.

Because I cared about them both. They cared about each other. And by now, I knew they both cared about me, too.

Maybe… just maybe… we were even falling in love.

Chapter Twenty-Three

---