Page 153 of Dirty Like Dylan

“The commercial.”

A slow smile spread across her pretty face, lighting her up. “Okay.”

I found my phone on the bedside table and pulled it up. We’d watched it together last night, the three of us. Liv had sent it over—the finished Underlayer commercial. As I played it back now on my phone, Amber and I watched it together.

“Shit, he looks beautiful,” she said. “It turned out so good…” She sounded regretful about that, but not disappointed. Liv had done gorgeous work, as usual. I knew Amber was proud of her; proud of her and Dylan both.

The commercial was hot, slick, and gave you everything the world knew and loved about Dylan Cope. How fucking gorgeous he was. His killer bod. And how he fucking rocked on the drums.

Toward the end, there was a single shot of him wearing his kilt, as he delivered his line to camera: It’s what’s under the kilt that counts. And because he was Dylan, he managed to do it without sounding like a douche. He looked fucking hot in the kilt, but in a way that made you love him rather than hate him.

Dylan was the boy next door who grew up into a god.

He was everything you wanted to be, or wanted to have.

And Liv understood who Dylan was; both sides of him. The rock god and the boy next door. It was Liv who’d pushed for that scene. She’d pushed for the kilt, because let’s face it: everyone loved Dylan Cope in a kilt.

But the things I loved about him went far beyond some piece of clothing he was famous for wearing onstage.

And I knew by now that Amber was falling in love with much more than that, too. She’d never really even seen that part of him. She’d never been to one of his concerts. She’d never even asked to see him in his trademark sexy kilt. She wasn’t a fangirl.

She was the girl.

“God. I was such an asshole at that shoot,” she said.

“Yeah. You were.”

She threw me a dirty look. “As were you.”

“I was.” As the commercial ended, I tossed the phone aside and rolled toward her. “Thought that’s what you liked about me…”

“No. I like your pierced dick. And these eyebrows.” She put her hand on my face and smoothed her thumb over my eyebrow.

“Eyebrows?”

“All twisty and angsty… Your eyebrows say it all, Ashley Player.”

“Yeah? Are they telling you how much I wanna kiss you right now?”

“As a matter of fact,” she said, her green eyes softening, “they are.”

So I kissed her.

We rolled around in Dylan’s bed for a while, with the smell of him still on the sheets, groping, making out. Then we got down to business and fucked like animals.

While we fucked, we kept talking about Dylan.

“What would you do… if he was here right now?” she whispered.

“I’d eat your clit while he fucked you,” I told her, sucking on her neck for emphasis—and the girl fucking went off. She went nuts, riding me from beneath, jerking her hips to meet my thrusts as she cried out and clawed at my ass and her pussy pulsed with her climax.

Jesus…

She was the perfect fucking woman.

I made her suck me off after she came, licking her sweet juices off my dick and taking me deep in her throat.

“You take Dylan’s cock that deep, baby?” I asked her as I slowly fucked her mouth. Of course, I knew she did. I’d seen her do it. “That horse cock of his, you take it that deep?”

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