A frown pulls on his lips. “Yeah. I couldn’t get any more—” My grin must cut him off. “You’re not disappointed?”

“Dylan! I have you for twelve whole days!”

Eric chimes in. “Can I say hello to my baby bro now?”

I let Dylan say hello to everyone and I introduce him to my friends from work he doesn’t know. The entire time I hold onto his arm, afraid he’ll fly away if I let him go.

He looks at me mid-conversation with our friends before bending down to my ear and whispering, “I’m going to take a shower. Bedroom. Five minutes.”

I watch him walk through the back door, nudging Eric as he does. Whatever Dylan must say to him has him looking over at me and nodding. I pull my phone out from my bra and check the time. And I continue to do so—watching the minutes tick away.

It’s not until my hand’s covering the handle of the bedroom door that the nerves kick in. Along with the same butterflies from earlier. I take a breath. Or ten. And check the time again.

Six minutes.

With all the courage I can possible muster, I press down on the handle and peek inside.

He’s just gotten out of the shower, his shoulders still wet as he goes through his drawers, his back turned. He’s wearing a towel around his waist and nothing else. Then he does the worst (or best) thing he can possibly do. He drops the towel, giving me a perfect view of his beautifully toned ass.

I moan.

I don’t mean to, but holy shit I’ve missed him.

Every square inch of him.

His shoulders tense when he hears the sound that can only be described as pure lust. Slowly, he turns to me, not bothering to cover himself. Then he smirks. “You’re late.”

“I’m sorry.” I can’t stop looking at his—

He clears his throat.

I lift my gaze, pausing for a moment at the perfect V just below his perfect abs and perfect chest and FYI, Naked Dylan = Hot As Fuck Dylan.

He stalks toward me, his body on show, and when he’s close enough he reaches for my hand and pulls me into the room, shutting the door behind me.

“Hi,” he says, pushing me gently until my back is pressed to the door.

The nerves and the butterflies return and I drop my gaze, too afraid to look at him.

He moves forward again, his warm body pressed against mine as he dips his head, his mouth to my ear. “What’s wrong?” he asks.

I inhale deeply, feeling his chest press harder into mine. “I’m nervous,” I admit.

His lips curve against my neck as he kisses me softly. “Why?”

“I don’t know.” My body melts into his when his hands find my waist, his thumb stroking my bare stomach between my shorts and my shirt.

Then, slowly, one of his hands move from my waist and up my sides until he’s cupping my face. His mouth moves from my neck, up my jaw, and across my cheek, his kisses relentless. Then he pulls away, just enough to run his tongue along my lips, begging for entrance.

If it wasn’t for him pressing me against the door, I’d be on the floor in a puddle of my own need and desire.

Literally.

He kisses me. Softly at first, then all at once we lose control. Of the need. Of the lust. Of the longing. Of ourselves.

One of his hands is in my hair, pulling gently, making my head tilt back to make my mouth more accessible to him. The other’s on my shorts, making fast work of the button and the zipper. And me? I have no idea what to do with my hands so I grasp his hardness, upright between us, and I stroke gently, smiling against his lips when he curses into my mouth. Now my shorts are on the floor, his fingers inside me and his mouth around my nipple. I don’t even remember him pulling up my shirt. “Riley,” he murmurs, moving up from my breast and to my mouth again. “Promise. Tonight I’ll worship your body. But right now, I need inside you. I need to fuck you, Riley.”

He removes his fingers from inside me and uses both hands to cup my ass as I kick off my shorts and without effort, he lifts me, pinning my body against the door with him between my legs while I guide him to where I need him the most.

My cry of pleasure is stifled by his shoulder when he fills me—my eyes rolling to the back of my head—my head that just hit the door behind me. He pauses inside—letting our bodies get used to the sensation—our foreheads touching as his eyes search mine. “You’re so beautiful,” he says.

And then he moves. Pulling out slowly just to thrust into me again. And again. And again. With so much force the door bangs against the frame. Over and over. And over again.

My fingers curl, gripping his shoulders as immeasurable pleasure washes through me. He pulls back from the kiss, replacing his tongue with his thumb and I suck on it, making it wet, knowing that he’s about to do something he’s done so many times before. Leaning back, my body still pinned to the door, he uses his thumb to circle my clit, all while he pumps into me, his other arm around my back to keep me in place.

My breaths are heavy, my body on fire from the onslaught of pleasure he’s creating.

My fingers dig deeper.

“So fucking wet,” he murmurs. “So fucking beautiful.”

Bodies covered in sweat, we move as one until I come, a loud moan escaping before I can stop it. A second later, he follows, his muscles tensing beneath my touch. I collapse into his arms while he lowers me gently back to earth—to reality. A reality so perfect I don’t want to be anywhere else. Then he laughs, hugging me in his arms. “You were so fucking loud, Riley. Neighbors three streets down would’ve heard you.”