With his eyes locking on mine, he slowly inches his way down, almost at that sweet spot between my legs.
When his mouth finally kisses my pussy through the thin fabric of my panties, my head falls back with my eyes closed. Dean pushes my panties to the side with one hand and pushes two fingers inside with the other hand. The entire time this is happening, his mouth is assaulting my pussy in the best possible way.
I feel myself about to come, my legs begin to shake, my toes start to curl and I dig my hands into his hair, yanking hard. Right as I’m about to find my release, Dean sits up, letting my legs fall away.
I whimper in response.
“Turn around.” He says in, literally, the sexiest voice I’ve ever heard.
I sit up and turn over on my stomach as Dean releases his belt and unzips his pants. He grabs my panties, sliding them down my legs before he grabs my waist, pulling my butt into the air, flush against his cock. He enters me from behind, rough and fast.
“Did your ex-boyfriend fuck you like this?”
“No.” I moan.
“I know he didn’t,” he says before his hips begin to move, long thrusts back and forth. He pulls me back against him in perfect rhythm to his thrusts.
My legs shake, about to give out from the intensity of it all.
I can feel an orgasm building, every muscle in my body tightening.
“I want to feel you come on my cock.” My body shudders as an intense orgasm rocks through me.
Moments later, Dean lets out a deep moan and then he slowly stills behind me, digging his nails into my skin. I collapse beneath him, no longer able to hold on. Still buried deep inside of me, he trails soft kisses up and down my back. When I finally catch my breath, he slowly pulls out of me. He helps me onto the seat, briefly kissing my lips as he helps me dress.
Shortly after our tryst in his car, a new routine develops.
During the day, we act cordial, but keep a distance between ourselves, especially whenever Eric is around. But at night, it’s an entirely different story. We’ll steal moments together to kiss and make out, sometimes in the hallway when passing, in the kitchen while Eric takes a late night shower and even going as far as me slipping into Dean’s bed when we are both sure that Eric is sleeping.
It slowly becomes the highlight of my day, those stolen moments with Dean. I start looking forward to seeing him, reminiscing on the secret glances, on those heated kisses.
But I keep my heart safe. I don’t let myself think about any possibilities for ‘us’ after sex.
It’s just sex.
Chapter 24
MIA
On a quiet Sunday morning, I drag a new easel and a clean canvas up to the roof, setting up near the edge, a foggy view of the waterfront directly ahead. The sky is cloudy and there’s a light wind that brushes my skin every few seconds. There’s no chance of rain for the next few days, but the air feels slightly misty and damp.
It’s perfection.
Inspired, I mix shades of green and blue in a paper cup to create a perfect hue. I’m determined to paint something that’s non-gloomy today, something simple like a sailboat setting off on the sea. I use the green paint on my fingers to outline the frame of the picture, and then I press my brush against the center of the frame, making small blue strokes.
I finish the ocean in record time, admiring how it almost looks too real, and as I’m preparing the white and grey paint for the sail boat, soft music floods my ears.
I stop painting, realizing that the source of the music is close by. I turn around and see that Dean is sitting on the ledge behind me, strumming his guitar.
Our eyes meet, but neither of us speaks.
We stare at each other for what feels like an eternity, but his fingers never stop plucking the guitar, so I slowly turn back around.
It’s the first time the two of us have been in the same space without it immediately leading to sex, as of late. It’s actually really nice to have this moment. It reminds me of the good times from years ago, but I refuse to dwell on that.
When the sun starts to set and the last of the day’s light leaves us, I take my canvas off the easel and set it onto a table. Then I start to clean my brushes.
“Are you leaving?” Dean asks, his voice soft.
“Yeah, all of the natural light is gone, so...” I look over at him and try to read his expression. “Are you staying?”
“More than likely.” He’s staring at me. “Light isn’t really a requirement for music.”
Silence.
“Well, I hope you enjoy the rest of your time up here.” I dry my last brush and set it right side up in my bag. “I’m sure I’ll be seeing you later.” I start to walk toward the door, but I feel him walking right behind me.
“Mia, stay.” He puts his hands on my shoulder.
I turn around. “For what? You want to have sex out here?”
“No, but if you’re interested in discussing any new positions, we could talk about that.”
“Goodnight, Dean.”
“I’m joking.” He grabs my arm. “Stay.”
“Ten minutes,” I say, but only because I feel my heart warming up to him and I don’t need that right now. I follow him over to the ledge and sit next to him.
He sets his guitar into its case and looks directly into my eyes. “Why did you go to Harvard?”
“Because I was accepted there.”
“I’m aware of that, but from what I remember, you didn’t want to go there.”
I shrug. “I guess my dreams changed.”
“They clearly haven’t.” He gestures toward the paintings that line the other side of the roof. “Is your dream to still own an art gallery?”
“Yes.”
“Then did you at least major in art at Harvard?” He looks concerned.
“I got a minor. I majored in Finance.”
He shakes his head and sighs. “I looked you up on Facebook a few times freshman year.”
“Only freshman year?”
“A few times sophomore year as well, but you never popped up. Why is that?”
“I was never one for being social.” I smile. “I also didn’t like the idea of random people looking me up. No offense.”
He smiles back at me and I scoot a bit closer.
“I created a fake profile once, though,” I admit. “So I could look you up and see what you were doing, how you’d moved on, but you weren’t there either.”
“I deleted my account after sophomore year. Wasn’t really a fan of random people looking me up, either.”
I laugh. “Well, what about your school? Why did you go to Western Peak when you really wanted to go to Harvard?”
His eyes suddenly shift to the cold look they had when I first saw him here, but he shakes his head and hesitates before answering.
“I went there for you,” he says. “I thought you would be there.”
“After everything you did to me?”
“You mean to say that vice-versa, correct?”
“No, it came out right.” I scoot away from him a bit. “After everything you did to me, you wanted to go to college together?”
“I wanted us to make up.” He stands up as if he can’t bear being close to me anymore. “I thought a summer apart was enough time for us to forget everything that happened—”
“I will never forget what happened.” I cut him off. “But I must have been just as naïve as you back then, because you’re the only reason I went to Harvard. I honestly thought you’d be there.”
“You weren’t planning to apologize?”
“Me?” I notice that he’s glaring at me now and stepping closer and closer to the door. “Apologize to you? Is your memory that distorted? Is your mind that fucked up?”
“No,” he says, twisting the doorknob and opening the door. “Just my heart.”
Chapter 25
MIA
There’s a popular saying about the past, something about it being best to leave all of the hurt and pain there, to move on and grow from it, but I’ve never thought that was fair.
It’s actually very, very un-fucking fair.