to ride him, sliding up and down his shaft with increasing pace as my body trembled with heady, addictive arousal. Fucking hell, it shouldn't be so easy to climax on a dick alone. At least, that's what I'd read and heard from girls at school. Yet I never seemed to have any issues finding multiple orgasms on my nights with Dylan Grant. Maybe we were just made for each other.
Hah, yeah right. More like he just had way more experience than a twenty-three-year-old guy should. Whatever, I wasn't complaining. And after tonight, I was deleting his number and never looking back, so what did it matter how much of a womanizer Dylan was?
Dylan's arms banded around my slim waist, and I let out a moan of pain when my ribs ached. He didn't notice, though, or he assumed it was a moan of arousal, as he stood up with me still impaled on his cock and flipped us over.
Stars swam across my vision as my back hit the soft comforter and Dylan hitched my legs around his waist, then drove his cock deeper into me. Pain radiated through my midsection from all the bruises Blake had left, but I gritted my teeth and cleared my mind. My abusive, controlling brother had no place in this hotel room.
"Serena, are you okay?" Dylan paused, our hips flush and his arms braced against the mattress on either side of my head. "You seem... you're different tonight."
I let out a small laugh, and it sounded bitterer than I had intended. "Different?" I shook my head, swallowing the flow of words I wanted to release—the confession of my name, my age, my... feelings. But Dylan Grant—Dylan freaking Grant, one of the Delta Five—didn't want to hear all of that. He kept coming back to me for one reason only. I was drama free.
So I held my tongue and rolled my hips against his. "I'm fine," I lied. "Just a lot on my mind. Nothing for you to worry about. Certainly not right now."
He said nothing for a moment, just dipped his face to mine and kissed my lips ever so softly. Dylan had the most incredible way of kissing me like he actually cared. Sometimes I would close my eyes and imagine for a moment that he was in love with me for real. That we were an actual couple...
Yeah, I was a delusional twit and clearly a masochist to torture myself with an impossibility like that.
"I get that," he murmured, his lips moving to my ear and his teeth teasing my earlobe. "Maybe I can help you forget for a few hours."
I skated my hands up his chiseled sides bringing them to his face to cup his rough, stubbled jaw. "I'm counting on it, Dylan."
He huffed a short laugh but was all too eager to deliver on that offer. His lips captured mine once more, and his hips moved between my legs. Within moments, every thought of my brother was erased from my mind. All that mattered was the gorgeous man fucking me like I was the only woman on earth.
Dylan seemed determined to fry every damn braincell in my head, and when he eventually came all over my tits, I'd lost count of the number of orgasms he'd given me.
For a long time, we just lay there beside each other in the darkness, our chests heaving and our breathing rough. Usually, that was it, I’d clean up and kiss Dylan goodbye with promises to see him again next time he was in town, but this time was different. When I left the hotel room tonight, that'd be it.
Because of that, I found myself reluctant to move. I didn't even want to speak for fear of breaking the bubble of peace and calm we coexisted inside.
"You know," Dylan said in a husky, sleep-thickened voice, "if you want my help..." He trailed off, but I knew what he was talking about. His fingertip traced down my side, and a dull ache radiated through my skin. Even with the lights off, my bruising must be dark enough for him to see against my chalk-white skin. I’d noticed he'd been gentler than usual, but had ignored it when he'd said nothing sooner.
I shook my head, letting out a sigh. "You did help, Dylan," I whispered, my voice edged with sadness. "I should go." I started to sit up, gathering the sheet around my body, but he caught my wrist to stall me.