“Didn’t you already ask me that question?”

“I asked if she was your ex, not the same thing as asking if there’s anything between you at all.”

He circles my h*ps over his, and oh God it feels so good, better than such a simple motion should. But between his erection and both our zippers, the friction is killing me.

“We hooked up once last year, but we’re just friends.”

I know that answer should make me pause, should make me ask more questions, but his mouth has left my neck to explore my shoulder, and his free hand has found its way beneath my top, beneath the spaghetti strap shirt I’m wearing in lieu of a bra. He makes a noise of approval low in his throat when he discovers that fact, and his thumb draws circles around my nipple, teasing me with an almost touch for a few seconds before squeezing the tip between his thumb and forefinger.

I throw my head back, feeling relaxed and tense all at the same time. I want more, so much more, but I’m afraid to ask, so I bite my lip, arch my body, and grind against him, hoping that he can read what I want in my actions.

More. More please.

His lips return to mine, and all of a sudden, I have one of those weird out-of-body experiences where I’m not sure if this is even real. Being dumped by Henry. Getting arrested. Going to a party with a total stranger. Following my impulses without any concern for the consequences. This is not my life. This is not me.

The way his kiss feels . . . it’s too good. The way kissing feels in a dream, like the complete sum of everything I want and need, and he’s risen from my subconscious to give me the perfect fantasy. His touch is electric in a way that has to be my imagination because skin doesn’t react like that, doesn’t spark and heat and burn that hot. He has to be my subconscious reacting to the mess with Henry because he’s the complete opposite of the guy I’d spent the last four years of my life with.

Henry was a plan, a future, 2.5 kids, and a backyard. Henry is everything I should want.

Silas is this moment only. A quick burst of adrenaline. The physical manifestation of want with no regard to logic or reason.

Silas is . . .

Oh God. Silas is touching me. Really touching me. My shorts are unzipped, and his hand is inside my panties, and one finger slides against my sensitive flesh.

Shit. Not out of my body anymore. I am firmly in my skin, and burning up.

“What happened to my bossy girl?” Silas says, and I don’t think I can even form words to respond.

I just knot my hands behind his neck because I don’t trust myself to hold on to his shoulders anymore for balance.

“No more questions?” he teases. “I thought you never run out of questions.”

Oh, I had questions, but I no longer cared about the answers. I no longer cared about anything except what his hands were going to do next.

“I have a question for you then.”

Just the tip of his finger dips inside me, and the heel of his hand is so close to where I’m dying for his touch.

“Do you want my fingers inside you?”

I swallow, wishing for another one of those out-of-body experiences. Because now I know this is real. It’s too intense to be anything else, and I know he’s going to make me answer. And I’m not sure if I like this kind of thing. It scares me how much I want to answer him anyway, how much I need him to keep going.

The heel of his hand grinds against my center just for a moment, and when he pulls back I cry out at the loss.

“Do you want me inside you?”

I squeeze my eyes shut and whisper, “Y-Yes.”

His cheek slides against mine, and I shiver at the scrape of his stubble. His voice is a rumble in my ear. “One or two?”

“W-What?”

He slides one finger in, only to pull it all the way out. His teeth graze my earlobe and he asks again, “One or two?”

Please don’t make me. I can’t—

He pushes two inside, and it’s just enough to ease the ache and simultaneously multiply it. It’s just enough in every way. “Two,” I answer before he can take them away again. “I want two.”

His palm presses up into me as a reward, and I move against it, seeking more friction.

“Fuck, yes,” he growls, stealing my lips for a quick, hard kiss.

“Take what you want, Dylan. Ride my hand.”

I whimper, and I don’t know if it’s in objection to his words or because they make something tighten in my belly.

“Come on. Move for me.”

I kiss him. Maybe to shut him up. Maybe for courage.

As soon as his tongue slides against mine, I’m reacting on instinct, doing exactly as he asked. His other hand is out of my shirt, and digging into my braid, undoing it until hair starts to fall around my face and swing around me as I rock into his palm.

“God, yes. You’re gorgeous like this. Keep going, baby.”

Every time I tilt my hips, he pushes in sync, curling his fingers and hitting a spot that makes my arms and legs shake in anticipation. He pushes up my oversized shirt and his lips close over the tip of my breast through my camisole. He sucks hard, and my h*ps jerk, seeking more. I throw my head back because I’m so close.

So, so close.

He lets my shirt drop down and clamps his hand around the back of my neck. His grip is hard enough that it almost hurts. Almost. Instead it just adds to the frenzied pace of my blood rushing beneath my skin. With his hand at my nape, I have no choice but to look at him. His hair is mussed and wild, and I wonder when I ran my hands through it because I don’t remember. I sink my fingers through the strands now, though, because that’s something I want to remember, how it feels to hold on to him like that.

His hazel eyes are so dark and piercing, and that look alone brings me a breath closer to the edge. He pulls me into him, so that his hand is wedged between us with no extra space. I’m still moving against his palm, but when I rock hard enough, I’m pushing against his erection, too. I know when I’ve done that because I can feel his heavy exhale against my lips.

“I’m going to watch you, Dylan. Just like this. I’m going to watch you come apart around my fingers, and it might just be the hottest f**king thing I’ve ever seen.”

My eyelids start to fall under the pleasure, and he twists his fingers inside me. I pull his hair on accident, and he growls in approval.

“Look at me, Dylan. Don’t close your eyes. I want to see it. I want to watch you come for me. Can you give me that?”