Page 57 of Heartland

He shrugs. “Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t. But I don’t go there with you, because I don’t want you to end up hating me. And I don’t date, Chastity. You deserve somebody who sticks around.”

“This again,” I grumble. “You’re telling me what I need. And you don’t get to do that. But if it’s not going to be you, then it isn’t. I’ll find someone else to tutor me.”

“Tutor you,” he repeats. “In…?” He doesn’t finish the question, probably because he doesn’t believe that I really mean it.

“Sex,” I say, although I’m really just saving face right now. Lord knows that I couldn’t have this conversation with anyone else on Earth. I can barely manage to have it with the boy I know best. “I’m twenty-one, and I’m tired of being everybody’s naive little friend. If you can’t wrap your head around that, or if you don’t want the job, I’ll find someone who does.”

His eyes darken dangerously. “Who?”

“I don’t know.” I shrug, hoping for nonchalance. “Someone. Maybe Rickie will have an idea. Or Keith.”

Alarm crosses his features. “That’s a terrible idea.”

“So what? Like you’ve never had any terrible ideas? I’ll just go to more parties. I’ll wear my red silk blouse again. Kaitlyn noticed it. She said I lookedslutty.” An edge of hysteria creeps into my voice at the memory. “You didn’t even correct her. Although I’ve never gotten the chance to try slutty out.”

His face drops, and I know I’ve struck a blow.

“Do you know what you said instead?”

He shakes his head, his brown eyes full of sorrow.

“You told her to grab the bed rail with both hands.”

“Jesus.” He covers his eyes with one hand. “You’re right. I was an idiot.”

But I’m too worked up to stop. “So don’t sit here and tell me that sex kills a friendship. Because there’s lots of other ways of doing that.”

“You’re right. Christ.” He reaches out and scoops me into a big, full-body hug.

That’s what finally shuts me up—Dylan’s strong arms encircling me. His hugs are always overwhelming, but we’ve never hugged when we’ve been horizontal, and I’m unprepared for the press of his hard body against mine, our feet tangling beneath the bedclothes. His brown eyes are just inches away.

He lifts his chin and presses his lips to my forehead.

And maybe it could have ended there—with a chaste peck. But my reaction is swift and fierce, and without even thinking, I lift my hands to catch his perfectly cut jaw. I hold onto that kiss, my thumb sliding over his cheekbone, my body easing closer to his. As if I could prevent him from ever letting go.

His lips part on my skin, pausing. Uncertain. He holds me a little more tightly as he kisses the bridge of my nose. And then my cheekbone.

Time slows all the way down to zero, as I wait to see what happens next. If I were a different girl, I would just take what I wanted. I’d throw a leg over his hip and kiss him like a starlet in a Hollywood film.

But I’ll never be that girl. I’m stuck being the kind of girl who waits and hopes. The best I can do is stroke my thumb sweetly across his face, tracing the perfect curve of his cheekbone. My touch is so reverent, so filled with yearning.

Maybe he can sense it, because he kisses the corner of my eye, and then the corner of my mouth.

It’s like gravity, really, the way we come together. His lips feel inevitable as they slide toward mine. His breath is warm and minty as our lips finally touch. I get a glimpse of soft brown eyes before they drift closed.

He sinks into our kiss, the way you slide into a hot bath. And that’s exactly how it feels—hot and wonderful and all encompassing. Heat sizzles through my body, and I part my lips helplessly.

Dylan doesn’t make me wait. He tilts his head to adjust our connection, and then his tongue tastes mine so sweetly.

Hismouth, though. I dream about it all the time. Whiskers and heat and the snick of his kiss light my poor, hungry body on fire.

I make a desperate noise. Dylan goes still for about half a second and then makes a shocked sound in reply. “Fuck.” He whispers it like a prayer against my lips.

Then we’re kissing again. Faster now. He takes eager sips of my mouth from several angles. I gasp in surprise as his mouth retreats, only to land on my neck a moment later.

Wet kisses on my skin feel so good that I practically levitate off the bed. One hand flies into his hair, and the other curls into the fabric of his T-shirt. He worships the tender skin of my jaw. My ear.

“Fuck,” he whispers again. He swings his big body over mine, pinning me to the bed.