Page 13

CHAPTER 13

DYLAN

T he moment I say I’m in, something shifts.

The tension between me and this mystery man was already thick, already pulling tight around us like an invisible rope. But now? Now, it’s something else.

His smirk deepens, but there’s a new intensity in his eyes—like a predator locking onto its prey. Without breaking eye contact, he nods toward the stairwell leading up. “Come on. I know a better view.”

I raise an eyebrow, but my feet are already moving before I can think too hard about it. The adrenaline hums through me, a thrumming pulse beneath my skin.

He walks ahead, slow, easy, like he has all the time in the world. I follow, each step louder in my head than it should be.

I could turn back. But I won’t.

The new upper-level rooftop is quieter, more intimate. The music from below is muffled, the chatter softer. The air is cooler up here, a stark contrast to the heat still curling in my veins.

I step forward, taking in the view. The city stretches out below us, lights glittering like scattered stars.

Behind me, he leans against the railing, arms crossed, watching me. That knowing smirk is still on his face. “Changed your mind yet?”

I scoff, stepping up beside him, my fingers lightly gripping the edge. “If you’re looking for an out, just say so.”

He chuckles, turning to face me fully. “Not a chance.” His voice is low, sure, unshakable.

The way he says it sends a thrill straight down my spine.

He steps into my space. Slow. Deliberate. Not touching—but close enough to feel. His hands brush against my hips, a light tease of contact. Testing.

I should back up. Should call him out for pushing his luck. Instead, my breath catches. My body is suddenly, painfully aware of the inches between us.

His gaze drops to my mouth, and my lips tingle under his stare.. “You keep looking at my mouth,” he has the audacity to say. Hypocrite .

My eyes narrow. My chin tilts up in mock defiance. “You wish.”

He laughs, low and smooth. “Yeah. I do.” He doesn’t wait for permission. Doesn’t need it. His hand moves to the back of my neck, his long fingers threading into my ridiculous, two-toned hair.

The first brush of his lips is slow. Teasing. A dare rather than a demand.

Heat flares in my chest before I even process what’s happening.

Then he deepens it. Everything ignites. His free hand slides over my hip, pulling me closer until there’s nothing between us but air and the dizzying press of our bodies.

The kiss turns hungry, fast. He tilts his head, taking more.

I give just as much back.

His teeth graze my bottom lip, and I gasp into his mouth. His grip tightens, backing me up against the railing.

Cold metal bites into my back—a sharp contrast to the heat between us. My hands find his shoulders, his jaw, his hair—anything to anchor myself.

He’s all control, all confidence. But I don’t let him lead. When I bite back, he groans, his fingers dipping lower on my waist. When I pull his bottom lip between my teeth, he presses harder against me.

His mouth moves from my lips to my jaw. Then lower—along the curve of my throat, sending pleasant shivers through me. He lingers there, breathing me in, teeth scraping skin but not biting—just teasing. “You taste like trouble,” he murmurs against my pulse.

I don’t know if I want to pull him closer or push him away. Maybe both.

His hands skim under the hem of my top, his fingertips brushing the bare skin beneath. Not demanding. Not rushing. Just letting me feel him there. Waiting. Seeing if I stop him.

I don’t. Instead, I tilt my head, giving him more access to my throat. A silent yes. My pussy clenches, and I know I’m getting very wet already even though he’s barely touched me.

He exhales against my skin, his grip tightening just slightly. Like he knows exactly what he’s doing to me.

The moment is too intense, too much. I let out a sharp breath. “I should probably stop this.”

He smirks, lips brushing my jaw as he whispers, “Then stop.”

But I don’t.

He pulls back just enough to meet my gaze. His eyes are dark, searching, waiting.

A slow inhale drags into my lungs. I can still leave. I can still walk away.

But then he says, “Come with me.”

And for once in my life, I don’t think.

Instead, I just say, “Okay.”