I shrug. “I don’t know. The day was just overwhelming, I guess. And now I’m here and I feel like an old weight’s been lifted and a new one’s in its place.”

He sits up slightly, leaning on his left elbow. “What do you mean?”

“I just mean the physical stuff.”

He arches his eyebrows in question.

“You’re just a lot more experienced than I am, I guess, and that’s terrifying.”

“I’ve only been with two people my entire life,” he tells me. “You included.”

“Yeah, but you’ve probably slept with that other person over a hundred times and I’m… almost a virgin.”

“Almost?” he asks, his amusement evident.

“Well, once with Jeremy and once with you.”

“Shit,” he says in a clipped tone. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know…”

“It’s okay. I didn’t stop you, remember?”

After a moment, he lies back down and says, “I’m not going to promise I’ll keep my hands off you because you’re beautiful, Riley. And I like you. I like being close to you and touching you and reminding myself that you’re mine. So if I get inappropriately handsy just tell me to fuck off or throw something at me. But I probably still won’t stop, especially now, because seeing you in my shirt like this, it does something to me.”

“Something?” I whisper.

He takes my hand and places it on his stomach, then slowly guides it lower and lower, until I’m grasping him, my fingers instinctively wrapping around his hardness. I inhale a huge breath and hold it for as long as my lungs can handle, then I release it with the strength of my unspoken twentieth wish.

Dylan.

I wished for Dylan.

I lean down slowly, watching his eyes drift shut right before mine do. And like he’d done to me, I kiss him, soft and slow. He removes his hand covering mine and places it behind my neck, holding me to him while his mouth parts, his tongue meeting mine. After a while, his free hand finds my bare thigh, moving higher and higher until he’s cupping my panty-covered ass. He shifts my entire body until I’m lying on top of him. With each of my legs on either side of him and his cock pressed against my center, he thrusts up, pushing into me. We moan into each other’s mouths until we find a slow, perfect, rhythm. Then his hand on my butt moves, higher this time, onto my bare back where his fingers find the back of my bra.

I lift my head and look down at him, eyebrows quirked in question.

He grins, chuckling at the same time. “You know why I chose basketball when all my friends played baseball, Riley?”

“What?” I pant, confusion clear on my face.

“Because I sucked at baseball. I could only ever get to first base.”

My head drops with my laughter. “Are you telling me you want me to let you get to second base because you sucked at baseball?”

He kisses my neck, moving slowly to my shoulder. “Actually, I’m begging you to let me get to second base.”

“That’s such a pathetic attempt to woo a girl,” I tell him, tilting my head to the side to give him better access.

His lips shift against my skin. “I’m pretty sure the handbook states the wooing begins after third base.”

“Oh, you’re not getting to third base today.”

He drops his head back on the pillow. “Well, no shit. Not if you don’t let me get to second. That’s just cheating, Riley. Do you want me to be a cheater?”

God, he’s funny. And so fucking hot. I sit up completely, pressing down on him.

His hands find my waist, underneath the shirt, and his eyes are lowered, focused on our joined parts.

“My eyes are up here, Rookie.”

He smiles a lazy smile and lifts his gaze to mine.

“You first,” I tell him.

“Me?”

“Shirt off, stud.”

Smirking, he sits up and I help him remove first his shirt, and then his tank. I eye his chest, the dips of his abs—the skin covered in a golden glow. Then I eye the wound, now completely healed on the outside. “Does it hurt if I touch it?” I ask.

He runs his thumb across my lips. “Fuck, your pout is sexy.”

“Seriously,” I whine. “Does it?”

He shakes his head, his hands moving higher and taking the fabric of the shirt with it. “It’s scar tissue. I can barely feel it.” He licks his lips, his eyes right on mine and his breaths shaky.

“What if I kiss it?” I whisper.

His gaze drops, but he doesn’t respond. I reach out with my finger first and run it over the hard lump of skin, feeling his exhale fall on my neck. Then I lean down, and press my lips to it, fighting back tears that came out of nowhere. I kiss it again, and again, while his grip on my sides tightens, his thumb brushing the bottom of my breasts. I keep my lips on him, skimming from his shoulder and up his neck, kissing and licking, and sucking slightly. He groans, a sound filled with need and want and overwhelming lust.

I know because I feel it too.

Slowly, I reach up, undoing the buttons of my shirt until it splits open in the middle. Then I pull back and grasp each side of the shirt revealing myself to him—my bra and panties the only thing covering me.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, Riley.”

Beneath me, his cock stirs.

As does the vibrating phone in his pocket.

He grunts in frustration and I shift to the side, allowing him access to it. Before he can read it, I take it from him, annoyed that someone had the audacity to ruin our perfect lust-filled moment. Dylan doesn’t fight it, so I read the text out loud.

Dave: I hope you’re getting money and fucking bitches. Hugs and Kisses – Your gimp.

I look over at Dylan, who’s sitting up and shaking his head. “It’s not what it looks like.”

“Who’s Dave?”

“My buddy in Afghanistan.”

“Uh-huh.” I type out a quick message while Dylan watches.

Dylan: He’s trying, you cock-blocking gimp.

Dylan says, “You make it impossible not to like you as much as I do. You know that, right?”

Dave: Pic or I call bullshit.

Dylan laughs. “Just ignore him, babe.”

“Or we could have fun with him,” I respond, pulling him by the back of his neck until his face is buried between my breasts. I snap the pic and send it, all while Dylan watches me, his eyes wide in shock.

Dave: Carry on, my man. Carry the fuck on.

Dave: Also, I wish you were more technically minded. I could use you right now.

Dylan’s face turns serious when he reads the text. He takes the phone from me and I witness first hand his snail-speed typing.

Dylan: You good?

Dave: Yeah, man. We’re on base at the moment so if you can tear yourself away from your girl for a minute, set up Skype and we can organize a time to call.

Dylan looks up at me. “What’s Skype?”

“It’s like a video chat thing. I have it on my phone.” I get off him and grab my phone from the pocket of my shorts sitting on the floor. “Tell him to add me.”

He looks at me confused.

I take the phone from him.

Dylan: Hey. It’s Riley. The girl in the pic. You can add me on Skype. I have it on my phone. xoxR1L3YHxox