The Leftover Club (17 page)

“Maybe you should write something,” I teased.

He laughed. “I’ve thought about it. Write an amazing screenplay but refuse to sell it unless they let me star. That’s how Stallone did it, you know.” I chuckled. “Nah, man, that’s not me. I learned my lesson in New York. I act to get out of myself. Writing would put me right back in.”

“I thought you were doing well in New York,” I said. “What made you come back to L.A.?”

“New York was great. I learned a lot. There’s nothing quite like live theater to learn your chops as an actor. But Dad told me it was time to stop playing and get a real job, so. I decided to come back home.”

“I’m sorry, Dylan.”

He shrugged. “I’ll be fine. And I’ll go back
someday. Next time, it’ll be on my terms.” I nodded before diving into a bowl of soup. It was all I had the stomach to eat. “Are you okay? Really.”

It was my turn to shrug. “Does it matter?”

“It does to me,” he said softly.

“Yeah, well, it doesn’t to my husband,” I admitted. “He moved out a week ago.”

His eyes widened in surprise. “I didn’t realize things were so serious.”

“Neither did
I.”

He reached across the table to cover my hand with his. That one gentle gesture was enough to put another crack in the dam. I pulled away to discreetly wipe the tear from the corner of my eye. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I shouldn’t have come.”

Dylan signaled for the waitress, who boxed up our meal and gave us a piece of pie for the road. I followed Dylan out to his car, and he drove me a few blocks to his walkup apartment in Los Feliz. “For privacy,” he said when I sent him a quizzical glance.

I nodded and followed him upstairs to the modest apartment. It was tidy, but it was definitely a man’s domain. All that were missing from his childhood bedroom were posters of scantily clad females all over the walls. His rock posters had all been framed, and some had even been signed.
There were also signed playbills and photos taken from his time on New York theater stages.

The studio apartment had a bed i
n one corner, behind a bamboo room divider. He flipped on the light and I sat on the worn but comfortable sofa while he served our food.

We ate in comfortable silence, much like we did when we were kids. When he tur
ned on the TV, we caught
St. Elmo’s Fire
, a movie we had enjoyed as teens, before we understood how painful a process growing up could be.

Now it just felt nostalgic. Like we had stepped through an alternate universe and crossed back to that innocent time in the 80s.
It felt warm. Cozy. Familiar. I giggled when he withdrew a joint. I hadn’t smoked pot since college, since before Wade. It felt naughty to indulge, but I didn’t refuse.

I wanted to feel good again. And I was tired of apologizing for it.
I coughed and sputtered at the strong, clean taste. “Where’d you get this?”

He smiled. “This boy’s legit,” he said. “God bless California.”

I didn’t refuse when he poured us some wine. We sat together on the sofa, watching the movie, nursing our glasses, and letting quiet companionship (and various intoxicants) heal our many wounds. When Wendy and Billy finally made love on screen, it felt painfully familiar. The only difference was she got her idol.

I was still waiting for mine.

It was like he could read my mind. “I guess nobody gets it right,” he said softly. “We were all given these super suits without any instructions.” I chuckled but he was serious. “Do you ever wish it could have been different? Like you could go back and change something, anything?”

Our eyes met.
“Every damned day,” I said softly.

He brushed a strand of my hair from my face. “It’s never too late, you know.”

“It isn’t?” I repeated as I stared at that full, sensual mouth.

He shook his head as h
e pulled me closer. I snuggled into the crook of his arm. Oddly I felt safe there, safer than I’d been in a long, long time. I could feel his gaze on my face, so I lifted my head to look at him. Our eyes met and held. Questions were asked without a word being said. His arm tightened. I softened. And when his lips found mine, I didn’t resist.

I didn’t
think about Wade in that moment, or the wedding ring on my finger. For the first time in a long time I felt wanted. And not by just anyone… but by Dylan Fenn. He had always been my holy grail. I opened my mouth to deepen the kiss, which made him groan in his throat as he reached toward me.

“
Roni,” he breathed against my lips.

The last time we had been together I had been a girl. I was shy and awkward and
felt entirely outclassed. Ten years later I was a woman. I knew what to do, where to touch, how to kiss. I slid off of the low couch onto the hardwood floor and positioned myself between his knees. His stare darkened as I ran my palms up his denim-clad thighs. I pressed my full breasts into him as I let my fingers dance over the hardening bulge. Boldly I grasped the zipper and eased it down until my hot breath rushed over his hard cock, which was still covered with the thin, soft cotton of his underwear. His head fell back on the edge of the sofa while I pleasured him only with my mouth and my fingers. He grabbed a handful of my hair as I teased the angry purple head of his cock, which felt like silk against my tongue. I bathed it liberally and he gasped out loud. “God, yes,” he murmured. I held the shaft in my hand as I eased my mouth over him. His breath hitched as he watched himself disappear inside my mouth. My eyes were locked with his as I slathered his dick with my tongue. I tormented him until I took him to the brink, and he stopped me before he came.

“
Not yet,” he said in a gruff, low voice. “I want to be inside you. At last,” he added, and I was a goner.

He stood and pulled me to my feet. He wrapped his arms around me in a tight embrace as he kissed me so deep and so hard it felt like there were fireworks going off in my brain. We stumbled together those five feet to the bed, where we fell onto the mattress, fumbling with our clothes as our mouths devoured each other.

He tore off my top, revealing my sexy underwire bra that lifted the girls up for him like care packages gift-wrapped in black lace. He sucked me hard through the fabric until I was arching toward him, a cry on my lips I didn’t even bother to withhold.

I ripped his shirt open, sending buttons flying in all directions. His chest was firm and strong against my fingers.

Likewise he released my bra and soon we were bare chest to bare chest. He couldn’t take his eyes off of me. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.”

I kissed him to shut him up.
I wasn’t a teenager anymore. I didn’t need all the declarations of love or the sweet talk. I didn’t need a fairy tale. I needed a man. This man. I just wanted him to touch my body, to kiss me, to possess me fully.

I needed him to fill the ache in my soul. Nothing had ever fixed it. Not getting married, not losing weight, not ‘having it all.’ There was still something missing. “
I just need you inside me, Dylan,” I begged in a whisper.

He shuddered against me. He
kicked his jeans free and I wiggled from my remaining clothes as quickly as possible. Then he was between my legs, his arms around me, and his tongue inside of my mouth. His hard shaft rubbed against me, so slick and wet, until I was whimpering for him. He paused only briefly to snag a condom from the bedside table. He tore the wrapper with his teeth before he gave me the package. “Put it on me,” he instructed in a low, firm voice.

My hands trembled as I did as instructed. He gasped the minute my fingers closed around him, sliding the prophylactic down his raging hard-on until it fit snugly at the base.

He rubbed himself against me, toying with my clit to lubricate himself with my juices. My eyes closed, but he wasn’t having it.

“Open your eyes,
Roni,” he commanded softly. “Look at me while I fuck you.”

I shivered as I obeyed his command.
My eyes widened as his body penetrated mine strong and sure with one swift stroke. I cried out as my fists gathered the sheets in a white knuckled grip. A self-satisfied smirk crossed his face before he bent for another passionate kiss. “That’s my girl,” he whispered against my lips. “You know what you want, don’t you? You know what you need.”

I nodded. “You,” I finally admitted.

“Oh, Roni,” he muttered as he buried his face in my neck. Each thrust was deep and sure. There was nothing gentle about our union. Pure need drove us with every nip of the skin, every clutch of hair and every wild thrust. He practically bent me in half until I was incoherent with the pleasure of how he felt deep inside me. He was solid and strong and filled me with each thrust. I clutched him tighter and he cried out himself.

Only h
e shook his head. He wasn’t ready yet. He slipped free from my body before he flipped me around onto my knees with surprising strength. I cried out in surprise as he thrust from behind and filled me deeper than I had ever been filled before. He lifted me up until my back was against his chest, his arm across my torso as his hand cupped my breast possessively. He tweaked the hard nipple until I was crying out. Every nerve ending was alive and responded to his masterful touch. He pushed me against the wall, where I landed with a loud smack against my two forearms. His teeth bit into the soft flesh of my neck as his other hand slid around my waist and disappeared between my legs.

“This is what you need, isn’t it?” he growled in my ear. I couldn’t even speak. I could only nod. When his firm fingertip touched my clit, my whole body shuddered. He thrust harder as he furiously rubbed my clit, and I slammed my body back on his for every stroke. “Yeah, baby,” he whispered. “Let yourself go. Give me everything.”
He punctuated each word with his thrusting. “I want it all. I’ve always wanted it all.”

I cried out as I came hard. He held me still on his body so he could feel every single contraction.
My heart thundered in my chest as he gripped me tightly against his body. He kept rubbing me as he whispered against my ear, “Don’t stop, baby. Give me more.” I could barely catch my breath, much less contemplate that I was making love to the man of my dreams. I was his toy in that moment, at the mercy of his hands and his body. I let myself go and trusted where he led with every whisper and every kiss.

His fingers toyed with my clit until
I vaulted immediately into another mind-shattering orgasm, the first multiple of my life. He started stroking again while I contracted all around him. He didn’t hold back. Just like he said, he wanted it all. And I couldn’t get enough. I slammed back onto him, urging him deeper as I crept toward yet another climax. “Yeah, baby,” he murmured. “That’s it. That’s it,” he repeated. “I’m gonna come,” he whispered. “Tell me you want it, Roni. Tell me you want it all.”

Speech eluded me as my head bobbed. Each grunt was more primal than the last as he slammed into me. He cried out as he climaxed, and he
didn’t stop thrusting until I toppled over the edge for orgasm #3. He collapsed against my back, panting hard, while his cock pulsated inside me. Eventually we slid back onto the bed. He fell to my side, sweaty and out of breath. Neither of us could speak for long minutes afterward. My heartbeat thundered in my chest as blood pulsed in my ear. He curled up beside me, his hand possessively cupping one breast as his thumb absently stroked the nipple. I trembled in his arms. He kissed my neck and his breath was warm against my ear. “I’ve wanted to do that ever since I saw you at the reunion.”

I closed my eyes and shook my head. “You don’t have to say that.”

He propped up on one elbow to look down at me. Out of habit I pulled the throw blanket at the foot of his bed over me. His brow knit as he watched. “I know I don’t have to. I want to.”

I sat up, clutching the soft throw to my chest. “I’m just saying I don’t need it. I’m a big girl now. I get how this works.”

His voice was controlled. “How what works?”

“You.
Us.” I reached for my top but it had been tossed across the room, following a trail of our clothes to the sofa. Just a split second ago we were there, and I wasn’t an adultress.

I groaned as I covered my eyes with one hand. What had I done?

He sat up next to me. His hand was warm on my back. “Hey. It’s okay.”

“No, it is most definitely not okay,” I corrected. “I am married.”

“To an asshole,” he clarified softly.

“There’s no loophole, Dylan. Vows have no caveats. They’re for life. And I broke my promise.” I scooted from the bed to gather my clothes. “I shouldn’t even be here,” I went on, my speech panicky a
s the weight of my impulsive behavior crashed down upon me. I had just proved Wade right about everything. I
was
selfish. I
was
impulsive. More than that, I was a slut. “I should be at the hotel, with Wade, in his room, but I can’t because there’s some other girl there, and he never came home because I just can’t do anything right…”

My self-pity came out in one long
, rambling, incoherent stream. Dylan said nothing as he stood and approached me in the middle of the room. He was naked and still semi-hard as he took me into his arms, but all he did was hold me while I dissolved into tears. “This isn’t who I am supposed to be,” I cried into his bare shoulder. He held me tight, his hands brushing my back as his lips kissed my shoulder.