Dylan (Inked Brotherhood 4)

She leans into my touch with a sigh. “You do?”

“Yeah. I work and walk and talk, and all I can think of is you.”

“Dangerous,” she whispers. “Didn’t know I was so distracting.”

“You are.” I stroke soft hair off her face to better see her eyes. “God, you are. Fact is, I can’t stop wondering where you are, what you’re doing all the time.”

Can’t. Can’t stop wanting her, can’t stop pouring out my heart to her, letting her know what I want. What I fear. Who I desire most: the one who can break me with one word, one look. It’s one and the same.

Her.

***

My brothers are playing in their bedroom. I can hear their laughter as we pass outside. Tessa is quiet as she tugs me toward the bathroom.

I let her guide me. I feel drained—like telling her what I fear was a purge, an act of bloodletting.

She releases me when we enter the small bathroom, and I fight a shiver. I feel cold to the marrow of my bones. Maybe I’m coming down with something. The thought has crossed my mind a couple of times. But the weakness comes and goes, and besides, no time for me to be sick.

I lean on the wall to catch my breath.

“Dyl…” Her eyes gleam with worry. “I’ve never seen you so bad.”

“I just need to rest,” I say. “Catch up on some sleep.”

“How long has it been like this?”

“Not long,” I mutter.

“Any idea what it can be? How do you feel?

“My joints ache. I feel like I haven’t slept in fucking weeks.” I glance at her and regret putting that fear in her eyes. “Look… If after the weekend I still don’t feel well, I’ll go see a doctor. Believe me, it’s no fun.”

She nods, tugs her lower lip between her teeth, and I can’t tear my gaze away.

“My mom called me,” she says, folding her arms under her breasts, and fuck, I can’t look away from their roundness. “She’s filing for a divorce.”

Now my gaze snaps up to her face. Her pretty mouth is downturned at the corners. “I’m sorry, Tess.”

“I was, too, at first. Now I think that’s the best that could happen. She isn’t happy with him. Who would be?”

I walk over to her and pull her into a hug. “So sorry. I know it’s tough, realizing a parent doesn’t care. I often wished Mom would return, even though I know she doesn’t give a damn about us.”

She squeezes me back so tightly it’s as if she doesn’t want to let go. We stand like this for a bit, and I inhale her cinnamon scent, feel her curves. It makes me hard again, but I ignore my body. I’m not moving until she’s ready.

Finally, she sighs and steps back. “You know what? I’m somehow glad all this mess happened—with Sean, with my dad.”

I frown. “How so?”

“It helped snap me out it. I wasted too much time waiting.”

I swallow hard. Does this mean she’s also given up on me? She hasn’t commented at all on everything I told her tonight—about my fears, about my thoughts. About the fact I can’t get her out of my mind.

The cold is seeping into my bones, and I step away. “I’ll just jump into the shower, okay? We can talk later, if you like.”

She seems lost in thought, so I turn around and start unbuttoning my jeans. I hear the door click. Assuming she’s left the bathroom, I let my pants pool at my feet, push down my briefs and step out of them. I take off my socks, then grab the hem of my T-shirt and pull it off.

When I turn back around, though, I start, because she’s still there. Her gaze is on me, her pupils dilating as she watches me. I lift a brow, trying to gauge what she’s thinking.