Guarding Gemma, page 3
Seeing Dylan’s usually serious face crease into a charming smile catches me off guard. His rugged features soften as he watches the woman go, looking less like an intimidating sentinel and more like a caring son. Unexpected warmth blooms in my chest. Beneath the brooding exterior, Dylan's a good man.
“He effortlessly puts people at ease, radiating a gentle protectiveness.”
My breath hitches as Dylan glances up, meeting my gaze through the second-story window. The smile still lingers on his lips.
He winks playfully before gathering the box again and heading toward the library entrance. Damn him, he knows just how to make me weak in the knees.
I press a hand to my flaming cheek, pulse skittering. Shaking off inappropriate daydreams, I gather my textbooks and notebooks into a haphazard pile.
I want to have everything ready for when Dylan returns. After witnessing that display of selfless chivalry, a small gesture of thanks is in order.
I hurry to the cafeteria, anticipation bubbling at the thought of having Dylan all to myself. I select sandwiches and snacks, imagining sitting close in the intimate study nook. I wonder if he'll smile at me more and relax his professional guard. The possibility sends my pulse racing.
I return from the cafeteria just as Dylan shoulders through the library’s heavy double doors. His eyes find me instantly, crinkling at the corners. My stomach performs a clumsy somersault.
I hold up the paper bag clenched in my sweaty palm.
“I brought dinner,” I announce, proud at how steady my voice sounds. “Just some sandwiches and snacks from the cafeteria.” I chance a small smile. “But I figured you could use a break.”
Dylan blinks down at me, looking genuinely touched. “You didn’t have to do that.”
I give a casual shrug, hoping it disguises my racing heart. “Consider it a peace offering.”
The skin around Dylan’s eyes crinkles. “Well, peace offering accepted then.”
With evening classes ended, the usually bustling building is empty. A prickle of something dances down my neck that has nothing to do with fear. Being alone with Dylan feels intimate. Forbidden.
I try not to notice how his black t-shirt pulls taut across his broad chest when he moves. Clearing my suddenly dry throat, I unpack the food onto the table between us–two turkey clubs wrapped in plastic, salt and vinegar chips, and a pair of slightly squashed chocolate cupcakes.
It's hardly an Instagram-worthy spread, but it’s the comfort food you crave after a long, stressful day.
Dylan digs in hungrily. “This hits the spot, thanks, Gemma.”
“No problem. You've more than earned it.” I nibble at my sandwich, suddenly feeling self-conscious.
In the privacy of this small room, he seems changed somehow. More relaxed. Unguarded. I sneak glances at him through my lashes, taking in the lean muscles of his forearms where he’s rolled up his sleeves.
The sharp line of his jaw as he chews. The way he runs a hand through his dark golden hair, leaving it appealingly tousled.
We eat in silence for several minutes, the only sounds being the crinkling of paper bags and the cracking of soda cans. I nibble my sandwich, hyper-aware of Dylan’s presence on the other side of the small table.
Dylan brushes his fingers over mine as he reaches for another chip. A jolt of electricity shoots up my arm. I catch his gaze, my cheeks warming.
“Sorry,” he murmurs. Is that a hint of pink on his cheeks?
I tuck a lock of hair behind my ear self-consciously. “No problem.”
His eyes follow the movement, lingering on my mouth. I swipe my lower lip nervously with my tongue. Dylan's throat bobs as he swallows.
The urge to reach out and brush away a stray crumb clinging to his stubbled cheek nearly overwhelms me. I clench my fist in my lap until my nails bite my palm.
I slide Dylan’s portion across to him when he finishes eating his sandwich. “It was chocolate or red velvet. I took a guess.” I fold my arms self-consciously when he doesn’t immediately reach for it. “What, you aren't a fan of cupcakes?”
“Are you kidding? My sweet tooth is legendary.” Dylan snags the package with a grin. “I can’t believe Gemma Caldwell brought me a cupcake.”
I roll my eyes, the quip easing my nerves. “Yes, well, don’t get used to Royal Treatment. I expect you back to infuriating self in no time.”
Dylan winks. “I’ll do my best, Princess.” But there’s no malice in the nickname.
Heat rises in my cheeks that has nothing to do with the food. I grab my soda and chug, hoping the fizz will extinguish the flutters taking wing in my stomach.
When I finally set the can down, Dylan is watching me curiously. I clear my throat, casting about for some way to break the suddenly heavy tension.
“Tell me about yourself,” I say. “I know so little about the man who's always two steps behind me.”
Dylan quirks a tawny brow. “Trying to gather intel on the enemy now, eh Princess?”
I fling a potato chip at him, which he deftly catches in his mouth. “Come on. I’m being serious!” I protest through my laughter.
“Not much to tell, honestly,” Dylan replies after chewing. “I grew up in a small town. I come from a military family and joined the military after graduating. Been focused on that ever since, until an injury forced me out. This job with your family is my shot at a new start.”
He says it matter-of-factly, but I hear the wistfulness in his voice. The toll ending a career prematurely takes on a person. My heart aches for what he's lost.
“Well, you're damn good at it,” I say with a smile. “Even if I haven't made things easy for you.”
“That's an understatement.” He grins and nudges my foot under the table. The contact sends a jolt up my leg.
“What about you?” he asks. “Tell me something I don't know yet.”
I tap my chin thoughtfully, buying time to rein in my hammering pulse. “I love horses. I even wanted to be a rodeo queen when I was little.”
Dylan's laugh echoes off the study room walls. “No way! Do you even know how to ride a horse?”
“I'll have you know I was the equestrian champion at summer camp three years running.”
His eyes dance, crinkling irresistibly at the corners. “Well, I'll be damned! We got ourselves a genuine cowgirl here.” His playful drawl sends delicious shivers skating down my spine.
“Don’t mock me, it was my childhood dream!” I protest through my giggles. Reaching across the table, I swat his shoulder. The contact sizzles through me like a bolt of electricity.
Our laughter dies away slowly, eyes caught on one another in the intimate hush that descends. The undercurrent of awareness charging the scant air between us is undeniable now.
I wet my suddenly dry lips with the tip of my tongue.
Dylan follows the movement with hooded eyes. “Gemma—” he says roughly.
As if pulled by some invisible force, Dylan moves closer. My lips part in anticipation and I sway toward him involuntarily. All I can think about is how badly I want to taste those full lips barely inches from my own.
Oh god, if he doesn't kiss me right now, I swear I’ll combust.
Some rational part of my brain warns this is dangerous, but the rest of me is tired of being rational. Before I can overthink it, I grab a fistful of his shirt and pull his mouth down to mine.
The world tilts on its axis as his lips meet mine. For one electric second, Dylan goes utterly still. My heart hammers, afraid the kiss is over before it begins.
But then he makes a low sound that vibrates through me, and his arms come around me like steel bands. And oh, he is kissing me back. Really kissing me, like he wants this as much as I do.
My lips part, and his tongue slides against mine, hot and velvety—the taste of him mingling with chocolate from the cake we shared moments ago.
My heart races like a wild horse trapped inside my chest. I cling to him, dizzy with the taste and feel of him. So much better than I imagined.
Too soon, Dylan wrenches away, bracing his hands on my shoulders. We're both breathing hard. His pupils are blown wide, lips kiss-swollen. He looks wrecked. I imagine I do, too.
“Gemma,” he rasps again. But this time, it's a plea.
My lips still tingle from his kiss. “I know. We shouldn't.”
Dylan closes his eyes briefly, muscles in his jaw feathering. When he looks at me again, his expression is shuttered. But Dylan doesn't move away. He tenderly brushes his thumb across my cheek.
“Why did you do that?” His voice is low and gravelly, vibrating through me.
“I needed to,” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. The admission hangs between us like a dare.
“I've never wanted a woman like this before,” he whispers, his voice low and thick.
My body is tingling in anticipation. “I don't know what's happening between us, but I don't want it to stop.”
Chapter 5
Gemma
Dylan's gaze darkens as he takes in my flushed cheeks and swollen lips. He mutters a curse under his breath before he picks me up, effortlessly. I squeal in surprise but throw my arms around his neck as he carries me.
“Where are you taking me?” I manage to ask between panting breaths.
“Somewhere more private.”
Everywhere is a good place when Dylan's hands are on me.
We finally make it to the secluded sanctuary of the library stacks, surrounded by towering shelves of books that provide a perfect hiding spot. My biggest dream is becoming a reality and with the hottest man in existence.
Dylan's eyes flick down to my mouth then back up, his breath coming faster. He tilts his head and leans in. My pulse is deafening in my ears.
When he kisses me again, there is no hesitation. His kiss is insistent and deep, claiming me in ways I didn't know I wanted to be claimed.
Dylan presses me against a bookshelf, and his hand slips under my shirt, caressing my skin. I respond instinctively, wrapping my arms around his neck. Dylan's hands slide down my back and pull me closer until there's no space between us. I arch into him, needing more.
I feel a low moan rumble from his chest. The sound sends a tremor of lust down to my toes.
Dylan is attacking my lips again; his hands roam over my body. He traces the delicate skin of my collarbone down to the dip of my cleavage. I see stars behind my eyelids as Dylan's lips trails down my neck.
I want him--all of him. I tug at his shirt, wanting to feel his bare skin against mine. He pauses only long enough to yank it over his head, revealing a chiseled torso that makes my mouth water.
Dylan's hands trail down my sides, sending shivers through my body. He hooks his fingers in my panties and pulls them down, exposing me completely to him. I feel a rush of embarrassment and excitement all at once.
But Dylan doesn't hesitate. He kneels in front of me, his eyes devouring every inch of me. I can feel the heat emanating from him as he spreads my legs wider and runs his hands up my inner thighs.
I'm so turned on that I can barely form a coherent thought. I want him—in every possible way.
Dylan's lips press against the inside of my thigh, leaving a trail of hot kisses as he makes his way closer to where I'm throbbing with need.
I let out a gasp as his tongue flicks against my clit, sending shockwaves of pleasure through me. His hands grip onto my hips to steady me as he works his magic on me. My pleasure builds higher and higher until I'm on the edge of bliss.
Dylan's fingers move in a rhythmic motion, his thumb rubbing against my clit while his fingers thrust in and out of me. I'm going to explode.
“Come for me,” Dylan whispers against my skin, sending me over the edge. My body convulses as waves of pleasure wash over me, leaving me trembling and breathless.
Dylan stands up and crashes his lips against mine again. This time, not a gentle kiss, but one filled with passion and desire.
“I need you,” he says between kisses, his voice husky.
I nod, wanting him just as much.
My fingers trail down his chest and abdomen, eagerly unbuttoning his pants before pushing them down to reveal his throbbing arousal straining against his boxers. My mind had played out this moment countless times, but nothing could prepare me for seeing him so ready and waiting for me.
I quickly drop to my knees and take him into my mouth with a gasp.Dylan growls low in his throat as I tease him, one hand gripping the shelf behind us while the other rakes through my hair, holding me close.
He's panting as I tighten my lips around him before pulling off for a moment to meet his eyes. They are dark, almost black with desire.
“Dylan,” I breathe out before taking him back into my mouth, sucking as my hands glide up his thighs.
His hips buck, urging me on as I swirl my tongue around him, taking in his salty taste. It's intoxicating, the power I have over him.
“God, Gemma,” he groans. “You feel so fucking good.”
I moan around his length. The sound seems to send him over the edge because he suddenly grabs my shoulders and pulls me up.
“I don't want to come yet,” he says, his voice rough. “Tell me what you need.”
“You,” I whine. “I need you inside me.”
His lips find my earlobe again, softly nibbling as he whispers, “Are you sure?”
I nod against his mouth.
The sound of foil crinkling lets me know he's on board. His hips nudge my legs apart before sliding his hardness against my dripping entrance.
“Wrap your legs around me,” he commands as he effortlessly lifts me as though I'm weightless.
I do as he says without hesitation. Gripping my thighs, he positions himself between my thighs.
Our eyes meet as he slowly enters me. The sensation is unlike anything I've ever experienced before. My moan becomes a gasp when he pins me against the sturdy wooden shelves holding leather-bound tomes on medieval literature and history volumes about European war—their weight keeping the shelves steady.
Dylan groans against my neck, tightly holding onto my hips for leverage as his hips piston.
The friction between us grows more intense as he picks up speed, slamming into me with a rhythm that has me seeing stars.
Sparks are shooting through me—I’m going to explode. I cling to him, my nails digging into his back as we move together with an urgency bordering on desperation.
Our bodies slide against each other, and our skin is slick with sweat. I'm floating, weightless, as the waves of pleasure wash over me. Dylan's arms wrap tightly around my body, holding me close as we both ride out our orgasms.
When it finally subsides, we're both panting and clinging to each other in the dimly lit library.
“That was--” I can't even find the words to describe what happened.
“Mind-blowing,” he finishes for me, his lips brushing against my forehead. It's like he wants to savor every moment with me.
I nod in agreement, my body still humming with aftershocks.
We stand there for a few moments, catching our breaths and basking in the afterglow of our passion.
Eventually, Dylan pulls away and helps me clean up and straighten my clothes.
I watch Dylan now from across the room, his strong jaw clenched, his broad shoulders rigid. He's trying so hard to maintain distance.
He's punishing himself, denying what we both want. Seeing him in pain breaks my heart. But my lips are still tingling. My body aches from being stretched and thoroughly used.
The fact Dylan and I had the most intense, mind-blowing sex doesn't change things. Crossing a line puts us in uncharted territory with no clear path back.
“What happens now?” I manage to ask, my voice shaking slightly as I adjust my clothes.
Dylan runs a hand through his disheveled hair, looking just as rattled as I feel. His expression is so raw and vulnerable that it takes my breath away. He's always been so controlled, so professional. Now, the mask has slipped.
“This can't happen again,” Dylan says after a long silence, his voice rough with emotion.
“You're right, it's risky,” I say quietly. “But I've never felt this way before. About anyone.”
I blink back tears, willing myself to be strong. Dylan watches me steadily, his eyes full of tenderness and regret.
“Gemma,” Dylan begins, then falters. He runs his hand through his hair, as if searching for the right words to say. “I swore an oath to protect you, no matter what. If personal feelings cloud my judgment, I can’t do my job. And if I can’t do my job, you’ll be in danger.”
“I understand,” I say, my voice barely a whisper.
Dylan nods, looking pained. “Trust me, walking away from you is the hardest thing I'll ever do.”
He brushes his fingers over my cheek so gently. I lean into his touch, savoring it. “You deserve more than stolen moments in a dark library. That's not mine to give you.”
I nod, not trusting myself to speak because I understand, with perfect clarity that I love him. This obstinate, principled, caring man has my heart.
“You're doing what you think is right. But I don't regret what happened between us.”
Dylan clears his throat gruffly. “Let's get you home.”
As we gather our things in charged silence, I refuse to believe this is the end for us. We're too stubborn to quit without a fight—for us and the future that's right there if we dare to take it and never look back.
In the quiet car ride, unspoken words hang between us. Tension wraps around us like a thick fog, cloying and impenetrable.
Dylan grips the steering wheel with a white-knuckled intensity, his jaw set in a hard line. His rigid shoulders betray an internal battle—duty and desire, fighting for dominance.
The trip from the college grounds to my place is brief. After we arrive, Dylan does his customary safety inspections before saying goodnight.
He gives me a small nod before leaning in to kiss me softly on the lips. It's tender, almost hesitant and so different from our explosive kisses earlier.
