When I lean back against the wall, he lies
down on his side, head in my lap, and looks up at me with those
dark eyes that eclipse the rest of the world. The way he stares up
at me, his thick eyebrows pulled together in consternation, his
chapped lips a thin, pink line— “Dylan,” I sigh. I have to remember
we’re not alone, Parker’s on the other bunk, we can’t do anything,
we can’t.
But Dylan seems to forget this, and he
shifts his gaze to the slight bulge at my crotch, where the zipper
of my jumpsuit puckers out like an exaggerated erection. With one
long finger he traces the zipper’s path, pushing the fabric down
until I can feel his touch along hardening flesh. “Dylan, don’t,” I
tell him, catching his hand in mine. I don’t need him to turn me on
any worse than I already am.
He sighs and props himself up on one elbow,
pouts up at me with that puppy-dog look he’s perfected because he
knows what it does to me. “Why not?” he wants to know, and before I