We almost trip over each other in our haste
to follow him. In the stairwell, he slows down enough to quiet his
steps and we tiptoe after him, Dylan’s hand curved around the back
of my thigh possessively. At the top of the steps, that hand slides
between my leg, rubbing at hidden flesh, and this time it’s
mewho stumbles through the doorway, I can’t seem to
remember how to walk. “Watch it, babe,” Dylan purrs. I don’t have
to turn around to see his smile—I can hear it in his voice.
Ahead, Ellington storms down the darkened
corridor towards the men’s quarters and Dylan pulls me along after
him. But before we reach the sleeping room, Ellington turns and
disappears into a narrow serviceway. “Where—” I start, but Dylan
ducks around the corner, me right behind him. I try to stand my
ground and can’t. “Dylan, wait.”
The serviceway is pitch black, so dark my
eyes almost hurt and I look behind me to make sure I haven’t been