Irresistible Compulsions

||Ch. Three||

I awake to the smell of bacon. My body having a visceral reaction to it as my stomach cramps in hunger.

Wait, who the hell is cooking?

It's a Friday meaning Jake should be at work and I should have the house to myself.

Hopping out of bed, I trudge downstairs to the kitchen. Passing the mirror in the hallway on my way there, I give myself a second to admire how royally fucked my hair always manages to tangle itself while I slept.

I assume Jake's chucked a sickie and stayed home but when I round the corner into the kitchen, I stop dead in my tracks.

It's not Jake. It's Dylan.

His sculpted shoulders look Godly from behind, showcasing what I assume took countless hours of work at the prison gym to acquire.

"Sleep well?" he asks, turning slightly, a knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

My breath catches at the sound of his voice, shocked that he knew I was in the room. I hadn't made a sound as I slipped into the kitchen, trying my best not to get caught gawking at the way his back and shoulders flex as he moves.

It occurs to me that he must have picked up the skill in prison. Probably quickly developing the ability to remain alert at all times, ready for anything.

The thought of a sixteen-year-old Dylan lying awake in the dark, one eye open while sharing a cell with a serial killer, makes my chest tighten. It's a strange mix of pity and... something else I can't quite name.

"So," he says, his voice breaking through my thoughts. "Have any wet dreams about me?"

His eyes narrow at me, the smirk on his lips daring me to tell the truth. It's like he knows I'm overthinking, and he's just waiting to see what I'll do with that tension.

I snort in response, shaking my head.

"The only dreams of mine you're in are nightmares, Dylan. And right now, considering you're standing in my kitchen, I'm not entirely sure if I'm awake or stuck in some sick, twisted sleep paralysis."

He bursts out laughing at that, the sound booming through the kitchen. Without missing a beat, he extends the tongs in my direction, offering me a piece of bacon before flipping an egg with one swift motion.

I'm not sure what's worse: the fact that I instinctively take a seat at the island or that my eyes follow the curve of his chest and shoulders, which—let's just say—might be even more impressive from the front.

Most of Jake's mates are easy on the eyes, don't get me wrong, but Dylan's body? It absolutely dwarfs theirs now. Makes them all look like little boys in comparison.

His chest is carved from stone, and while his six-pack isn't crazy defined, it's enough to catch anyone's eye. That sharp V leads down to his pelvis, teasing what's hidden beneath the waistband of his underwear.

His arms and legs are just as impressive. I don't know much about weightlifting, but I'm willing to bet whatever he's lifting isn't anything lightweight. I can't help but wonder if he could lift me the way he lifts those dumbbells—my legs wrapped around him, his hands gripping my hips.

"So, what are our plans for today, Evie?" His voice pulls me out of my thoughts, and I quickly glance away, focusing on the stove like it's the most interesting thing in the world, praying he didn't catch me staring.

"'Our' plans?" I raise an eyebrow, crossing my arms. "Because I sure as hell don't plan on leaving this house."

"Suit yourself. Was worth a shot," he shrugs, handing over a plate stacked high with bacon, scrambled eggs, and toast. He joins me at the island on a stool, setting down a plate that's twice as full as mine.