Page 84 of The Rogue and His Flower

I watch him walk towards my door, and for the life of me, I don’t want him to leave. “Dalton, wait,” I say, following him.

“Yes?” he questions, turning to face me.

“I know I said that I wanted to forget what happened at the cinema and at the racetrack, but I…” My voice trails off as I chew on my lip.

“But?” he asks, taking a step towards me.

“But I haven’t been able to do that,” I admit.

“Me either,” he replies, taking a step closer to me. “So what now?”

“This is probably a very stupid idea,” I mumble.

“What’s a stupid idea, watching trash TV? I mean, we’ll probably lose a few brain cells in the process, but I’m still down for it, if you are?” he blurts out, and I can’t help but notice his sudden nervousness. I shake my head, resting my hand against his chest.

“I was referring to the kiss… I mean the kiss that didn’t happen.”

“You want to talk about it?”

“No, I want you to kiss me,” I whisper, my breath hitching as I look up at him.

“Youwantme to kiss you?”

“Yes.”

“Are you certain?” he asks. There’s longing and uncertainty in his gaze, something I feel just as powerfully.

“I’m not certain of anything, all I know is that I wanted you to kiss me in the cinema, and I want you to kiss me now,” I say.

He nods, reaching up, his thumb tracing over my lips as he leans in slowly, giving me the chance to pull away if I want to.

But I don’t.

I stay rooted to the spot, my heart pounding as his palm slides down my throat, gently cupping my neck as his lips meet mine in a soft, hesitant caress. Neither of us deepen the kiss, both uncertain of what this means, and despite asking him to kiss me, I realise that he won’t truly do that unless I drop my barriers first.

“Daisy,” he mutters, both hands on my hips now, his fingers flexing over my hips, as though he’s battling with holding on and letting go.

Parting my lips on a soft exhale, I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him closer, trying to erase the distance between us, and then he slides his tongue between my lips, and kisses me. I could be glaringly wrong about what’s unfolding between us, but in this moment, right here and now, there is no past, no future, only the present.

Our tongues dance against each other’s, teasing, tasting, stroking and licking. It’s a searching kiss, exploratory, intimate, knee-shakingly perfect. He tastes of coffee and liquor, of frightening possibilities and unspoken desires. Every nerve ending in my body is alight, prickling with awareness, yet my mind is blissfully blank, consumed by the sensation of him, this moment, our kiss. He groans, his fingers digging into my skin as we stumble backwards until my back is pressed against the wall and his body is crowding mine. Heat licks over my skin as his tongue twines with mine and I can feel the undeniable ridge of his erection pressing against my stomach.

A kiss that began soft and tentative soon turns into passionate and raw, the shifting tides of our desire washing over the both of us, pulling us under.

I’m drowning in his embrace, overwhelmed by his commanding kiss, I’m weakened by it, helpless.

We… should… stop…

Those words are like shards of painful consciousness stabbing against my mind.

We. Should. Stop.

Stab. Stab. Stab.

This has gone too far.

I stiffen, chest heaving, my clit aching to be touched, my body alive and desperate for more. But this kiss is too potent, too overwhelming, and for the sake of my sanity and his, I rest my hands against his chest, feeling the thundering of his heart beneath my palm, then push against him.

“No more,” I say, as firmly as I can muster. His lips part, his eyes snapping open as his chest heaves.

---