Page 34 of Sweet Heat

“Yeah. I’ll have the baked ziti, and she’ll have the chicken parmesan with linguini instead of spaghetti,” I answer, rattling off her favorite meal and preferred substitutions. For a moment, her nose scrunches as though she might argue, but something flits over her face, and she takes a sip of her water instead.

“Very good, sir,” he says, clicking his heels smartly and still not glancing at my omega. “I’ll be back with some bread.”

The man disappears, and Posie squints in my direction, clearly puzzled about why I changed her order. Trailing my hand up hersilken thigh, I push the hem of the pink dress higher, bending lower so I can take in deep hits of her sweet scent.

She’s frowning, but there’s no burned tinge to her candy cotton, so she’s not truly annoyed. As I suspected, she didn’t want the freaking salad.

“No bird food for you, Puff,” I mutter in her ear. “I love every single one of your curves. And the things I want to do to you this weekend—you’re gonna need all the energy.”

My hand lifts higher, massaging her upper thigh, and she reaches down to grab it in a surprisingly firm grip to stop my momentum. Posie’s message is clear: she’s running this show, and I can respect it—even if I’m dying to see how adventurous she can be. Giving in, I flip it over and twine her fingers with mine.

The contact relaxes her fractionally, but there’s still an uncomfortable tension between us, and I don’t know where to start. How do you tell someone you’ve been in love with them for years?

Stalking them?

Memorizing every little thing about them?

When in their eyes, you’ve only existed as their brother’s best friend. Worry comes out of left field, slithering through me, and I wonder if I’m playing this all wrong. As a catcher, I read the field, gathering intentions and figuring out the right plays, and if I fuck up, we lose.

If I fuck up here, the loss will be catastrophic.

The silence between us grows, and I run my hand through my hair, attempting to release the restless energy building in my legs. Perhaps I should just snatch her up, bring her to my apartment,and never let her leave—or better yet, the mansion I bought for us.

Posie’s scent becomes sourer with every passing second, so I do the only thing I can think of to break the tension.

“Truth or dare?” I whisper, squeezing her hand even though mine is slippery with sweat. The silly question makes her snort with surprise, then giggle as she looks up at me from beneath her lashes. It’s like the sun peeking from behind the clouds, instantly lightening the mood.

“Are we children again?” she asks primly, but she can’t fool me. There’s mischief sparking behind those chocolate orbs; my girl wants to play.

“Always. Now answer. Truth or dare,” I order, and she bites her lip in thought.

“Hummmm.” She taps her lips, eyes darting around the room. “Dare.”

Hell yeah.I want her truths more than anything, but the fun of a dare excites the hell out of me.

“Oh, you’re in for it, Puff,” I say, and her nose once again wrinkles at the nickname. I file that away for one of my truth questions. “Idareyou to slide those naughty panties to the side, lift that sexy dress and let me see that pretty pink pussy right here at the table.”

“Seriously?” A spike of her perfume bursts around us, and her cheeks burn with a red flush that spreads down her chest. Her nerves and excitement make her pupils dilate when I nod and lick my lips.

Ever so slowly, she reaches for the hem of her dress, sliding it up inch by inch. Turning my body, I make sure absolutely noone can see around my bulky frame. This show is for me and me alone.

The dress reaches the apex of her thighs, and I hold my breath, ready to see nirvana.

“Show me, baby. Show me that perfect omega cunt,” I growl, and she gasps but follows through, showing me a pair of lacy black panties that will remain forever etched in my memories. Ripping them to the side, she quickly flashes me a peek at what’s hidden between her legs before slamming them back together. Lust spears me, but her delighted grin is everything.

“That barely counts,” I complain with a lighthearted smile, feeling lucky to spend time basking in her presence.

“Itsocounts,” she smirks. “Your turn. Truth or dare.”

“Truth,” I say, turning the tables. My hand falls back to her leg, fully focused on getting a taste of the sweetness between her thighs. “But first, spread for me. I’ll die without a taste.”

“Miller,” she protests, but her body listens, and my fingers find her soaked center. Sliding through her slippery folds, I gather her juices and bring them to her clit. “Oh. Ohhhh.”

“Your question, Posie. Ask me.” I circle the sensitive bundle of nerves unrelentingly until more slick leaks into my hand, and she squirms in the seat.

“D-do you really want me?” She bites her lip hard, but isn’t able to stop her breathy moan.

“Ialwayshave,” I tell her truthfully, stilling as I sense a presence approaching.

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