Page 34 of Dahlia Made A List

Her phone chimed and I swiped to end the alarm. Dahlia was riding a high after her tryouts today. She deserved a good meal to celebrate. I cracked the door on the oven open, hot herb-spiced air wafting out.

By the time she emerged, I’d plated up the pork chops and veggies and sat on the floor between the couch and the coffee table, a Renegades game, volume down low, on the TV over the built-in shelving.

She stood at the end of the couch, fresh-faced, colorful hair in a messy bun atop her head, wet strands clinging to her cheek, to the pale skin of her neck. She wore a white fleece shirt that had the collar cut out of it so it hung loose off her bare shoulder. It stopped at her midriff, topping off a pair of gray yoga pants tied with a bright purple drawstring.

Fucking hell.

She looked from my face to the plate in front of me, a grin tipping the corners of her mouth, before she scrambled down to sit in front of her place setting. I turned back to my meal. Movement in the corner of my eye had me watching as she reached out and drew the tip of her finger along the white flower in the little blue vase from the kitchen table.

“I’ll be glad when spring really does arrive. And I remember there’s a booth at the Gas n’ Apple farmers’ market that has wildflowers.”

I swallowed down a gulp of sweet tea. The pork chops were juicy and seasoned to perfection. “Yup.”

We ate in silence for several minutes until she spoke again. “You haven’t refilled your tea.”

“Nope.”

“Not too dry?” The barest of whispers.

Warmth curled out from my gut, to my chest, down my arms to burn my fingertips. “Tastes good.”

“Oh my gosh, Wyatt. This could be the one, then. My Signature Dish.”

I closed my eyes against the happiness in her voice, the sound stoking the fire she ignited in me, sending blood, thick and heavy, through my veins. I dragged a palm over my thigh beneath the coffee table to make more room in my jeans. Relief wasn’t coming.

“Today has been amazing.” She shifted, her hand landing on my shoulder like a hot little brand.

I sensed her coming before my brain clicked to her moving closer. I could blame my slow reaction time on the fact that all the blood in my body had gone south, leaving nothing for my brain. When she leaned in to kiss my cheek, I turned to face her, my eyes locked on hers. I could blame it on a lot of things, but really, she was lucky I didn’t toss her back on the sofa and drown in the promise glowing in her eyes. Her gaze wide and unguarded, she kept coming until her lips landed on mine.

A sound escaped me, half grunt, half growl, but I threaded my hand into her messy bun and kept her soft lips against mine. A life of self-control gone. She ripped the self-restraint I prided myself on to smithereens. She didn’t pull away, but I wasn’t taking any chances and crushed her closer. I shoved the coffee table back and pulled Dahlia into my lap.

Her lids dropped, shielding those pretty blue-gray eyes, but she landed her hand on the side of my neck, a soft, delicate claim I couldn’t deny.

But nothing about me felt soft. I smothered her lips with mine, my hand in her hair keeping her right where I wanted her. Fuck, where Ineededher. She sank into my lap. I dug my hand into her ass, pulling her tighter, grinding my dick up even as I bit at her lower lip.

She gasped, opening a gateway into the heaven of her mouth.

I kissed her.

I stroked my tongue along her lips, delving inside to taste her honeyed sweetness. I wanted to devour her, suck every delicious bit of her into me.

Desire roared through me, crushing my breath and riding me to take and take and fuckingtake. Everything she’d give me.

I crushed her against me until her tits pressed hard into my chest. Until my fingers dug into the crease of her ass. Until her scent ravaged my every inhalation and I stole her every breath as my own.

Then she pulled back, her fingers on my cheeks and my eyes flashed open.

Face flushed, lips dark and swollen, she tipped her head toward the couch. “Your phone’s going off.”

I hadn’t even heard the thing. I dropped my hand from her hair, from her ass. Sucked in a deep breath, pushing the heel of my hand against my dick as though that would help the explosive pressure there.

She scrambled off my lap, sat staring at the TV another second before my phone chimed again. One hand at the back of my neck, I stretched around and picked up the fuckin’ phone.

“Yeah?”

“Is that really how you answer the phone these days?”

Grams. I inhaled a slow breath. Beside me, the air shifted and I glanced over to see Dahlia picking up our dishes and walking into the kitchen.

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