Page 72 of Dahlia Made A List

“The part where he calls her his country. He was telling her she was everything. She was bigger than life, she was his whole world. She was so much more than a fuckin’ flower.” He inhaled a deep gulp of air and shoved his hand through his messy hair. “That’s you. So much more than a fuckin’ flower.”

My starling took flight and my breath hitched deep in my chest.

“What’s Number Three, Dahlia?” He moved around the couch, stood a hand’s breadth away. “Tell me Number Three. I already know, though, don’t I?”

My hands trembled and I knotted them together. I wanted to tell him, but somehow the words stalled in my throat.

“And where’s my tea? I need your flower tea, pretty girl.”

What? “The tea?”

“The one that’s good for my heart.” He laid his big hand along my cheek, his thumb smoothing a trail under my eye. “My heart’s wrecked, Dahlia. I need your fuckin’ tea.”

“Oh.”

“Number Three’s about finding someone to love you.” He pushed his hand into my hair and tilted my chin up to hold my eyes. “I got all twisted up in my head, but it hit me yesterday. You completed your list, Dahlia, ‘cause he’s right here. You found him. I’m feeling Number Three and now I just need to know what you’re gonna do about it.”

I rolled my lips and stared up at him. At his dark eyes, his supple lips, the thick black beard. I took in his worn blue and green flannel, the white shirt peeking out above the top button. “I guess I better do something.”

He grunted and that was all it took to set my grin free. I looped my arms around his neck and hauled myself close. I whispered, “I love you, Wy. You love me?”

He grunted again.

“Words, Wy. Use all the lovely words.”

He tugged me closer, until my breasts smooshed against his heavy chest and his hands palmed my ass. He spoke against my lips. “I love you, Dahlia Whitcombe. Like you're my fuckin’ country.”

And he kissed me, long and deep, sweet and perfect, curling my toes and sending my starling soaring high, high, high. Right there in his grandmother’s living room. In front of all my friends, in front of his grandmother. He angled his head to sweep his tongue against mine and the Shameless Readers hooted and hollered and raised up a real ruckus.

“Now that’s my kind of happy ending.”

Epilogue

Wyatt

Islidmyhandunder her tank top, landing on her tit as I deepened our kiss. I’d missed her so fuckin’ much the last few days and I didn’t think I’d be able to go slow now that we’d made up. Now that I’d claimed her as my own. My girl would be lucky if she ended the night with salvageable clothes. She sure-as-fuck wouldn’t be wearing them.

“I thought we were gonna finish watching the movie, Wy?”

“It’s playing.” On The Royal’s giant screen again. But I had Dahlia splayed out on the bed of my truck, the light from the movie shining over her gorgeous body, my dick so hard it hurt like a motherfucker.

I flicked my thumb over her nipple and she moaned against my lips. Pure honey temptation. I’d called it when I met her and tonight, it couldn’t be more true. I shifted, taking her lips with my own while my fingers fumbled with the clasp of her bra.

An instant later, I stripped her tank top and bra and she wiggled out of her little white shorts. She pulled away from my kiss to sit up and go to work on my jeans. Behind me, the movie played, the beeps and buzzes of robots penetrating the fog of lust in my brain, but not enough to make me pull my eyes from her tits as they swung and bounced with her movements.

I kicked out of the denim and she reached out for my dick, rubbing me over the cotton of my briefs before dipping inside.

“Pretty girl, you touch me I’m gonna go off like a powder keg. Tonight’s not the night to play.”

I rolled her back beneath me, coming down between her long, silky strong legs. Rocking my dick against the heat of her pussy. My mouth latched onto hers, I cupped her tits until she moaned. Then I replaced my hands with my mouth, sucking one of her sweet little nipples into my mouth, flicking the little nub with my tongue. She writhed beneath me, rubbing against my dick, making my blood flow one way only.

Blue and red lights reflected off the glass of the rear window of the truck and suspicion had me lifting my head. I blinked in the direction of the flashing lights, waiting for a little blood to reach my brain. Movement drew my gaze to the drive-in entrance to see that fuckin’ asshole Wes Stratton, chief of police and resident busybody, rolling toward the truck.

With a grunted curse, I sat up and tossed Dahlia my tee. “We’re about to have company.”

I’d pulled my jeans on but not fastened them by the time Wes rounded the rear of the Silverado. He stared up at us from his police cruiser, a smirk I did not like on his face.

“See you got the old place runnin’ again, Wyatt.”

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