Page 83 of At First Flight
“You smell like dryer sheets and temptation,” he murmurs against my throat, pressing kisses to the skin just beneath my jaw. I shiver when his hands slip around my pants, sliding slowly, so slowly, around my thighs.
“Dean…”
He drops to his knees.
I gasp, my hands gripping the edge of the counter for balance, for sanity, for anything to keep me grounded while he parts my legs with his shoulders and kisses the inside of my thigh like it’s sacred. His strong hands tug me forward until I’m practically hovering over the edge.
The air is thick with heat and something heavier—need. His palms glide up the curve of my hips, holding me steady as his mouth replaces his hands.
I forget how to breathe as his tongue explores my pussy, mapping a journey of its own. I’ve never had someone work my body the way he can. Dean kisses and licks my body like he needs it to survive.
The world tilts on its axis as sensation crashes over me in slow, delicious waves. My fingers knot in his hair, and I’m gone, utterly undone by the way he worships me without ever saying a word.
“Dean,” I whisper, voice broken, raw.
He doesn’t stop. He never rushes. Every movement is controlled, deliberate, coaxing pleasure from me like it’s his mission. And it has to be because by the time my body threatens to buckle, he’s there, strong arms lifting me back onto the counter like I weigh nothing at all.
I can’t speak. I can only hold onto him, shaking and breathless, as he presses a kiss to my temple and murmurs, “God, I love the way you come apart for me.”
I laugh, but it’s a soft, shaky thing. “I think you’ve officially ruined laundry for me.”
He grins. “Good. Then next time, you’ll have no choice but to do it with me.”
And judging by the way my heart races when he kisses me again—hot and sweet and all-consuming—I know I’ll never fold another towel without remembering this moment.
But then he stills.
Dean presses his forehead to mine, breathing hard. His hands are still on me, but they’re no longer moving. His voice is a low growl, full of want and intent. I chance a peek at his straining cock and know he’s suffering and filled with so much restraint.
“Lila, as much as I want to keep going, and make no mistake, I do, I need you to know something.”
I blink up at him, still dazed from the kiss, from the feel of him.
He gently tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear, his thumb brushing along my jaw. “I want more than this. I want to take you to dinner, walk with you through town hand in hand, let you introduce me to everyone and say, ‘This is Dean. He’s mine.’”
His voice softens, roughened by emotion. “You deserve more than a quick, heated fumble in a laundry room. You deserve every bit of romance and respect I can give. So I’m stopping this for now because you mean too damn much to me.”
My breath catches. His words are like a bucket of ice and a shot of whiskey all at once—jarring but warm and heady, too. He’s giving me the power again, the choice. But at this moment, with my heart galloping and skin still buzzing from his touch, I already know the answer.
Still, I nod slowly, pressing a lingering kiss to his lips, one that’s tender, grateful, full of promise.
He grins, brushing another kiss to my temple before helping me down from the counter and gathering my shorts with gentle hands.
As I dress again, his eyes linger, not with lust, but something deeper. Something that makes my stomach flutter and my knees threaten to give out.
The following morning smells like cinnamon and bacon. I wander down in leggings and an old tee, rubbing sleep from my eyes.
There’s a note on the counter in Dean’s handwriting:
Took the kids to the farm. Helping your brother with the harvest. Didn’t want to wake you. Figured you’d appreciate pancakes without demands for seconds. Oh, and I tossed the sausage. No reason to have that stuff in my fridge.
My heart flips.
There’s a text from Mom with pictures of Dean and the kids. Oliver grins like he’s just won the lottery as he sits perched on a tractor, hands in the air like he’s flying. Evelyn, her hair wild and cheeks flushed, holds out a carrot the size of her face to a gentle chestnut horse, her expression full of wonder and courage.
Pure and honest happiness.
But it’s the background that holds my focus. The one constant in each photo—Dean.
