I walk into the kitchen, laying the package down, wrapped in plain brown paper.
I rest my elbows on the bar and blow out a long sigh, telling myself that I still have a chance to leave. We can write off the closeness on the balcony as friendly banter, nothing more. But this gift signifies much more than that, and I sense that I won’t be able to lie to myself, or her, about how I really feel once I’ve given it to her.
Leave, then, a voice growls in my mind. This isn’t fair to Gabriel. Leave. Leave now.
But then she returns, looking just as ravishing in a light summer dress that clings to her as she moves across the room. It’s long and brightly colored, the sort of dress that shifts with her movements. I see the outline of her body clearly, her curves flooding my manhood with tension, making me want to take her, to take her right fucking now in the kitchen.
“So, that’s for Dad?” she asks, a tremor in her voice.
She’s nervous, I can tell. I can read her, despite only having known her for a few days.
“No,” I say, voice coming out deep and growly. “It’s for you.”
“M-me?” she murmurs, eyeing it like it might be another bomb.
“Don’t worry, Firecracker,” I chuckle darkly. “This one’s not going to explode.”
“Ha, ha,” she says sarcastically, but a satisfying flush spreads down her neck at the use of the nickname.
I am so lost to this woman.
I slide the package across the bar and then sit back, watching her closely, the nervous way she moves so that her body trembles a little. It makes her breasts jiggle and I realize, almost painfully, that she’s changed her clothes but she’s still not wearing a bra. I can make out the suck-me shape of her nipple beneath the dress.
Does she realize how fucking powerful that body makes her?
“Be careful with it,” I murmur, as she smooths her hands over the package, hands that belong wrapped about my manhood, pumping, spreading my precome until I’m slick enough to drive inside of her childbearing body.
“Are you sure it’s not a bomb?” she giggles.
“Pretty sure,” I smirk.
Her face shifts from curiosity to a blossoming wave of delight as she reveals the first edition set of The Chronicles of Narnia, housed in a custom walnut glass-lidded case. On the front, there’s a small bookseller’s note describing the individuality of the collection. It’s a signed, first edition, complete with the typos and errors that make such editions, special and unique, apparently.
“What the hell?” she whispers, looking up at me as wonder streaks her features. Tears glimmer in her eyes. “I’ve researched these online, Dom. I know how much this costs.”
Forty thousand dollars.
“Do you like it?” I ask. “That’s all that matters.”
“L-like it?” she murmurs. “This is easily the best gift I’ve ever received. I—thank you. Would it be totally weird if I hugged you?”
A chord strikes inside of me, moving through me, tension dominating as I shake my head.
“I’d be angry if you didn’t.”
She carefully places the case down and then walks around the kitchen divider. My manhood presses against my suit trousers, trying to escape, trying to burst hotly free.
I stand up and meet her halfway, opening my arms, knowing instinctively that this is it, the point of no return. There’s no coming back from this. If I touch her, I won’t be able to help myself. I’m only flesh and blood, for fuck’s sake.
How am I supposed to resist a woman like her?
“Well, thank you, Dom,” she says, lifting her arms as though getting ready for a friend-of-the-family hug.
But when she lifts her arms, it makes her breasts move enticingly.
Savage instinct takes hold of me and then I’m taking hold of her, crushing her shoulders in my hands and dragging her closer to me. She whimpers and I can feel the blistering heat of her skin through the fabric of her dress, and then I lean down and bring my mouth close to her lips, the need to taste her overwhelming reason and logic and sanity.
I press my lips against hers.
She’s tentative at first, but then she lets out a moan that goes straight to my core, and sinks closer to me, gasping through the kiss. She tastes so fucking good, she tastes of her womb and her wetness and just her, she tastes like the woman I’ve been waiting my whole damn life for.
She breaks it off, breathing heavily, eyes swimming as she stares up at me.
“What the …”
“I know,” I growl.
“I didn’t think you’d want me—”
“You’re all I want,” I tell her firmly.
“We shouldn’t be doing this.”
“No, we shouldn’t.”
We stare at each other for a long moment. Her mouth is slightly parted, showing me her tongue, and her eyes are wide and filled with desire, the same desire that flames within me.
This time, she leans in as well.
We meet halfway and I slide my hand around her hip, bracing her back, pressing her closer to me, sinking into her.
I can’t stop.
I don’t want to stop.
I kiss her harder.
Chapter Ten
Dallas
I wrap my arms around him, a sense of utter disbelief falling over me as I sink deeper and deeper into the kiss. He tastes strong and somehow musky, even if that doesn’t make sense. He tastes like a freaking man and as our tongues clash I let out an involuntary whimper that has me shivering against him as if any second I could just explode into a shower-style orgasm right here.
Am I dreaming? Did I fall asleep at my desk and now this is just another writer’s fantasy?
When I looked down at the gift, something bright and disbelieving whelmed in my chest, the utter craziness of the moment driving me to think I was in some kind of
