“Wow,” I say. “Calling me out. These stairs are like my own personal gym. My glutes have never looked better.”
“They are looking mighty fine,” he says, giving my ass a squeeze.
I suck in a breath. His touch sends shivers throughout my body, causing my dick to perk up and take notice. You know, I always knew I’d end up on my knees for him—I mean, duh—but I didn’t realize just how much he would be on his knees for me.
The timer on my phone going off is a much-needed distraction, because I could fall to my knees right now. “I hope you like your steaks medium. I’ll go mash the potatoes while these rest.”
“Can I help with anything?”
“I thought we could eat out here,” I say. “It’s looking to be a beautiful evening.”
“Yes, it is,” he murmurs. Something in his voice makes me glance up.
He’s not looking at the sky.
“Psh! Beautiful.” I swat the air in front of me and feel my cheeks heat. “Would you set the table?”
He doesn’t move.
Instead, he steps in, catching me by the hips, and pulls me flush to him. One big hand comes up to cradle my jaw, thumbbrushing my cheek like I’m something fragile he’s choosing not to break.
“Okay,” he says softly. “I’ll start with this.”
The kiss is warm and slow—not the filthy, dizzying thing from earlier, but something that sinks in deeper. His mouth fits over mine like he’s memorizing, not testing. It steals the floor out from under me more than any dirty threat ever has.
When he pulls back, I keep my eyes closed for a beat too long.
Am I allowing myself to do this? Is this thing that was supposed to be light and fun turning into something else? Can I trust him? I know the answer to each one of those questions, and it scares the ever-loving fuck out of me.
I finally open my eyes. He’s still there, close enough that our breaths mingle, watching me like he’s giving me all the time I need to bolt and hoping I don’t.
I beat back the panic with sarcasm. “If you stare at me like that, I’m gonna start charging you an emotional labor fee.”
He huffs a laugh, relief flickering in his eyes, but not wiping out the warmth. “Put it on my tab.”
“Good,” I say, stepping away before I melt. “Interest rates are brutal.”
“I talkedto Olly at Mazie’s party,” I say, popping the last bite of steak into my mouth. Perfect char, perfect sauce. I am a genius.
Dom hums. “Yeah?”
“I told him about the cookbook idea. He thinks it’s clever. Offered up his vanilla cupcake recipe.”
Dom’s brows shoot up. I nod.
“I can’t believe he’s giving that up. I mean, the bakery is called Vanilla House. And with Matthew…”
“Right? I’m just as surprised as you are.”
The door to the next apartment opens, and Finn steps out, clocking our table. Two plates, empty wine glasses, soft lighting, me and Dom sitting close.
“Damn! Did I miss dinner?” he jokes.
“It was so good,” I say, rubbing my stomach. “Steak with bourbon garlic cream sauce and mashed potatoes. A spiritual experience.”
“Amazing,” Dom adds, backing me up like the good almost-boyfriend he’s pretending not to be.
Finn groans. “You gotta make those potatoes for food night. The ones you had on special last week were so good. Creamy, whipped goodness.”
