My heart is ticking like a timer about to blow, each pulse coming quicker than the one before.
His full, soft lips graze mine in invitation. Or maybe it’s more like a dare.
I shift my weight, but the action only heightens our contact since my legs brush against his. With the wall at my back, his labored breath teasing my skin, I have the impulse to shove him away.
I pull my hands from the wall, tempted to do just that. Tentatively, I flatten my hands along the tight expansion of his broad chest.Rise and fall.Rise and fall.
At once Dawson drops a hand from the wall and reaches for one of mine. He moves it over, just an inch to the left, until his heart thuds hot against my palm.
He sighs then, the action so thorough that it feels like surrender. Shoulders falling. Heartbeat slowing. Hardened features softening.
“This is yours,” he rasps, tapping the hand over his heart, “if you want it.”
My breath hitches.
“It’s belonged to you since you painted me green.”
I close my eyes to swim in his words.ThisI can process.
He nudges in with a soft, testing kiss. Tentatively, I lift my chin to accept, and feel his heart quicken beneath my palm, hot with all the passion and excitement that’s pounding through mine.
Our mouths meet gently once more, a series of short, teasing kisses, but soon Dawson moves in for a full and thorough exchange. His lips are strong and certain, enticing me to go deeper with every blissful caress.
His large hands slide over my hips, solid and warm as he pulls me impossibly closer. He breaks the kiss for a breath, then lifts his chin until he’s hovered just above me.
Our heated breath mingles in the space between us. I’m not sure if he intends to build up the moment or if he’s testing me, seeing if I want this as much as he does.
I move my hands up and over his shoulders, then wrap them around the back of his neck, assuring him I do.
A moan sounds from his throat as he lowers his head once more. With the gentle nudge of his velvet-like tongue, Dawson coaxes my lips to part, taking us to a deeper, more meaningful exchange.
His mouth is magic. Each measured push is countered by a pull so magnetic I’ll never stop wanting more.
Maybe I don’t need to stop wanting him, I decide. Maybe we can make this work, spend a life together, and make up for all the time we foolishly spent apart.
The moment I give into that thought, I’m pulled higher, like a kite on the wings of Dawson’s spellbinding kiss and heavenly touch.
Yes.It’s okay that I want him like this. He’s mine, Dawson told me himself. Can’t I just admit that he owns my heart too?
That thought is like a sliver—a shred so sharp it pierces right through the barrier and sinks in deep. Still, small as it may be, it’s an intrusion just the same. A foreign element that will ache, pulse, and swell until I remove it. Because who wants someone they can’t fully have? A man who could walk right out of her life?
Reluctantly, I bring the kiss to a slow and slide my hands back to Dawson’s chest. I use the slightest pressure to create space between us, clinging to the final touch of his lips before it ends.
Dawson’s mouth moves to my ear. He circles it slowly as the sound of our jagged breath fills the space. I’m trying to pinpoint the thought that brought doubt to my mind when Dawson whispers against my skin.
“There,” he says, giving my waist a squeeze. “I think we’re finally getting somewhere.”
* * *
Brinley
Dinner is delivered tonight—pizza. We take it, along with a few drinks, to the rooftop and watch the sun set. When the food’s gone, we curl up in a blanket and gaze at the stars. We talk about his family, which is great because everyone’s doing well and they all get along. When it comes to my family, I catch him up on my mom, then grudgingly add the few details I know about Char. When I fail to give my famous dad even a mention, Dawson lets it slide by bringing up a new topic.
It’s a kindness that does not go unnoticed. Dawson is a gentleman.
I’m still processing what he suggested during our argument—that I was assuming Dawson and my Dad were cut from the same cloth. The accusation wasn’t completely off base. I can admit I have a bias in that direction, but it’s not what inevitably split us apart. Still, now that I know he feels that way, I can at least give it more thought.
Once we start yawning, Dawson and I admit that it’s time to hit the sheets. He heads up to bed first, and I hurry into the cat den to grab Moonshine and Muffin. By the time I get upstairs with them, I’m summoned via intercom to the diary room.
