“Fuck,” I say into her mouth as I lift her again. “I’ve never done that. I want to with you. I test frequently and am all clear.”
“Me too,” she says.
She looks like she’s about to say something else, and I wait for it, but then she kisses me hard, and I slide into her.
I curse under my breath again, shuddering at how perfect it feels. Tight, wet, us. I feel every flutter she makes, my dick jerking with each pulse. We move together, slowly at first, savoring the build, and her breath hitches with every thrust.
The wall creaks slightly under our weight, but we don’t care. It’s not loud enough to make a difference. Her eyes lock on mine, almost as if she’s daring me to give her everything.
“I need you. More,” she murmurs, and it’s romantic and sexy as hell, this connection between us.
I pick up the pace, fast and relentless. Our eyes never stray from each other, and it makes everything more intense. My balls slap against her, and I can feel her getting closer. I’m barely hanging on by a thread. Her moans muffle against my shoulder, our bodies slick and in sync. This feels like more than just sex; it feels like we’re claiming each other.
“Mmm,” I groan. “I need you to come first,” I tell her.
“I’m so close,” she whispers.
Her fingers tangle in my hair, and when she tugs it, I feel her clamping down on my dick, squeezing the life out of me. She whimpers against me, and I follow right after her, burying my face in her neck as I sail into a dream state.
We stay like that, pressed together as we catch our breath. The house is quiet except for our breathing.
She smiles at me, tousled and beautiful.
“This is crazy,” she says.
“It is,” I admit. “And yet, I’m surprisingly calm about it.”
She grins, and I set her down. We clean up, exchanging secret smiles and lingering touches while Chloe naps.
When she wakes up, her fever is up again, but it doesn’t seem to wear her down too much. I turn on a movie, andwhen it’s time for dinner, I put together a quick pasta, which Dahlia raves about like she’s never had a home-cooked meal.
“I’m just not used to anyone cooking for me,” she says. “Everything tastes better when I don’t have to make it.”
As night falls, we watch the sun set into the water. I run a bath for Chloe, and when they come out of the bathroom half an hour later, I find one of my nephew’s books from when he and Noah were visiting and read it to her, doing different voices for all the characters. Both Dahlia and Chloe think that’s hilarious, which just eggs me on. I stroke Chloe’s hair absently while I read, feeling an unfamiliar peace.
Bedtime comes, and we tuck her in, but not even five minutes later, a whimper echoes across the hall. Dahlia scoops her up, and when she starts to lie on the couch with her, I shake my head.
“Bring her into the bedroom. You should sleep in a bed.”
“I don’t want to disturb you,” she argues.
“You won’t. We’re having a slumber party,” I tease.
She lays Chloe between us, and her eyes meet mine over Chloe’s head in the dim light.
“You’re really okay with this?” she asks.
“I really am.” I smile at her. “Good night, sleepyhead,” I tell Chloe, even though she’s already asleep. “Night, beautiful,” I tell Dahlia.
I reach over Chloe’s head and put my hand on Dahlia’s cheek. She reaches up and threads her fingers through mine.
“Thank you for one helluva day,” I whisper.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
GLOWY
DAHLIA
