He made a small noise, something halfway between a grunt and a laugh. “It’s better with you.”
I didn’t know what to say to that, so I scrubbed the pan with extra violence. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was charged, like the air before a storm.
When we finished, I wiped down the counter, and he stood behind me, so close I could feel his breath on the back of my neck.
He didn’t touch me, not at first. Just waited, letting the tension spool out between us.
I turned, slow, heart in my throat.
He reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, thumb brushing my cheek. “You got a spot,” he said, but he didn’t move to wipe it.
Instead, he hooked his fingers in the collar of my shirt, pulling me in.
The kiss was softer than I expected. Almost shy, like we were teenagers who hadn’t learned how to use our mouths yet. I melted into it, all my nerves and doubts boiling off in the heat.
He pressed me back against the counter, hands bracketing my hips. The stubble on his jaw scraped my skin, but I liked the feeling. I wanted him to leave a mark, something I could carry with me for the rest of the day.
When we broke apart, I was gasping. He grinned, satisfied, then leaned down to murmur in my ear.
“Tonight,” he promised, the word a threat and a blessing. “I’m going to remind you exactly who you belong to.”
A shiver ran through me, sharp and bright.
“I know,” I whispered.
He kissed me again, deeper this time, then let me go. I stood there, clutching the edge of the counter, knees gone to water.
When I could finally move, I started stacking the dishes, but my hands shook so bad I dropped a fork. It clattered to the floor, bouncing under the table.
Rawley bent down to get it, and so did I, and we collided under the edge, both of us laughing. I started to back out, but he caught my wrist, then slid his hand up to my elbow, then my shoulder, and finally the back of my neck.
He pulled me close, forehead to forehead.
“I mean it,” he said. “You’re mine.”
I let him hold me, the world narrowing down to the heat of his body and the scent of soap and sunlight on his skin.
“I want that,” I said, and it was true.
He straightened, hauling me up with him, and set the fork on the table. Neither of us bothered to pick up the rest of the mess.
Instead, he spun me around and pinned me against the counter, his mouth on mine, his hands greedy. The strength in his grip made me feel small and safe and alive, all at once.
I threaded my arms around his neck, holding on like I was afraid he’d vanish if I let go.
We stayed like that, breathing each other in, until the room spun and the only thing left was the pulse in my throat and the slow burn of his hands on my waist.
He pulled back, just enough to look at me. “Tonight,” he said again, and his voice was dark and sweet as molasses.
I nodded, cheeks flushed, whole body trembling.
He let me go, finally, and started clearing the rest of the dishes, whistling under his breath. I watched him move, every motion easy and sure.
I’d never felt so at home in my life.
As the sky outside faded to blue and then to black, the kitchen glowed with lamp light. I leaned on the table, watching Rawley’s silhouette, memorizing the way he filled every inch of the room.
He caught me staring, and winked.
