“Fine. I’ll meet you at the front door. But I’m walking down the stairs like a normal person, spoilsport or not.”
“Spoilsport,” he confirmed, but he was already moving toward the porch.
I threw on jeans and a sweatshirt, grabbed my phone, and crept downstairs as quietly as I could. The house was dark and silent. Mom and Jasper had gone to bed an hour ago, but I still felt like a teenager sneaking out for the first time.
Dex was waiting at the front door when I opened it, still wearing that ridiculous grin. Before I could say anything, he grabbed my hand and pulled me out onto the lawn.
“Run,” he whispered, tugging me along.
“Why are we running?”
“Because we’re sneaking out. That’s what you do.”
“We’re adults!”
“Shh. You’re ruining the mystique.”
I couldn’t help it, I started laughing. We ran across the lawn like teenagers escaping curfew, our footsteps muffled by the grass, his hand warm and solid in mine. The night air was cool and sweet, and above us, stars scattered across the sky like diamonds on black velvet.
He led me deeper into the garden, past the rose bushes and the fountain, toward the far corner where old oak trees created anatural canopy. And there, spread out on the grass beneath the branches, was a blanket. Candles flickered in glass jars scattered around the edges, and there was a basket, a bottle of wine, two glasses.
I stopped, my breath catching. “Dex...”
“I know it’s late,” he said, suddenly less confident. “But I couldn’t stop thinking about you, and I wanted to do something... I don’t know. Romantic? Is this too much? It’s probably too much…”
I kissed him. Hard. Cutting off his rambling with my mouth on his, my hands fisting in his shirt.
He made a surprised sound that melted into a groan, his arms coming around me, pulling me flush against him. The kiss deepened, turned hungry. All thoughts of picnics and wine and conversation burned away in the heat between us.
“Blanket,” I gasped against his lips. “Now.”
“Yes. Definitely yes.”
We stumbled toward the blanket, still kissing, hands already tugging at clothes. He pulled my sweatshirt over my head, I yanked his t-shirt off. My jeans hit the grass, followed by his. By the time we collapsed onto the blanket, we were down to our underwear and desperate for each other.
“I had a whole plan,” he breathed, kissing down my neck. “Was going to wine and dine you first.”
“Later.” I arched into him. “We can do romance later.”
“Promise?”
“I promise. Now please…”
He didn’t make me beg. His hands slid up my sides, unclasping my bra, his mouth following the path his fingers had traced. I gasped when his lips closed around my nipple, my back arching off the blanket.
“God, you’re beautiful,” he murmured against my skin. “So fucking beautiful.”
His hand slipped between my thighs, over the fabric of my underwear, and even that light touch made me moan. He was teasing me, working me up, and I was already so far gone.
“Off,” I managed, tugging at his boxers. “Everything off.”
We shed the last of our clothes in a tangle of limbs and breathless laughter. And then he was settling between my thighs, the weight of him perfect, the heat of his skin against mine making me dizzy with want.
“You sure?” he asked, even now checking, making sure. “Out here?”
“No one can see us.” I pulled him down for another kiss. “And I don’t care if they could. I need you.”
That was all the permission he needed. He reached between us, lining himself up, and then pushed inside in one smooth thrust that made both of us cry out.
