For a long time, we just lie there. My eyes closed, breathing her in—hot sex and flowers. But as the high begins to fade, the shadow of D.C. creeps in. I know I have to tell her. But not now. I don’t want that here. I don’t want anything piercing our intimate bubble.
“DK?”
“Hm?”
She lightly traces the curve of my bicep. “Was that too much?”
“What?”
“My desire. Me.”
“No.” I look up at her, seeing a flicker of uncertainty peeking through the dark of her eyes. “Why would you think that?”
She gives a small, self-conscious shrug. “I’ve been told I was.”
Hollis.The thought of her ex making her feel “wrong” for her desires hits like an iron rod in my chest.
“There’s no shame here,” I say, cupping the side of her neck, my thumb stroking the quick pulse. “I’m not threatened by you owning your pleasure. And I for damn sure don’t think you’re too much of anything.” I hold her gaze as the setting sun presses against the windows. “Take control when you want it. Give it up to me when you don’t. I’ve got you either way.”
“I’ve never had that kind of freedom,” she says, a spark of mischief returning to her eyes. “I brought more toys.”
“More?” I run my hand over her hip, giving it a squeeze. “I should have doubled up on my vitamins.”
She laughs, warm and unguarded. “I have faith in your stamina.”
We stay there, tangled up in the linens. Another link forged in the chain, another layer of trust added.
Eventually, we make it to the shower, but the kissing and touching with the water slicking our skin only starts the fire all over again.
I let D.C. wait.
Just for tonight.
To let us have this.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Rayne
Ifeel amazing as I enter the kitchen, wrapped in a peach satin robe. The space is a chef’s dream—all stainless steel and white marble. I pull open the fridge, surveying the labeled containers. DK did good. Gourmet, but not pretentious. I’m starving, but since it’s late, I go for lighter fare.
“How about shrimp and bok choy over coconut rice?”
“I’m down for whatever.”
He grabs a bottle of white while I peel back the lid and slide the foil tray into the oven, following the heating instructions to the letter. Ginger and soy start to bloom in the air. DK, dressed in gray sweats and a black tank, is giving sexy-at-home vibes. But him in a durag adds that extra punch of heat. As if the orgasms he’d already given me had only whet my appetite, I’m ready to climb him all over again. I calm myself down and settle into the comfortable domestic rhythm. I find napkins, utensils, and stoneware in the cabinets. DK pours the wine.
I open the sliding door and step barefoot onto the deck. It smells like honeysuckle. The lake ripples under a warm breeze,and the sky is streaked with deep pinks and vermillion like a postcard come to life.
“For my lady,” he says, joining me. The term should feel outdated, but coming from him—with that look—it feels like he’s handing me a crown.
I take the glass of chilled Chardonnay, my fingers brushing his.
“A toast,” he proposes.
I nod, caught in the gravity of his gaze.
“To the way we met. And the way it circled back. Complicated, yes. But I wouldn’t change a single thing if it still brings me here with you.”
