Page 105 of Promise

I drop to my elbows, my body quivering. The leg dangling off the table bouncing. He hooks that leg over his shoulder, allowing my booted foot to rest on his back. He cups my ass, lifting me like a treasured dish.

And then he does this thing with his fingers and his tongue simultaneously, and I crack.

I shatter into pieces all over this table, spilling against his lips.

“Dart,” I cry out, then clamp a hand over my mouth, remembering that Mirabelle is sleeping upstairs.

He doesn’t let up even though I’m spent. His tongue continues, making my body convulse with aftershocks until a new wave starts building again.

“Dart?” A question rings in his name. What’s happening to me? It’s been a long, long time since I’ve had a double orgasm. Even with him. Even with all he knows about my body and what he does to it.

He smiles against me, knowing what’s happening before I do.

“One more,” he mutters against those sensitive folds, before getting back on task and tipping me over the edge again.

I feel like a teacup about to be poured out, and I’ll never think of that nursery rhyme the same way again. I’m tipping. I’m leaning. I’m spilling again, fighting a scream and allowing it to be a guttural moan to match the relief.

I fall to my back, completely spent. Chest rising. Heart nearly beating out of my chest. I fling my arms over my head, letting the table take my weight.

Dart kisses me one final time, then slowly stands, pressing more kisses into my thighs and just above my pelvic bone before tugging down my dress and holding out a hand to help me sit up.

“Was that good enough?” he teases.

“More than good enough.”

He’s enough. And he’s so good.

31

[Trinity]

Dart has been in my bed since before Mom’s Night Out. Since the night I told him I wanted him to watch Mirabelle while I return to work.

Tomorrow is my first day back after six weeks.

“Ah.” I wake with a jolt, sitting bolt upright in the middle of the night. My heart races. My hands are clammy. I’m too warm. I feel like I’m on fire, but I’m not.

Dart was.

In the dream I’d been having, he crashed into a wall, the car instantly engulfed in flames. He couldn’t get out. He wasn’t getting out.

My breath comes in stuttering waves. Like I’m hyperventilating. Like I’ve inhaled too much smoke and can’t breathe.

“Baby.” Dart’s hand runs up my back, but I flinch. He pulls back, holding his hand up in the air as he sits beside me.

“You’re okay,” he says. Not asking me if I am, but reassuring me.

I glance around the room. I’m in the house. I’m in my bed.

A crack of thunder rumbles. The sound feels like it hit the roof. Mirabelle lets out a cry, but I’m frozen. Paralyzed.

Dart scrambles to the end of the bed, soothing her with his hand on her belly. The bassinet gently rocks.

“I’m . . . I’m sorry,” I say, my voice as shaky as my limbs. My hands tremble as I swipe them through my hair. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“What happened?” he asks quietly, Mirabelle settling for the moment.

Dart scoots back toward me. Our legs are trapped in a tangle of sheets.