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“I don’t know, are we?” she asked.
“If we’re not dating, then what are we doing?” I asked.
“Hanging out?” Honor suggested.
“Babe, that’s dating.”
“I didn’t want to presume,” she said.
“Go ahead and presume all you want. I have no issue with saying that we’re dating,” I said.
“Oh, okay,” Honor said, taking a gulp of wine.
“You good with that?” I asked, trying to meet her eyes.
She inhaled and then thought for a moment.
“Strangely enough, yes,” she said. “That’s surprising. I expected to feel trapped, or a creeping sense of dread, but the idea of dating you feels…right.”
My heart squeezed a little bit at her words. She turned to me and smiled the most heartbreaking smile.
“Dating you feels right to me, too,” I said, setting my wine down and leaning into her.
Just before our lips met, she spoke. “What do you really think of the house?”
“I think that Lorna has a chicken addiction,” I said, and she chuckled as I slipped my fingers through her hair.
“But I can live with it.”
“I have nightmares about this house. About all the chickens coming alive and pecking me to death,” Honor whispered.
“That sounds terrifying,” I said, my hand tracking from her hair and down the side of her face to her neck. Her pulse beat against my fingers.
“You might be able to help me forget about the killer chickens,” she said.
“I think I’m up for the challenge,” I said and then she kissed me, and I didn’t think either of us were considering chickens.
Chapter Seventeen
Honor’s mouthdevoured me hungrily, pushing me back on the obnoxious couch. Briefly, I remembered that this was Lark’s bed, but I hoped she wouldn’t mind too much. It wasn’t like we were going to fuck on her bed and then walk away.
The sounds Honor made were desperate, as if she’d been deprived of kissing me and now she was going to make up for it.
The second her tongue entered my mouth, all rational thought departed from my brain and my world centered on what we were doing together.
She tasted like the wine, but with her own underlying sweetness that made me think of chocolate, strangely enough.
Kissing Honor was decadent and delicious, and I could have spent the rest of my life kissing her if I didn’t need to eat and sleep and do other things.
I could quit my job and devote myself to kissing Honor full time.
Unable to resist, my fingers sought her skin, sneaking under her clothes and seeking to touch as much of her as I could.
Her hands weren’t idle, either, as they traced my neck and shoulders and one slid between us, but she couldn’t get it under my dress. She let out a frustrated sound and looked down at me.
“I don’t like this dress,” she said.
“What’s wrong with it?” I asked, looking down. From this angle, my boobs were practically straining to break free of both my bra and the dress.
