He’d practically confessed his deepest emotions and been met with . . . silence.
How many times had a woman spilled intimate thoughts that bordered on the L word to him? Numerous? He was honored and humbled but had never felt even a hint of the same. Even with the few women he’d begun strong with, the spark that he hoped would turn brighter always sputtered and died like a birthday candle blown out. He’d never passed more than a hard like for another.
Not with Raven. He’d never shared the circumstances of his mother’s death before. Never wanted to. But last night, something had broken inside him, and for the first time he felt right about telling her everything. He wanted her to know more about him.
He wanted her to trust him.
The initial spark between them not only burned brighter but turned into a raging forest fire, crashing through each of his barriers until he was left with a devastated landscape, completely vulnerable. Everything inside him turned from gray to neon. With her, he was completely alive, his nerve endings tingling, his heart galloping, his dick aching. It was so much more than like. So much more than lust.
Was this what falling in love was?
Yet she hadn’t responded to his admission. Was she scared because he didn’t fit in with her planned future of marriage and kids? Was she protecting herself? Did she still think he played games with her? Or even worse, did she just not feel the same way and not know how to tell him?
Dalton groaned, squeezing his eyes shut. He was a lovesick pup begging at her feet. He hated it, but he didn’t know what else to do. He needed to explore and push further, to possibly see what else could blossom between them. Morgan insisted he convince Raven to come to dinner. Maybe getting her on his own turf, around his family, would help her see him in his own element.
He loved the idea of having her eat at his table, surrounded by his family. He pictured her as part of his noisy, dysfunctional, loving circle and had no desire to run. Maybe Raven needed more time with him so he could convince her she was different. He still didn’t intend to make long-term promises, but God, he craved her like a drug, every minute of every day.
And it was getting worse.
“Morning.”
He turned. She smiled, walking into the kitchen to pour a cup of coffee, clad in a short, silky scarlet robe. He admired the way the fabric emphasized her tight nipples, the flare of her hips, and showed off the bare curve of leg down to her pretty red toenails. She didn’t seem freaked out or concerned about last night. In fact, she seemed at ease in her kitchen, walking over to him with her coffee and pressing a kiss to his mouth.
“Morning,” he said gruffly.
She sipped her coffee and made a face. “Too weak. Where’s the punch?”
He tugged at a stray tendril of hair, then tucked it tenderly behind her ear. “Coffee shouldn’t be a wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am experience. It should be a journey, a slow slide upward, a buzz of energy that warms the blood.”
Her pupils dilated. Her nipples poked out, begging for attention. His dick strained against his jeans, and he savored the discomfort, knowing she was as aroused as he was, though they’d feasted on each other for hours last night.
Her voice came out husky. “Nothing wrong with a good, hard bang now and then. Gives you the energy you need quick. No long-drawn-out, complicated waiting.”
Oh, she was a bad girl. Her tongue slid over her lower lip in a deliberate teasing gesture. “You like your coffee quick and hard?” he murmured in warning.
“Oh, yeah.” She took a sip and gave a throaty, catlike moan. “And hot. Really, really hot.”
He almost came in his damn pants. She was gonna pay.
Dalton put his mug on the table. Then reached out, snagging hers, and slowly placed it next to his. He bet if he snuck his fingers under that robe and slipped them inside her tight pussy, she’d be soaking wet. Good, because he wasn’t going to last.
“Maybe I should give my woman the coffee she really wants.”
He paused, taking in the quick flare of wariness on her face, the hidden lust in her inky eyes.
He grabbed her around the waist and lifted her high. Pivoting on his bare heel, he slammed her against the wall, pinning her there while he worked his jeans down over his hips. She was panting hard, her thighs squeezed around his hips, her robe falling open to reveal her small, naked breasts.
“I’m on the pill,” she burst out.
His head jerked up, teeth gritted against the surging pull of sexual need pumping between them. “I’m clean. I get tested regularly.”
“I am, too.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”