First

by M. A. Grant

  I roll up the sleeves as I head back to the kitchen. Music’s going. My music. And Cat’s singing along … stumbling a little over unfamiliar lyrics, a little off-key, but adorable in her attempt. I stop and lean against the doorway, watching her. She’s back and forth between the stove and her laptop.

  She squints at the screen before reaching for something else and adding it to the pot and skillet already going. The kitchen smells incredible, like Asian spices. The ripple of fabric against her thighs is hypnotic; her legs stretch on for miles in that dress.

  I don’t realise I’ve made a noise until she glances my way. Her eyes widen and her soft lips part in a surprised O. I walk toward her. ‘I can clean up good,’ I say.

  ‘I never said you couldn’t,’ she protests.

  I grin and take a peek at dinner. ‘Lobster tails? And—?’

  ‘Salad. But I need to make the vinaigrette for it.’

  ‘How can I help?’

  ‘You don’t need to. I’ve got it—’

  She trails off as I move behind her and place my hands on her waist, fingers spanning her stomach. I can feel her tremble. Or maybe it’s me. We’re frozen. This shouldn’t leave us both breathless. We do this all the time.

  That was before she asked you to sleep with her.

  I’m going to have to take the lead here. My voice is gruffer than I’d like. ‘How can I help, brown eyes?’

  ‘The recipe tab’s open,’ she whispers.

  I let go of her and take a step back. Breathe. Calm down. She’s already put out all the ingredients for this salad. I check the bottles and start measuring ingredients into a bowl.

  ‘How long on the lobster?’ I ask.

  She checks it. ‘I have to put it in the oven soon. The recipe says thirteen minutes.’

  I nod. ‘Want to eat the salad while the lobster cooks?’

  ‘Sure.’

  She slides the skillet into the oven and joins me to work on the salad. She asks me about my day at the shop. I ask her about all these damn articles she’s been reading. We laugh. We relax. We both pretend we don’t know what tonight’s all about.

  I finish measuring out the honey and add it to the bowl. She starts whisking the vinaigrette, but laughs when I try to get the long strand of honey to stop drizzling from the bottle so I can reseal it.

  ‘You’re missing the best part,’ she laments.

  I look up from the still drizzling bottle. ‘How do you propose I fix this?’

  She rolls her eyes, leaves her place near the bowl and steps closer. That is not my heart thudding when she puts a hand over mine, tilting the bottle up more. Using the index finger of her other hand, she makes a quick swipe at the mouth of the bottle. The thread of honey catches on her skin and goes with her, leaving the bottle’s mouth clean.

  ‘There,’ she announces, looking at her finger with pride. She points it at me. ‘That’s how you’re supposed to do it.’

  She raises her finger toward her mouth, but I reach out and grab her wrist.

  What I do next has no explanation. Momentary insanity. Death wish. Take your pick.

  But my lips close around her finger and I suck the honey right off. I don’t look away from those brown eyes once, even as I use my tongue to lick free every last trace. Her breathing’s shallow, her pulse speeding, and when I finally release her, she doesn’t move.

  I set the bottle down and move around the island, only one thought ricocheting around my skull. I cup her face in my hands and hers come up to clasp around my wrists. I brush my thumb over her freckles, and she tilts her face up to me in open invitation.

  I am going to burn in hell. And I will regret nothing.

  ***

  Dallas Miller has kissed me once before in my entire life. It was the day after graduation, when he was packed and ready to start his drive to Arizona. Jake and my parents hugged him and wished him well; he even endured a kiss from my mother. Then he reached me. I was busy reading a book and barely looked up at him. Which is why we misconnected and he ended up kissing the corner of my mouth instead of my cheek. It wasn’t anything but an embarrassing whoops back then, a junior high kid chagrined that her brother’s best friend might get the wrong idea. Right now that memory surges up with a vengeance.

  Because when Dally kisses me, it’s in that exact spot, right at that soft, sensitive juncture. Requesting permission to clean the slate and start over, with a far different purpose in mind. My shiver is involuntary and I feel his lips curve into a smile against my skin as we cross that invisible line.

  Now his mouth finds mine. He’s gentle, taking his time. I have never been kissed like this by anyone. I’ve never melted in a man’s arms, relying on his strength to keep me upright, as I focus every ounce of attention to the place where his skin meets mine.

  When his mouth starts to part, I sigh against him and his tongue sweeps in against mine. My grip on his wrists tightens. He tastes like honey, hot and sweet with an edge of desperation. I feel his forearms tensing, the way he steps in closer to me, backing me into the island until his thighs barely brush against mine. And yet he controls himself so beautifully.

  So much power under that skin, hidden beneath swirls and whorls of dark patterns. And he holds it in check for me. I smile at the thought and slide my hands along his arms, clutching at his biceps, digging my fingers into the fabric of his dress shirt, moving toward his shoulders, dragging him in closer.

  He chuckles against my mouth and I take the opportunity, closing the final distance so I’m pressed against him. He shifts his hips and I feel his cock, hard and strong and huge.

  I break off our kiss and look down. ‘You weren’t kidding about the extra-large, were you?’

  His eyes are half-hooded, his smile lazily sensual, his thumb brushing my jawline in slow sweeps. ‘You say the nicest things, babe,’ he murmurs.

  I smile up at him and go up on tiptoe to press my lips to his again, to prove to him how nice I can be, when the timer goes off. I swear with an oath I’ve only heard Dally use once since Jake made him promise to never say it in my presence again.

  Dally tilts his head back, laughter spilling out as he holds me to him. When he pulls himself together, he presses his forehead to mine, nose against nose. ‘Food first. I don’t want to insult the beautiful woman who decided to cook me a fancy meal.’

  The lobster turned out well. We eat at the kitchen table, like every other night. Dally even eats some of the salad, which I know he hates. And, like always, he makes me sit at the table as he does the dishes. Something strange is happening to me as I watch him standing at the sink, humming along with the song that’s come on the music station I found for tonight.

  My carefully planned seduction is working, but I’m not sure why. Nothing feels that different, except for the memory of the fire that burned under my skin when he kissed me. But it’s still Dally being … Dally.

  He finishes up the last plate and peers over his shoulder at me. ‘Anything else over there?’

  I try to smile, but my mind’s still whirling. ‘Nope.’

  He nods and shuts off the sink, drying his hands with the dish towel. I’ve always liked watching him dry off his hands. It’s all spare movements, economy of motion at its finest. I wonder if he takes the same approach in bed—

  He holds out a hand to me, eyebrow raised, looking like he stepped out of one of my dreams.

  This is it.

  My breath isn’t totally even, but his fingers curl around mine when I take his hand. He pulls me to my feet, wrapping an arm around my waist. This kiss is light. His voice is not. ‘Where?’

  He lets me lead him back to my bedroom. I leave him for a moment to collect my clean sheets from the dryer. He doesn’t say a word when I bring them back. Instead he helps me make my bed, smiling a little when I pause to smooth all the wrinkles out of the sheets. As I light the candles, he spots the black bag from our earlier shopping. He gets the lube and condoms from their boxes and sets them on my nightstand. He sits on my bed
and pats the spot next to him, an unexpected move.

  My palms are sweating and my stomach’s flipping. This is actually going to happen.

  When I finally sit beside him, he reaches up and grips my chin lightly. ‘Your show, babe. But if you stop telling me what you want, we’re done. Got it?’

  ‘Shut up and kiss me,’ I whisper.

  This time he’s not slow. His kisses in the kitchen were simmering, slow burning. These are deeper, wetter, and much, much hotter. The tickle of his beard is divine torture. His hands roam over me, finding spots that make my breath come faster and my legs press together from the almost-electric contact.

  He draws me down onto the bed, stretching an arm out under my head as we make out. My body wants this. Instinct kicks in and I keep shifting against him, trying to get closer. He’s taken his arm from under me, using it to lever himself up on his elbow. His chest settles over mine. His heat and scent are glorious, but I want more. I want his hips against mine. I want to feel his erection pressing against me like it did earlier in the kitchen. I want to know he wants this as badly as I do.

  His hand slides slowly up from my waist. When he cups my breast, I lose track of what’s happening. I stop kissing him back and he pulls away, searching my face.

  ‘Don’t stop,’ I plead.

  He makes a soft huff and returns to me. His thumb rubs over my nipple, finding its stiff peak through the fabric of my dress and bra. I arch up into his touch and slide my hands down his body until I feel the denim of his jeans. My tug must be enough of an order because he acquiesces, sliding his thigh between my legs, groaning when he rubs against my hip.

  That’s a new sound, one that reverberates to my core. I push my hips up once more, curious if I can get the sound from him again. I do and he lifts himself off me, reaching down to move my leg out of the way so he can settle fully between my thighs.

  I have to break from his lips, a gasp escaping at the jolt that shoots up my spine. The lack of my mouth isn’t an obstacle for Dally. He kisses his way down my neck to my collarbone. He doesn’t pull down the top of my dress. Instead, his tongue traces slowly along the edge of the fabric.

  I shudder and my hips jar against him. This time he returns the movement, a sinuous rock of his pelvis that makes me whimper and wrap my legs up around his, ankles hooking behind his calves to use them for leverage. I claw at his back, hating his shirt.

  ‘Take it off,’ I order.

  He’s too busy kissing me to hear. I tremble, undoing what buttons I can and he finally understands what I want. He gets up from the bed and finishes what I started. My mouth goes dry when he drops the shirt to the floor. He stays there as I join him, letting me run my hand over his pecs, down the flat ridges of his abs, curving to grip along his hipbone where the muscle cuts into a sharp V.

  ‘God, I hate you.’ I like the way his muscles tense when I skim my fingers over them. ‘How has it taken me this long to jump your bones?’

  He shrugs. ‘We see what we want to see, Cat.’

  ‘Thank God for erotic dreams,’ I mumble.

  He makes a noise of amusement and reaches for the top button of his jeans. I stop him before he pops it open and guide his hand to where the dress’s zipper starts.

  ‘My turn.’

  He smiles and steps closer, trapping me in the circle of his arms as he starts to unzip my dress. He takes his time, jaw tightening as the pull descends. I watch his face, the hard lines gentled as he traces my back. He’s memorising me.

  My throat constricts and my eyes prickle. This is the only night we have together. I’m graduating. He’s leaving.

  I have to remember every second of this.

  The candlelit darkness of the room is suffocating. I don’t want soft shadows. I want light. I need glaring, bright light. I need to see every detail of his body, of his face, of his eyes when he sees me naked for the first time.

  His fingers freeze above the curve of my ass, running back and forth soothingly. ‘Cat?’

  ‘Turn on the lights,’ I choke out. ‘Please.’

  He doesn’t question me, just flips on the switch. He lets my dress drop to the floor, leaving me standing in my underwear. The lust I wanted to see is there in his eyes. But it doesn’t sharpen his features like I expect. It’s buried under an expression I’ve seen so many times over the years, one I’m recognising for the first time.

  Tenderness.

  His eyes flick up to mine. His smile is a little crooked and his voice husky. ‘I knew you’d be gorgeous, brown eyes.’

  Hearing those words fall from his lips makes the world stop. Just like it stopped two years ago when I opened the front door and saw him standing there, returned home after an unexpectedly painful month away caring for his uncle in Arizona. It was the same smile, the same unwavering gaze, even the same tone. Missed you, brown eyes.

  I stumble back a step, my legs hitting the edge of the bed.

  We see what we want.

  I can’t go through with this. Not after this revelation.

  Dally’s in love with me.

  ***

  I didn’t expect Cat to chicken out. She isn’t like that. When she gets an idea in her head, she fights and claws her way to achieving it. But judging by the widening of her eyes and the rush of blood to her face, I have somehow fucked this up. I just don’t know how.

  And shouldn’t I be grateful this isn’t going to happen?

  I follow her lead, stepping back to give us some distance. ‘Talk to me, Cat,’ I urge.

  She freezes and I can see her spinning through a variety of excuses. Without warning she hunches over.

  ‘Oh, cramps!’ she says loudly. ‘Wow … awful, awful cramps …I don’t think we can …’

  She rushes past me, skittering down the hall toward the bathroom. I follow her, torn between the desire to laugh at her desperation or acknowledging the insidious fear that I’ve ruined everything for her.

  The bathroom door is closed. I rap it with my knuckles.

  ‘Go away,’ she orders. ‘I don’t want you to see me puking my guts out.’

  ‘I thought they were cramps, brown eyes.’

  Silence. Then a miserable, ‘Umm, cramps in my stomach … area … place …’

  I rest my head against the door and chuckle. ‘I’m coming in whether you want it or not.’

  She’s perched on the vanity, legs drawn up so her toes curl around the edge of the counter. She watches me out of the corner of her eyes and buries her face against her knees. ‘I am such an idiot,’ she mumbles.

  ‘You’re not an idiot.’

  Her head pops up at that and she glares at me. ‘How am I not? I didn’t—’

  ‘You’re allowed to change your mind, Cat,’ I say drily. ‘I’d rather you tell me no than let me go through with it and ruin it for you.’

  She bites her lower lip. I now know how firm it is, how easy it is to suck and nibble. The erection that was fading is back with a vengeance.

  ‘You’d never ruin it for me,’ she says softly. ‘You would be perfect.’

  But she doesn’t want me.

  Fuck, that thought hurts a hell of a lot more than it should.

  ‘Nah.’ I keep my voice light, joking. This night is all about her. I can deal with all this weird shit I’m feeling later. Hopefully when I’m in Arizona and hundreds of miles away.

  She doesn’t try to escape as I step closer. My arms settle around her and her eyes close. She makes a soft noise and her body relaxes against me. I hug her, burying my face in her hair, breathing slowly, forcing my raging hard-on under control.

  ‘So …’

  She stiffens.

  ‘Netflix?’

  She peeks up at me suspiciously. ‘Really?’

  ‘No BBC dramas.’

  Her eyes narrow. ‘No Vin Diesel movies.’

  ‘No Disney.’

  Her gasp of mock shock cracks me up.

  ‘Fine.’ I give in. She’s had a hard night. ‘But no crappy sequels. Fair?’
/>   ‘Fair.’

  It doesn’t take us long to move on, which makes me wonder if all the tension between us was only in my head. She blows out the candles and I snag my shirt off her floor. We meet up in the living room; she’s in her PJs and I’m in sweats. We grin at each other.

  ‘You dress down nice, brown eyes.’

  ‘So do you. I appreciate the partial nudity. I still want to see you full frontal though.’

  ‘Not tonight.’

  She nods once, slowly, as her eyes drift over me. ‘No. Not tonight.’

  We’re settled in on the couch, watching the movie when she looks over at me. ‘Dally?’

  ‘Hmm?’

  ‘I’m sorry I freaked out back there. I just didn’t—’

  I look away from the movie. Dammit, if she says she didn’t want it to be me after all, I’m moving to Arizona tonight. ‘Didn’t what?’

  She pushes her hair behind her ear. ‘I didn’t expect it to feel that way.’

  So many ways to take that. She knows because she adds, ‘Good, I mean. Really good.’

  Something in my gut eases. ‘Oh.’

  She gives me a funny look. ‘What did you think I was going to say? That I don’t want it to be you?’

  I look back toward the TV.

  ‘You don’t really believe that, do you—?’

  The sound of a key in the door ends the moment. We look over the back of the couch to see Jake come in, dropping his bag by the door. He waves and walks toward us, popping his head in to see what we’re watching.

  ‘Hey,’ Cat says to her brother, smile perfectly in place. ‘You’re home early.’

  ‘I caught an earlier flight.’

  ‘You look like shit, man,’ I say. He really does. Exhausted and resigned.

  ‘Screw you,’ he throws at me, but his grin proves his good humour.

  ‘Do you still have tomorrow off?’ Cat asks.

  ‘No. Back on schedule. At least I’m just on call. Hopefully nothing comes up.’ He yawns deeply, but points at me. ‘Thanks for taking care of her. I’m beat. See you guys in the morning.’