Chapter 21
Chapter 21
In the two seconds it took for Flint to cross the kitchen, Daphne wondered if she’d made a terrible mistake. Another terrible mistake. There’d been a few in recent history.
Then he was there in front of her, his hands sliding over her waist, and thinking became difficult. His thumbs traced the bottom of her rib cage in one hot sweep of skin against skin, and then he moved one hand to cup her neck and jaw.
She’d never seen his eyes so dark. They stared into hers, the length of his body pressed against the length of hers.
“You sure about this?” he rasped.
Daphne’s hands had climbed up to curl into his shirt. His hair was wet from his shower, and he smelled like clean skin and soap. “Yes,” she said, because what else was she supposed to do? She was the one running topless through the streets just to get his attention. She was the one who’d ripped a few buttons off her favorite shirt to distract him from her snooping.
Besides, it would be a lie to say she didn’t want his hands on her body. She didn’t like him. God, no. But he had this raw male energy that went straight to her head. And whenever they were in a room together, all that energy was directed at her.
She knew that most of what had bloomed between them was lust borne of convenience. He’d invited her to the vow renewal to save his reputation. He’d insisted she stay at his house because he didn’t want the hassle of hiring someone new—or finding another date. And now he was looking at her like he wanted to devour her because she’d whipped her shirt off in his kitchen.
It wasn’t anything real. How could it be? They were both unsure about their place on the island, and they had history. He was a bad boy who’d turned straight, and she was a good girl who was ... confused.
Flint slid his fingers to her nape, then tightened them in her hair. He tilted her head back while his other hand swept up her side and over her breast. A tremor went through Daphne’s body, and Flint let out a sharp breath in response.
“You have no idea how much I’ve wondered about your underwear since last week,” he said, voice low. His thumb stroked the edge of the lace on the cup of her bra, and her nipple pebbled in response. “Wondered what color it is. If it had a little bow and a dangly charm in the middle. If I’d ever get the chance to see it again.”
Daphne’s breath staggered. She blinked at him, her own fingers finding their way to his neck. His stubble was rough against her fingertips, his throat bobbing as he swallowed.
“You sound a little bit like a deviant, Flint,” she said, and it came out breathier than she’d anticipated.
He pressed his hips to hers, pinning her to the cabinets. His cock was a hard bulge as it pressed into the crook of her hip. “I’m not the one taking my shirt off at every opportunity.”
Outrage sparked in Daphne’s chest. He made it sound like she was desperate for his attention! “‘Every oppor—’”
Flint silenced her with a hard kiss. His hand tightened in her hair as he bent her head back, lips devouring hers. It took less than a second for Daphne to melt like butter on a hot pan. She clung to him, her injured foot lifting up as she curled her leg over his hip.
Flint groaned, dropping his hand from her breast to hook it around her thigh. His hand skimmed the back of it, pinning her between his body and the cabinets. He ground himself against her as his kiss deepened, lips and tongue and teeth shredding every hope Daphne had of using rational thought and responsibility to get herself out of this situation.
She didn’t want out of this situation. She wanted more.
“Flint—”
“You’re not the good girl you pretend to be, are you?” His lips dropped to her neck, her clavicle, her chest.
Daphne leaned back, head against the upper cabinets, while Flint bent over to suck her nipple through the fabric of her bra. His hair was wet and cold when she gripped it to hold him there, his shirt damp around the collar.
It felt too good. Her mind was splintering. She’d never—
How long had it been since a man had kissed her? Really kissed her? Like nothing in the world existed but her lips and her body and her need?
Years. A decade. Longer?
Had anyone ever made her feel like this? Like she was one spark away from detonation?
He moved to the other breast, and Daphne let out a cry of complaint. With one hand still holding her thigh, Flint huffed a laugh against her skin and used his free hand to trace the lace edge of her bra. She watched him, chest heaving with every breath, as he slipped the lace down to expose her breast. Her nipple was hard, and Flint brushed his lips against it gently, gently.
“Flint—”
“Calvin,” he corrected.
Tightening her fist in his hair, Daphne arched her back. She needed his mouth on her skin. “Calvin,” she begged.
Warm breath gusted out of him, and he gave her what she wanted. He plumped her breast with his hand before taking it in his mouth, tongue teasing, teeth scraping, hand gripping hard.
Daphne was lost. She hadn’t planned this, hadn’t foreseen what would happen if she cracked open the door to this. It felt so much bigger than fooling around against his kitchen counter. It felt like turning away from the well-lit path of what Daphne should do and taking the first step into unexplored territory.
This man could destroy her. And Daphne didn’t care.
He groaned as his kiss moved from her breast to her neck and over her jaw. Daphne turned her head and kissed him back, her hands dropping to the bulge in his pants. She was spinning out of control, and she wanted to wring every bit of pleasure from the moment that she could before her brain started working again. She wanted to feel .
Calvin leaned back and watched her palm his cock over his jeans, his lids low. “I used to dream of you doing this,” he said, voice a bare rasp. His lips drifted over her shoulder as he pushed the strap of her bra until it fell over her arm. “Used to come home from school hating the way you made me feel, but I wanted you, Daphne.”
“You—what?” Daphne asked, blinking.
The man whose body was pinning her to the cabinets let out a laugh that was little more than a sharp exhale of breath. “That surprises you?”
He reached between them to touch her the way she was touching him. The heat of his palm burned her through her work pants, the rasp of her panties almost too rough against her sensitive flesh.
“Yes, that surprises me,” Daphne answered, licking her lips. “What do you mean, ‘the way I made you feel’? You were the one who almost”—her breath caught when the heel of his palm ground into her clit.
“Long time ago,” Flint replied, lids low as his gaze roamed from the movement of his hand to her bare stomach and all the way up to her disheveled bra. “Doesn’t matter anymore.”
“I think ...” Daphne swallowed convulsively. The truth was, it was getting more and more difficult to think at all. Flint—Calvin—was sending heat spiraling through her core. All Daphne really wanted was to forget about the past—and the future—and see what happened next.
When his lips crushed hers, she didn’t resist. She wrapped her arms around his neck, hooked her injured leg higher on his waist, and ground her hips against the movement of his hand. Her palms moved to his shoulders, then lower. She clawed at his shirt, tugging it up until she could feel warm skin and the hard pack of muscle under her touch. She traced the sides of his stomach, feeling the notches between his muscles. In the center of his stomach, hair rasped against her fingers. She followed it up to his chest, spreading her palms against his skin.
He groaned and pulled away, one hand reaching behind his head to pull his shirt off. Once it fell to the linoleum floor beside them, he flicked open her pants and pulled her zipper down with a harsh tug. His fingertips were warm as they pressed into her stomach and slid beneath the hem of her panties.
“White lace,” he said, snapping the elastic.
“Uh-huh,” Daphne agreed.
And that’s when the doorbell rang.
They froze. Daphne looked in the direction of the front door, breaths jagged, blood on fire. Flint turned her head back to face him with the tips of his fingers and brought his lips to hers.
“Ignore it.” He pressed little kisses on her lips, his hand moving lower. He was so close. So close it ached . She shifted, rolling her hips, needing—
The doorbell rang again. And again. And again.
Daphne groaned, her forehead falling to rest on his shoulder.
“They’ll go away,” he insisted, and his fingertips slid through her arousal to roll over her clit. They both hissed. Daphne’s head jerked back up, her body bowing toward his touch. Flint’s pupils were blown out, his irises the thinnest ring of honey surrounding them. “Fuck,” he gasped. “Yes—”
“Daphne!” Grandma Mabel’s voice called from outside the front door. “Daphne! We’re all here! We brought dinner!”
Horror iced her veins. Daphne’s head shot toward the sound of her grandmother’s voice, and she shoved Flint’s hand away. She scrambled to put her bra back on properly.
“They won’t,” she told Flint when he just frowned at her. “They won’t go away. In fact, they might break down the door any minute, so I need to get some clothes on or I’ll never hear the end of it.”
Flint picked her shirt up and handed it to her, his jaw tight. He readjusted himself in his pants before facing the hallway that led to the front door, a muscle feathering in his cheek. “I’ll tell them we’re busy,” he said.
“No!” Daphne said, despairing at the state of her mangled buttons. She’d need a fresh shirt. “No, they’ll ask questions.”
“I’ll say you’re in the shower,” he said, glaring at her.
“They’ll just come in and wait.”
“This is my house, Davis.”
“You don’t know them like I do.”
His jaw worked as he ground his teeth, but Flint finally dropped his shoulders. After picking his shirt up off the floor, he took one step toward the front door, then turned back to face Daphne. His finger came up to point at her. “This isn’t over, Cupcake.”
“For now it is.” She said it to remind herself as much as him, because she knew her family. They were lovely, but they wouldn’t go away.
And, selfishly, now that the scorching heat of her lust had been tempered, Daphne was grateful. She’d been a few seconds away from making a very, very big mistake.