5. Dean
Dean
Why the hell am I letting this get to me?
Forty-two years old, and I’m grinding my teeth like some jealous kid. The second she mentioned that damn restaurant, I knew. Knew which brother would be drifting around the restaurant, all easy smiles and lingering touches.
Knew how he’d look at her—like she was something sweet behind glass, just waiting to be claimed. Every man in town would look at her that way if I weren’t trying my damned hardest to block their view.
Alani isn’t mine. She shouldn’t be.
So, why have I sped back to my cabin like I’ve got the intention of locking her away on the mountain so another man can’t get the chance to share the same air as her?
We’re both silent even after we’ve slipped inside. As she drifts off to stick our leftovers in the fridge, I try to figure out a way to word my behavior. It’s out of line, and if I don’t get my shit together now, she’s going to put two and two together.
She came here because Lewis led her to believe I’m a safe space. If I keep heading down the same path, then I’m going to be the one who paints him as a liar.
Hell, I’m going to mess everything up if I don’t do something here.
If I could have it my way, I’d pull her into my arms, tell her that I’m sorry for acting like some possessive boyfriend, and then ask her if there’s anything I can do to make her feel better.
I should make her something to snack on since I ruined our lunch.
I don’t have much time to figure out how to make up for this afternoon.
When Alani returns, she doesn’t drag herself over toward the couch to make it her own or drift to her room to take a nap. Doesn’t crack open her laptop so she can work on her assignments.
No, she makes her way toward me, keeping too many feet between us.
I don’t move to do anything. Hell, I can barely breathe while I’m worrying why her expression is twisted with something I don’t recognize.
She’s going to call me out for my out-of-line behavior. Tell me I have no right to get upset. Can’t get jealous over someone who isn’t mine.
Nothing can prepare me for the next words that leave her lips.
“I am so sorry.” Her lips pinch together, her hands curling and uncurling at her sides. “I shouldn’t have taken this long to realize what I was doing.”
What?
“I can fix this, though.” Her brows come together, and she moves to hug herself. “But you have to let me. I need you to give me something to do so I can pay you back for what you’re doing.”
Can’t she see that I don’t want anything?
“Alani—” Something claws at my chest, something that makes me panic at the thought of her trying to do something drastic to make me happy.
“Dean, I can’t just keep taking. I need to start giving. Otherwise, it’s not fair for me to stay.” She hugs herself tighter. “I don’t want to be a pain for you, but I don’t want to leave.”
Her words are too much, the final shove over the edge.
“I don’t want you to leave, either!” The words tear out of me, ragged and unplanned. A confession that never should’ve seen the light of day. “Fuck, I want—”
Her face fractures—lips parted, eyes filled with the same hope gnawing at my ribs at the start of revealing something I shouldn’t. One step, then another, until she’s close enough that I feel the heat of her breath. Her fingers twist into my shirt, anchoring me to the moment.
“Tell me.” Her voice is a plea, desperate to keep me talking. “ Please .”
I’m drowning in it. In her. The line between right and wrong dissolves the second her body brushes mine.
My hands rise on their own—rough palms cradling her face, thumbs tracing the flush on her cheeks. Her skin is so damn warm. I tilt her chin up, and she doesn’t even have time to gasp before I crush my mouth to hers.
A shudder races through her. She fists my shirt so hard the fabric strains, knuckles pressing white-hot against my chest. But she doesn’t push me away—no. She drags me closer, until there’s no space left between us.
And that sound—that broken, breathless whimper—it undoes me completely.
I’m a bastard for this.
Her lips are soft. Too soft. Untouched. And yet she doesn’t pull away—fuck, she tilts her chin up, presses closer like she’s starving for it. Her inexperience is obvious in the way she hesitates, then mimics me with clumsy, eager determination. It’s enough to make my hands shake.
I tear myself away before I take more than I could ever deserve.
“We shouldn’t—” My voice is gravel, my pulse a riot. “I shouldn’t—”
Her fingers curl into my shirt, holding me in place. No fear in those eyes. Just fire burning away with flames gone wild, left to burn out of control. “Tell me you don’t want this.”
I grit my teeth. No point in lying, not when I couldn’t do it if I tried. “You know I do.”
“Then stop pretending you’re the one who gets to decide for me.” Her breath fans over my jaw, and every muscle in my body goes taut. “You want me, don’t you? Show me then.”
Damn it. The fact that there’s still a wobble behind her question drives me crazy.
I crush my mouth to hers before she finishes speaking. No gentleness this time—just hunger, hot and claiming.
She gasps, and I swallow the sound, dragging my hands down her back to haul her against me. She tastes like innocence and defiance, and I’m lost in it.
I’ve never felt such relief in my life before. At the same time, something gnaws at me.
Pulling away, her shaky breath tickles my lips.
“Lewis wouldn’t want—”
She makes this impatient sound, something between a huff and a sigh, before she’s standing on her toes to kiss me again.
Fuck, it’s so shy, I can practically feel the heat radiating off of her cheeks.
I move without thinking, my body running on autopilot.
I lift her, a rough groan escaping me as her mouth memorizes mine. The weight of her in my palms is intoxicating—warm, yielding, yet demanding. It takes only a few strides to pin her against the wall, my body pressing into hers, the solid surface leaving no escape. Not that she wants one.
Every rational thought screams that this is wrong—reckless, even—but her lips are insistent, teasing, her tongue tracing the memory of our last kiss like she’s determined to master it.
We need to hit the pause button before this gets out of control.
The words burn in my throat, but I don’t say them yet. Not when her fingers dig into my shoulders, not when her breath hitches just right against my lips when I shift closer. Instead, I grip the underside of her thighs, squeezing hard enough to make her gasp, and drag my mouth down to her throat.
I want to lick her all over. After hardly eating my lunch, I’m fucking starving. She’s the only thing that can satisfy my hunger. At the same time, it feels like a crime to get my mouth and tongue anywhere near her.
“We need to stop,” I growl, the words rough against her pulse. A warning. A plea. Because if she kisses me again, I’m done for. “Otherwise, I’m going to do something I can’t take back.”
Alani shivers—not in fear, but in a way that turns my threat into a promise. Her ankles lock behind my back, pulling herself flush against me until there’s no space left, just heat and friction and the maddening press of her body.
I can feel it—the damp warmth of her through my jeans, the way her hips tilt instinctively, seeking. She has to feel me, the hard, aching strain of my cock against my zipper, demanding more. Needing more.
Then she leans back, just enough to flash me one of those lethal smiles—the kind that melts every shred of restraint into pure, primal hunger.
Fuck. This woman is my weakness. Just her blinking those long eyelashes is enough to make me do whatever she wants.
Her teeth catch her lower lip, and she tilts her head back to offer herself up. The give and take thing she mentioned earlier crosses my mind. She wants to give herself up.
I should be a good man—walk away, resist the temptation. But the truth claws its way out, ugly and undeniable. I’m not good. I’m weak. Starved. After all this time holding myself back… I don’t want to anymore.
There’s nothing in this world I want more than Alani, and I’m tired of fighting myself.
For once, I’m going to give in.