Chapter 11 Dahlia #2
Stretching our palms out, we shake on it as heat threads around our hands and rushes straight between my legs.
He picks up the rifles and ammunition, and I grab the eye and ear protection. Then he thrusts his arm out for me to exit first.
The first time I shot a rifle, I thought I couldn’t do it a second time.
In that moment, it was so clear what it could do and cause, the heavy weight pressing against my cheek and shoulder attesting to more than the physical strength, but the implication of killing someone.
Combined with the shot of adrenaline that instantly made me dizzy, I placed the gun down and was done with it. But my sister-in-law wouldn’t have it.
I like that Calla constantly pushes me out of my comfort zone, obliterating my fears by making me stand up and face them.
I miss her, even knowing what it will mean once they return.
But I could never regret her coming back—my only and best friend, and the sister I never had.
She’s unapologetic, lethal, and self-confident.
And yes, she might have rubbed off on me, because I tapped into a side of myself I thought had vanished when I witnessed the cruelty of people.
Outside, two rows are separate, stretching wide in a vertical line with targets placed one behind the other, each fifty meters apart.
“Ready?” he asks, glancing at me with those silver eyes that feel like shooting stars lighting up my chest.
Sliding my shades over my eyes, I get ready for the shot. “Pucker your lips in advance.”
His laughter fades as I shoot the first target. The bullet taking off almost deafens me, even with the ear protection.
He looks so freaking hot as he takes his position. Legs slightly parted, the heel of the rifle firmly planted in the crook of his shoulder, the fore-end glued to his cheek. Eyes focused on the target, he inhales deeply, letting the air slowly out as the bullet explodes, hitting the middle.
My shot was one inch away, so I don’t let my loss demoralize me. There are more rounds.
He nods approvingly at mine. “Not bad.”
I can’t beat him. At least not right now. I need more practice, but what I mastered years ago is getting what I want.
I pout. “Not perfect either.”
It’s the pout that surely does it. He botches the next hit, and the third one, and I can barely suppress my grin. I won’t apologize because he can’t see me upset. I am using my feminine wiles to rig the game.
“I think you really want to kiss me,” I say smugly.
He slaps my ass before he recharges.
Thankfully it’s the last round because I can’t hold the rifle for much longer.
Sweat beads on my temples and with him so close, it’s a wonder I don’t self-combust.
He shoots straight in the middle, carving a small hole I can peek through. Mine is not even close.
“It’s a tie,” I bite my lip, knowing the more tired I get, the worse my aim.
I look up at him, and he cups the back of my neck.
Dragging me to his chest, he erases the space between us.
My heart plays a wild drumroll, the beats intensifying into a thunderous crescendo.
Chest panting, his eyes burn with a heat that has butterflies erupting in my belly.
He digs his hands into my waist, stamping a mark of possession that consumes me.
The air catches fire. Flames of passion dance between us—blazing, uncontainable.
Instinctively, I rise on my toes as he lowers his face to mine. He lifts me up because, God forbid, I feel even an ounce of discomfort by standing on my toes, even if I like it.
This moment feels unreal. A dream I’ve dreamed a thousand times.
I smile against his lips. The reality is so much sweeter than any fantasy I could have conjured. Not even one inch separates our mouths, and my lips tingle, spreading to my toes that instantly curl. My senses go haywire, making me dizzy on my feet. Drunk on him.
If he weren’t holding me, I might as well collapse, and he hasn’t even put his mouth on me.
“You want a kiss?” he asks, that deep, sinful voice eliciting a tremor to electrify me.
“You know I do. Stop teasing me and give me what I want,” my voice rings with impatience.
He grins, the gesture plastered with surrender. I am his losing battle. Always have and always will be.
Eyes locked, the hunger burning in his eyes reveals something else too. He wants me just as much.
As the knowledge floors my heartbeat, he slams his mouth on mine, crushing my lips with a soft yet firm kiss. He might as well suck the soul from me and possess me. Nibbling along my lips, his tongue delves into my mouth, ravishing me.
The kiss is everything I’ve dreamed of, and so much better than I imagined it could be.
My fantasy is nothing compared to his slow but eager exploration of my mouth, licking each nook and cranny. He kisses me as if he wants to map my mouth to trace his territory. Possessive. Wild. Sweet.
A moan tumbles out of my mouth that he snatches as his. A cacophony of sensations blares through me, causing an uproar in my belly that flutters like crazy. He plays with my senses with such dexterity that I create music for him. What a glorious experience being devoured by him.
The groan vibrating in his chest travels through me, echoing like a war drum. He’s not just kissing me, but conquering his prize. The sounds I make are half moans, half whimpers. It’s not butterflies but hummingbirds beating their wings against my ribcage.
The kiss steals the breath from my lungs. I’d forsake breathing if he never stopped kissing me. He feeds me a different type of oxygen, one that is more elementary to my existence. He nips my bottom lip, sucking on the afflicted skin, and traces his tongue over the contour of my mouth.
I lock my arms around his neck, wanting to meld us together—become one so I never have to live without him again. As if he wishes the same, his other palm digs into my thigh before splaying over my ass in a sign of possession. I smile in his mouth, knowing his hand always ends up there.
We come up for air just for a moment before diving back in sheer euphoria that brightens up my insides. I forget the world around me. I am pure sensation. Passion stirs low in my belly, causing a ravenous hunger.
He groans in my mouth as if not getting enough of me, and I thread my fingers through his hair, wanting to hold on to him, so he never stops kissing me.
I am feverish. With each swipe of his tongue, I need more, craving everything he can offer me.
I am high on him—the cause of my addiction, and the only cure to satisfy my desire for another fix.
Every time I think the kiss can’t get better, he proves me wrong, subduing and seducing me with his skilled mouth and wicked tongue. His hand keeps me firmly in place while I get increasingly desperate for more.
Now that I know how fantastically he can kiss, how marvelous we are together, it only adds gasoline to a fire that has always flickered between us.
It can burn us, but I don’t care. I kiss him with the same ardor, wanting to pour every bit of my undying love and throbbing passion into it so he can feel a smidgeon of what he does to me.
He holds onto me as if never letting me go. He might as well press me to the shape of his body, giving me the impression he shares my desire—it’s the same for him.
His desperation matches mine in every nibble, lick and kiss—insatiable as if making up for years of pent-up desire. From him groaning my name in my mouth and squeezing my ass cheek, his fervor is all-encompassing. He’s hard between my legs, and my clit throbs in response.
I feel him in me. I am him. He’s me. Separate but whole. Empty apart, but full together.
“Fuck, baby girl,” he says, sounding almost pained. He rasps. “What are you doing to me? I don’t want to stop. Can’t stop.”
“Don’t stop. Never stop,” I plead, going in for another intoxicating taste, another fiery kiss that makes my core vibrate with a surge of pure ecstasy.
By the time the kiss ends, I am so breathless and lightheaded that I could levitate at any moment.
This was the kind of kiss where he might as well have lit a billboard with his name inside my chest.
Lowering his forehead to mine, we breathe each other in for long minutes, as if we both need a few moments to recover from the intense experience.
My first kiss.