Chapter 30 The Spicy Tuna Effect
THE SPICY TUNA EFFECT
DAVINA
The drive home felt longer than usual, probably because I spent most of it rehearsing how to tell Dallas that our carefully constructed house of cards had developed a Brooke-shaped hole.
The Tampa sunset smeared the sky orange and pink as I pulled into Dallas's driveway. The porch lights were already on. Movement flickered behind the front windows, and Ricky's face appeared in the glass a second after I cut the engine, his small body vibrating with excitement.
I grabbed my bag and headed up the walk. The door swung open before I reached it.
Dallas stood in the doorway wearing grey sweatpants slung low on his hips and nothing else. His hair was damp, curling at the ends. Water droplets still clung to his shoulders like they'd paid for the privilege.
I stopped. Blinked.
“Like what you see,” he said, bouncing his brows.
“I'm...” I pushed past him, or tried to. He caught my waist as I passed, pulling me against his chest. Heat spread from the contact. “Dallas, we need to talk.”
“That sounds ominous.” His lips brushed my temple. “Should I worry?”
“Brooke called.”
He went still. “Ah.”
“She saw the podcast.”
“I figured she would eventually.”
“She's not mad. Well, she's a little mad. Mostly she's…” I pulled back to read his face. “She said the way you looked at me wasn't fake.”
“That's because it wasn't.”
Before I could respond, Ricky launched himself at my ankles with all eight pounds of his conviction.
“Yes, hello, I see you.” I scooped him up. He vibrated so hard he nearly wiggled out of my arms, his entire backend wagging. “Did you miss me? Were there threats? Did you defend the homestead?”
He licked my chin, which I took as confirmation of at least seven vanquished postal workers.
“He barked at a leaf for twenty minutes,” Dallas smirked. “Very heroic.”
“The leaves are very aggressive this time of year.”
I looked past him into the house. Stopped.
The living room had transformed. The coffee table was gone, replaced by cushions and throws arranged in front of the fireplace.
Flames danced behind the glass, casting warm light across an elaborate spread, wooden platters covered in sushi rolls, sashimi, and edamame.
Candles scattered the space like fallen stars.
“You...” The sentence wouldn't finish.
“I wanted you to myself tonight. So I ordered from that place you like. The one with the spicy tuna that makes you make sounds.” He said this casually, like he hadn't just staged an entire romantic evening while I'd been arguing with Marcus about velvet.
“You made a floor picnic. With candles.”
“Is that a problem?”
“It's...” I set Ricky down. He waddled toward the cushion pile like he owned it. “No one's ever done anything like this for me.”
Dallas's expression shifted, tenderness replacing the smugness. “Then everyone you've dated was an idiot.”
“Present company excluded?”
“Present company is trying hard to prove otherwise.” He took my bag and set it aside. “I did almost set the curtains on fire, lighting the candles, so results pending.”
I laughed and let him lead me to the cushion nest. The arrangement was surprisingly comfortable, and when I settled onto the largest pillow, I found myself at the perfect height to watch firelight play across his ridiculous cheekbones.
Life remained deeply unfair.
“So.” He folded himself onto the cushion across from me. “Brooke knows.”
“Brooke knows.”
“Matt called me too. Four hours ago. His first words were finally.”
“Finally?”
“Apparently, he's had a theory about us since the engagement party.” Dallas reached for a sake bottle and poured two cups. “He said something about there being unresolved tension and obvious attraction, and he couldn’t count the number of times he thought oh, for the love of God, just kiss her already.”
“He said that?” I sipped sake, let the warmth spread through me. “That’s ridiculous.”
He picked up a spicy tuna roll and held it to my lips. The gesture was unexpectedly intimate. “Matt claims I've been obviously in love with you since the moment we met.”
I froze. “That's also ridiculous.”
“Is it?”
“Yes. You hated me when we met.”
His laugh was low. “I never hated you; I was intimidated.”
I accepted the roll, chewing slowly, savoring the taste. The spicy tuna was so freaking good. “You called me a tiny hurricane of unnecessary opinions within five minutes of meeting me.”
“And you called me a walking protein shake with a God complex.” His eyes glittered. “Tell me that wasn't foreplay.”
I choked.
He was already reaching for a napkin, but he was also laughing. “Easy. Can't have you dying before I finish confessing.”
“Confessing?” I managed, dabbing my eyes. “Should I be recording this for legal purposes?”
“You should be eating your sushi while I tell you all the ways I've been pathetically obvious about wanting you.” He picked up a dragon roll, my favorite, and held it up. “Open.” I opened, and he placed the roll on my tongue.
“The engagement party,” he continued, as though he hadn't just scrambled half my neurons with one gesture. “You showed up in that green dress, and Matt had to elbow me because I'd stopped mid-sentence to stare.”
“You were glaring.”
“I was yearning. Glaring implies hostility. The only person I was hostile toward was myself.” He picked up salmon sashimi and met my eyes. “I went home that night and thought about you for three hours.”
“Thought about how much you disliked me?”
“Thought about your mouth.” His voice dropped. “The way it moved when you insulted me. The way you'd smile right after, like you knew exactly what you were doing.”
I sipped my sake. “You're smooth,” I said, breathier than intended.
“I'm honest.” He reached across the distance and tucked hair behind my ear. His fingertips traced the shell of my ear, my jaw, the corner of my mouth.
I caught his wrist. Held it there, his palm warm against my cheek. “What else have you been thinking?”
His pupils dilated, and the smugness cracked. “You want a list?”
“I want specifics.”
“That’s a dangerous game.”
“I'm feeling a little reckless.”
“I've thought about this mouth telling me off and screaming my name.” His gaze dropped to my mouth. “This mouth…”
“Dallas.”
“See?” His smile was crooked, almost helpless. “Exactly like that.”
I wasn't sure who moved first. Maybe I pulled him forward by the wrist. Maybe he leaned in, but the distance between us collapsed.
His mouth found mine, and the kiss wasn't gentle.
It was hungry and tasted like sake, and two years of verbal sparring finally found a different outlet.
His hand slid into my hair, tilting my head back.
I made a sound against his lips I'd be embarrassed about later, except I couldn't care because he was kissing me like I was air and he'd been drowning.
Sushi forgotten. Candles flickering dangerously as we shifted, reconfigured, tried to get closer. His hand found my waist, hip, and the small of my back, pulling me into his lap.
“Careful.” I breathed against his mouth. “You'll knock over the…”
He did. An entire platter of California rolls went sideways, but we didn’t stop.
We rolled, and my back was against cushions, Dallas above me, weight braced on his forearms, damp hair brushing my forehead.
“Hi,” he said, breathlessly.
“Hi.” Definitely breathless and possibly dying. “We destroyed the sushi.”
“Worth it.”
His mouth found my neck, and the sushi ceased to matter. My fingers dug into his shoulders, still spotted with water, and I arched into him as his teeth grazed my pulse.
His mouth claimed mine as we rolled again, and I ended up on top, hair falling around us like a curtain.
“This is real,” I said. Half question, half statement.
“This is real.” He tucked my hair back, traced my cheekbone. His gaze burned up at me, but his hands stayed gentle. “I want to see you. All of you.”
His fingers found the hem of my sweater. I leaned back, giving him room. The knit passed over my head; cool air kissed my skin. His eyes darkened. He unhooked my bra, and it fell away.
He didn't move. Just looked. Firelight played over my bare skin, and his expression was pure hunger. “You are so beautiful,” he breathed.
Then his mouth was on me, and I cried out, fingers tangling in his hair. He gave attention to each breast, tongue circling, teeth grazing just enough to make my entire body tremble.
“Dallas... please...”
His hands went to my jeans. Button popped. Zipper dragged down. He helped me shimmy free until I lay in just my underwear, exposed to his heated gaze.
He knelt between my thighs, hands running up, pushing them apart. A low groan rumbled from his chest. He hooked his fingers in the waistband and drew them down, knuckles brushing my inner thighs.
Then he just looked. His gaze traveled from my face down my body to where I ached for him.
“Spread for me, sweetheart.”
I let my knees fall wider.
He didn't rush. He kissed the inside of my knee first, a soft, lingering press that made me shudder. Then the other. His hands smoothed up my thighs, spreading me wider. He kissed a trail upward, until his breath was hot over my aching center.
I whimpered, lifting my hips.
“Shh.” His hands held me firm. “Let me taste you.”
His tongue found me. A slow stroke from bottom to top. My body jerked. A sharp gasp tore from my throat.
“Fuck,” he growled against me, the vibration making me cry out. “You taste incredible.”
He settled in, arms wrapping under my thighs, hands splaying over my belly to hold me still. And he ate. Long, languid strokes. Then he focused on my clit, circling with the tip of his tongue, light and teasing until I was begging.
“Please... more...”
He gave me more. Sucked the sensitive bud into his mouth with gentle, rhythmic pressure. His tongue flicked rapidly, then slower, learning what made me shake. One finger, slick with my wetness, pressed against my entrance.
“Yes,” I pleaded. “Yes, Dallas, please.”