Chapter 4
FOUR
CYRUS
I should step back.
I should put actual space between us, grab the nearest garland, the nearest excuse, anything that would cut the tension before it takes us somewhere we can’t walk away from.
But Dahlia is looking up at me with that expression — open, wary, wanting — and whatever good sense I have evaporates.
“You okay?” I ask, even though I know damn well she isn’t.
She wets her lips. “I’m fine.”
She’s absolutely not fine. Neither am I.
The heater kicks on with a low hum. Outside, wind scrapes against the eaves. The weather app said the storm would get bad tonight, but I didn’t think it would matter. I didn’t think she’d still be here.
“Maybe we should—” I stop, because I don’t know how to finish that. Stop decorating? Stop talking? Stop pretending?
She waits, eyes steady.
“—take a break,” I finish lamely.
Her mouth curves. “A break.”
“Yeah.” I clear my throat. “We’ve been at this a while.”
She nods, picking up the ornament box, but she’s still watching me. Like she’s waiting for me to lead the way again.
I go to the kitchen, mostly to breathe. I grab two glasses, the bottle of wine my mom insisted I buy “for hosting,” and try very hard not to picture Dahlia leaning against the counter, hair loose, eyes soft.
Except when I turn around, that’s exactly what I see.
She slid off her coat. She tucked her hair behind her ears. She looks warm and flushed and entirely too comfortable in my kitchen.
She accepts the glass when I hand it to her. Our fingers touch and linger for a beat too long. My pulse responds like it’s been waiting for that contact all damn month.
We don’t talk for a moment. Just sip. Just exist in the same charged air.
The lights blink.
Once.
Twice.
The storm thuds against the roof like a warning.
“Great,” I mutter. “Hope we don’t lose power.”
She tilts her head. “Would that be a problem?”
“I mean…”
I could light the fireplace. I could grab blankets. I could sit beside her on this worn-in couch and listen to her laugh while snow piles up outside—
Yeah. It would be a problem.
Before I can answer, her stomach growls loudly enough to make her wince.
I laugh. “You hungry?”
“I wasn’t before, but now all I can think about is the cinnamon rolls I bought Molly yesterday.”
“What happened to them?”
“She ate one. Then fell asleep. Then hid the rest so she wouldn’t be tempted.”
“That sounds like Molly.”
She smiles, soft. “She’s exhausted. I’m trying not to freak out.”
Everything inside me shifts at the worry in her voice.
“She’s okay,” I say quietly. “Bradley’s on it. And she’s got you.”
Her eyes flick to mine. “Yeah.”
“And you’ve got me.”
The words slip out before I can stop them.
Her breath catches. “Do I?”
I shut my eyes for half a second, because I know the truth, and saying it out loud feels like stepping off a cliff.
I open my eyes. “Yeah. You do.”
She sets her glass down with careful precision. “Cyrus…”
The power flickers again. The lights hold, but barely.
“It’s fine,” I say. “Just the storm.”
She looks at me like she wants to believe that. Like she wants to trust me with more than decorations and dinner prep.
Before I can ruin this, she says, “Why did you leave that morning? After the wedding.”
There it is.
The question I’ve been dodging since the second she walked into the store today.
I take a breath. “Because I was an idiot.”
She blinks. “That’s surprisingly straightforward.”
“I didn’t think you’d want me there when you woke up. And I didn’t trust myself not to want more.”
Her throat works. She sets her glass down next to mine. “You didn’t think I’d want you there?”
“You left town the next day. Didn’t return my message.”
“I never got a message,” she whispers.
My stomach drops. “I… what?”
She pulls her phone from her pocket, scrolls, then shakes her head. “Nothing from you. Nothing.”
Her phone must have glitched. Or I saved the number wrong. Or some other excuse that doesn’t actually matter.
“I thought you were avoiding me,” I say.
“I thought you were avoiding me,” she says.
We stare at each other, both breathing hard, both furious and relieved at the same time.
Then she steps closer.
Just an inch.
But it’s enough.
“Cyrus.” Her voice is quiet, steady. “What do we do now?”
The storm rumbles outside like it’s trying to answer for me.
I lift a hand and touch her cheek. Lightly. Carefully. Her skin is warm under my palm. She leans into it without hesitation.
“I think,” I say, “that we stop avoiding it.”
“What’s ‘it’?”
“You know exactly what.”
Her breath trembles. “Then show me.”
And that’s all it takes.
I cup her face, guide her closer, and kiss her like I’ve been starving for months. She kisses back instantly, her fingers curling into my shirt, pulling me down to her like she can't get close enough fast enough.
Heat flares, sharp and immediate.
She tastes like wine and winter and everything I tried to forget.
I lift her onto the counter without breaking the kiss. She makes a sound — soft, wrecking — and I feel it everywhere.
She pulls me closer, her legs bracketing my hips, her hands sliding into my hair. It’s reckless. It’s inevitable. It’s the kind of kiss that leaves nothing unspoken.
The storm pounds against the windows.
The cabin hums with low light.
She kisses me like she’s choosing this — choosing me — and something in my chest cracks open.
When I finally pull back, her forehead rests against mine. We’re both breathing hard.
“What now?” she whispers.
I press a slow kiss to her jaw. “Now we keep going.”
And just as my hands slip under the hem of her sweater, the power goes out.
The cabin drops into darkness.
She laughs breathlessly against my mouth. “Guess we’re really doing this the old-fashioned way.”
With a chuckle, I lean in and kiss her again. This time, there won’t be any stopping until we’re both good and satisfied.
“Baby,” I scrape my teeth against her jaw and she grips my shoulder. “Are you looking for slow and sensual or—”
“Slow and sensual can wait,” she says, sliding one hand down my chest and hovering at the button at the waist of my jeans. “Right now I want you to fuck me. Fast. Hard.”
I grin against her neck. “That can be arranged.”
She flips the fly open and tugs my flannel shirt free. She trails her fingers through the dark hair that trails from my belly button and below.
Her fingers push my fly open and slip lower.
“Careful there.” I suck in a breath. “That thing is loaded.”
“Good.” She moves her hand lower to cup my through the boxer briefs. “I’m counting on it.”
My chuckle turns into a hiss as she tightens her grip on me. Stroking me through the fabric with her deft fingers.
I let her tease me for a moment. Savoring her touch.
But I don’t last long. With a growl, I pull her hand away and pull her mouth back to mine.
Our teeth scrape against each other hungrily as the rest of our clothes disappear, littering the floor.
Gripping her hips, I lift her up and set her on the edge of the kitchen table that will host our family dinner. I want her in my bed later. But right now, I’m just following orders.
She wants it hard and fast. Who am I to object?
Sliding my hands up and down her exposed skin, I reacquaint myself with the body that has kept me sleepless more nights than I can remember these past five months.
“Fuck, you feel even better than I remembered,” he said.
“Have you thought about me then?” she asks.
“Only all the God-damned time.”
I up her breast, sliding thumb over her nipple.
Without warning, I give Dahlia a light shove so she lays flat on her back on my table. Looking more delectable than any turkey dinner ever could.
I catch her gaze as I lower myself between her thighs.
“Are you ready for this?”
She nods.
I run a hard hand up and down her thigh, smirking at the way she shivers under my caress.
I blow a hot breath against her bare pussy and watch her writhe.
“Oh God. More, more.”
I’d love to make her beg. But that can wait till later. For now, I’m eager to oblige.
I press a hot, opened-mouthed kiss to her navel. Then I trail my tongue lower. Pressing slow, wet kisses along her thigh as one of my fingers moves through her seam to find what I’m looking for.
I slide it around her clit, and she cries out. I can’t help but grin. “That a girl. Be loud.”
Continuing to move my finger around her clit, I slide another inside of her.
She shrieks.
I plant another kiss on her thigh and move my lips to join my fingers to toy with her clit.
I slide another finger inside of her, stroking the inner wall.
She makes even more arousing sounds as I play her pussy with everything I’ve got.
She slides a hand into my head, bucking her hips against my mouth, calling out my name as her thighs clench against my cheeks.
I stay with her through it all, not letting up until she tugs my head up.
“That was…” She shakes her head. “Do you have a condom?”
I nod, slowly rising to my feet and reaching into the jeans I discarded. I never tear my gaze from her as I rip open the foil and slide the rubber down my cock.
She licks her lips as I position myself between her thighs. Pressing the head of my cock against her pussy, I swallow hard.
“Are you ready?”
She nods and lifts one of her legs to come around me, pulling my inside her with one quick movement.
I hiss as I plunge into her familiar heat. “God damn.”
She gasps. “I couldn’t have put it better myself.”
I give myself another moment to savor the feeling, then I pull out only to thrust into her again. Earning me another shout.
We’re off to the races then. Hands roving each other. Bodies coming together. Hearts racing until she once again finds her pleasure.
She takes me with her this time.
As I pour myself into her, my last coherent thought is that there’s nowhere in the world I’d rather be than here, inside of her.
I’m the luckiest bastard in the world.