Chapter 6 #2
"Sound asleep. She was worried, but I promised her you'd be home safe." June stands, moving towards me, and I can see the tension in her shoulders, the way she's holding herself together. "Are you okay?"
The question breaks something in me. "Yeah," I manage. "Everyone made it out. The husband's going to be fine."
"And you?" June steps closer, close enough that I can smell her perfume—something light and floral that cuts through the lingering scent of smoke on my clothes. "Are you fine?"
I should lie. Should say I'm good, that this is just another call, nothing special. But standing here in my living room with June looking at me like this, like my safety matters, I can't make the words come.
"I kept thinking," I say instead, "what if I didn't come back? What if Emma lost me? What if you were left waiting and I never—"
June closes the distance between us, her hands coming up to frame my face. "But you did come back. You're here."
"This time."
"Every time," she says firmly. "Adam, I know what your job is. I'm not going into this blind. And yes, I'm going to worry. Yes, it's going to be hard sometimes. But you don't get to make that choice for me."
Her words echo what she said at the block party, but they land differently now. After the fire. After the what-ifs. After texting her from a scene where the floor could have collapsed beneath me.
"I don't want to hurt you," I whisper.
"Then don't push me away." Her thumbs brush my cheekbones, gentle and grounding. "Let me in. Let me worry. Let me be here when you come home. That's all I'm asking."
I lean into her touch, exhausted and overwhelmed and more grateful than I have words for. "Emma's really asleep?"
"Out like a light. I checked on her ten minutes ago." A small smile tugs at June's lips. "Why?"
"Because I've been wanting to kiss you all day, and I'd really like to not be interrupted this time."
Her smile widens, turns soft and warm and devastating. "No radios. No block parties."
I huff out a breath that’s almost a laugh. "Just you and me."
"Finally," June breathes, and rises on her toes to meet me.
This time, nothing stops us.
Her lips are soft and warm and taste faintly of the tea she must have been drinking while she waited. The kiss starts gentle—tentative, like we're both afraid to break the spell—but then June's hands slide up into my hair, and something in me snaps.
I pull her closer, one hand at her waist, the other cupping the back of her neck, and the kiss deepens.
She makes this small sound in the back of her throat that drives me absolutely insane, and I'm backing her toward the kitchen counter without conscious thought—just need and want and the desperate relief of finally, finally having this.
June's back hits the counter, and she gasps against my mouth. I pull back just enough to check. "Okay?"
She nods, breathless, pupils blown wide. "Perfect," she manages, and then she's pulling me back down, kissing me like she's been waiting just as long as I have.
My hands find her hips, lifting her onto the counter in one smooth motion, and she wraps her legs around me like she belongs there. Like this is exactly where we're supposed to be. The new angle makes me groan, and June's fingers tighten in my hair, tugging just hard enough to make me want more.
"Adam," she breathes against my mouth, and hearing my name like that—desperate and wanting—undoes me completely.
I kiss her jaw, her throat, the hollow behind her ear, and she arches into me with a soft whimper. Her dress has ridden up, and my hands find bare thigh, warm skin, her pulse racing under my fingertips.
"You taste exactly how I imagined," I murmur against her neck, and she laughs, breathless and beautiful.
"You've been imagining?"
"Every damn day." I kiss her again, slower this time, savoring. "Since the moment you fell into me with cupcakes and smiled up at me."
"That was weeks ago."
"I know." I pull back just enough to look at her—breathless and gorgeous and thoroughly kissed—and something in my chest cracks wide open. "I've wanted this for weeks, June. Wanted you."
Her eyes soften, turn tender. "You have me."
The simplicity of it, the certainty, makes my throat tight. I lean my forehead against hers, trying to catch my breath, trying to remember why we should slow down. We should slow down. We should do this right—date first, take our time, be careful with Emma's heart.
But June's hands are tracing patterns on my shoulders, her legs still wrapped around me, and slowing down feels impossible.
"I want to do this right," I say, even though my body's screaming the opposite. "Take you on a proper date. Not rush this."
June's smile is wicked and sweet and everything in between. "Adam Lane, are you trying to be a gentleman while you have me pinned to your kitchen counter?"
"Trying being the operative word." I groan, dropping my head to her shoulder. "You're not making it easy."
"Good." She kisses my temple, soft and affectionate. "But you're right. We should slow down. Emma could wake up."
The mention of Emma is like cold water, reminding me where we are, what's at stake. I step back reluctantly, helping June slide off the counter, and immediately miss her warmth.
"Tomorrow night," I say firmly, straightening her dress even though my hands want to do the opposite. "Dinner. Somewhere nice. Just us."
"It's a date."
"Join me for a glass of wine?" I ask, because I'm not ready for her to leave yet. Not when I can still taste her on my lips, not when the house feels warmer with her in it.
June's smile is soft, knowing. "I'd like that."
I pour us each a glass—red, something Harper left here weeks ago—and June leans against the counter, watching me with those blue eyes that see too much. The air between us is thick with want and promise and all the things we're trying not to rush into.
"To first dates," June says, raising her glass.
"To tomorrow," I counter, and we drink.
But I can't stop looking at her. Can't stop noticing the way her dress hugs her curves, the way her hair frames her face, the way her lips are still slightly swollen from kissing me. And the way she's looking back—like she's thinking the same things I am.
I can’t stay away.
I set my glass down hard enough that wine sloshes, and then I'm crossing the distance between us, lifting her back onto the counter, capturing her mouth in a kiss that's all heat and need and zero restraint.
June gasps against my lips, her legs wrapping around me again, and God, I could get addicted to this—to her.
"Adam," she breathes, but it doesn't sound like a protest.
My hands slide up her thighs, pushing her dress higher, and she arches into me with that sound I'm already obsessed with. I kiss down her throat, tasting wine and June and something uniquely hers, and her fingers tangle in my hair, holding me exactly where she wants me.
I find the top button of her dress, work it open with shaking fingers. Then the second. June's breathing is ragged now, her chest rising and falling rapidly, and when I brush my thumb across her collarbone, she shivers.
"Is this okay?" I manage, even though stopping might actually kill me.
"Yes," she whispers. "Don't stop."
The third button comes undone, revealing the edge of her bra—simple white lace that somehow makes my brain short-circuit. I trace the edge with my fingertips, reverent, and June's head falls back against the cabinet with a soft thud.
"You're beautiful," I murmur against her skin, and then I'm kissing the swell of her breast above the lace, tasting her, memorizing every sound she makes.
Her hand finds the back of my neck, holding me there, and I can feel her pulse racing under my lips. I want more. Want everything. Want to carry her to my bedroom and spend the rest of the night learning exactly what makes her fall apart.
But then—
"Daddy?"
Emma's voice carries from upstairs, small and sleepy, and we both freeze.
"Shit," I breathe, pulling back. June's eyes are wide, dark, her lips parted and her dress half-undone. She looks undone and utterly devastating.
"Go," she whispers, already working her buttons with trembling fingers. "She needs you."
I groan, resting my forehead against hers for one stolen second. "So much for doing this the right way."
June laughs breathlessly, though she looks as frustrated as I feel. "We tried."
"Daddy?" Emma calls again, closer now.
"I should go," June says, sliding off the counter, smoothing her dress. "We have tomorrow night. Go be with your daughter."
I help with her buttons, and when she's put back together—mostly—I cup her face and kiss her one more time. Slow. Promising.
"Tomorrow," I say firmly. "I'll be kissing you again tomorrow. And it's going to be worth the wait."
June's smile could light up the entire street. "I'm counting on it."
She slips out the front door just as Emma appears in the hallway, clutching Mr. Fluffkins, hair mussed from sleep.
"Hey, baby girl," I say, scooping her up. "Bad dream?"
"Where's June?"
"She just left. But we'll see her soon, okay?"
Emma nods against my shoulder, already half-asleep again, and I carry her back to bed.
But as I tuck her in, all I can think about is June's dress riding up, her breathless sounds, the promise of tomorrow.
Tomorrow can't come soon enough.