Page 107 of Dose

“So are you.”

I kiss her.

She tastes like raw batter and sugar. Her legs close around my hips, and her fingers find my belt.

The kitchen door opens.

Darius stops with an empty coffee mug in his hand.

His gaze moves from Isla’s bare legs to my open belt and then to the stove.

“No.”

“The burner is off,” I say.

“That is not the part of this scene I object to.”

Isla presses her face against my neck, shoulders shaking.

“You have quarters,” Darius continues. “With a door. A bed. Several horizontal surfaces that do not belong to everyone who eats here.”

“We haven’t done anything on the counter.”

“You are seconds away from making that distinction meaningless.” He points at the stove. “Clean the batter. Replace the milk. And if Raphael asks, I was never here.”

He leaves without making coffee.

Isla lifts her head. “He’s right.”

“Unfortunately.”

We clean the kitchen.

The shower begins as practical decontamination.

Isla works batter from my hair while I rinse flour from hers. Steam fills the room. Her hands move down my chest and follow the formulas inked into my skin.

“We’re supposed to be washing,” I say.

“I’m multitasking.”

Her mouth touches my collarbone.

I catch her chin and turn her face up to mine. “Bed.”

“Coward.”

“Chemist with an intact skull. Wet tile has an inadequate coefficient of friction, and my shoulder is not volunteering to catch both of us.”

“Literature has lied to me about shower sex.”

“Literature wants you dead.”

She laughs against my mouth.

We make it as far as the edge of the bed before patience fails.

Isla pushes me down and straddles my thighs, damp hair trailing over my chest. I put both hands on her hips.