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I laugh. “Really?”
“Really,” he deadpans, holding out his hand to help me across the stepping stones. “Can you swim?”
“I’d be fucked if I couldn’t.”
I’m sure I see a smile out of the corner of my eye, and even just the hope of it colors my cheeks.
Inside, the hut is beautifully simple. Big, four-poster bed with a cream net over the top. A ceiling fan whirrs above our head, and behind another door, there’s an ensuite with a free-standing tub and shower that has views of the water.
“It’s beautiful.”
“I know.”
And there’s that laser-like stare again. The one that blisters with intensity. That makes me like I’m the only person in the world. The universe, even.
“I’ll bring your belongings in shortly.”
I nod, suddenly hot under the heavy tension swirling the room.
“Dahlia,” he says, taking a step towards me. I hold my breath, daring myself to meet his steel eyes. “I will ask you one more time, then I won’t ask you again. Are you sure you want to do this?”
My answer comes out in a hiss of hot air. “Yes.”
He studies me for a second more, his jaw clenching and unclenching. “Think carefully about your answer. Because once you agree, there is no going back.”
“I don’t want to go back,” I whisper into the few inches of space between us. “I have nothing to go back to.”
His eyes narrow. A beat. “Very well. You will live here like it is your home. I just have three rules.” He holds up a beefy finger, gaze never leaving mine, “Number one: Don’t trample on my flowers.”Reasonable.Another finger. “Number two: Don’t kiss me.”
“Why?” My voice is hoarse, and I can’t hide the surprise in it.
Grimacing, he holds up a third finger. “Three: Don’t ask questions.”
I stare at him, unblinking. “Tell me you understand.”
“I understand,” I manage.
“Good. Now get on the bed.”
“What?”
His eyes turn dark, burning with unrelenting intensity. “That was a question,” he says in a restrained voice. “Get on the bed.”
I swallow the lump in my throat, the one threatening to cut off my oxygen supply.Oh god, this is happening. This is really happening.
My knees are one gruff command from giving way, so I crawl onto the bed and awkwardly lie down.
Cillian stalks, slow and panther-like, to the foot of the bed.
“Now spread your legs.”
A white, hot heat rolls through my body, lighting all of my nerve endings on fire. I’m burning with the excitement of the unknown, and I realize:This is what I live for.
It’s what I’ve chased my entire life. I was chasing the excitement of the unknown when I got on the back of that motorcycle on the first day of college. Four years later, I chased the unknown when I climbed out the restroom window of the restaurant, with nothing but my sunglasses and a pair of flip-flops, and fled to Panama.
The unknown is like my oxygen.
Breathing heavy, I stare up at the ceiling fan and spread my legs. The groan coming from the foot of the bed elicits a warm, hot heat from my pussy. The bed dips. The heat grows.
