CHAPTER FIVE
There was absolutely nothing in the world that could override Dillon’s instincts once he and Kit were mouth to mouth. The desire to possess her superseded everything else. Like common sense. Like every other time.
He put both hands on her ass and pulled her up against him. Not that there was a long way to go. She had already wrapped her arms around his neck and was arching into him, trying to get closer.
Dillon made a note to work diligently on his bedside manner. It was good for his patients, of course, but damn, it was more than good to have Kit up against him again.
And then he stopped making notes about anything but the way to get Kit to arch and moan and tighten her grip and open her mouth. She did all those things as he licked along her bottom lip and then sucked the tender flesh into his mouth. Her moan fired every nerve ending in his body. And they all had one message—take her.
Dillon turned her and backed her into the counter. The firm surface behind her butt made it so much easier to press right where he needed to be. Kit’s body had always seemed made for his. She was the perfect height to fit against his frame. Her curves filled his palms perfectly. She responded to every touch of his hands and lips like he had the only key to her locks. And he fucking loved it. He loved her taste, her smell, the sounds she made, the desperate way she gripped his shoulders, the way she ground against him as if she needed him. That’s what he loved most. Kit needing him.
And he was more than fine with her needing his help with a postdelivery mom and baby by the side of a snowy road, with her needing him to take her on his snowmobile to her grandmother’s house, with her needing him to tromp out to the barn or kick down a door. But at this moment, he was driven by her needing him to press and lick and stroke her body until she came apart.
Kit was always wound a little tight, but there were times when she was practically vibrating with everything she tried to do and take on. And, in his very informed medical opinion, there was nothing better for tension like that than a good, hard orgasm. Or three.
He lifted her to the countertop and stepped between her knees. He loved these thin cotton pants. As he stroked his hands from her hips to her knees and back up, sliding under the hem of the shirt to the silky skin of her back, he felt the heat pouring off her, surrounding him and sucking him in.
“Damn, you feel amazing,” he told her gruffly, his lips against her neck.
“Keep going,” was her only response.
Dillon knew that she was caught up in the maelstrom of the chemistry that combusted whenever they touched, and he was more than willing to ride it to the end. He ran his hands up and down her back. On the third pass, he unhooked her bra and slid his hands under the straps and around to the front to cup her bare breasts.
She sucked in a quick breath, then arched closer. He thumbed her nipples, knowing from experience that he could get her very close to the edge just hanging out right there. Her high-strung tendencies seemed to carry over into sex. Kit went from zero to wound-up-turned-on-let’s-go in minutes. He had never been with a woman who could climax as quickly as Kit did. She knew her body, she knew what she liked, and she was an overachiever. That meant hard, fast, amazing orgasms that made a man feel like a king.
Of course, Dillon liked to think that he was the only one she was quite as successful with, but he also had no doubt that, like everything else in her life, Kit got exactly what she wanted out of her sexual relationships.
As if to prove his point, she reached down and pulled her shirt up. He leaned back to let her whip it off over her head, tossing her bra along with it a second later. Then she lifted his hands back to her breasts.
Dillon loved to argue with Kit, but there was no way he was going to balk at this suggestion. With the bright kitchen lights above, Dillon teased and tugged until she was panting, then he bent his knees and put his mouth to a nipple.
“Yes,” she encouraged simply.
Always a guy to respond well to praise, Dillon licked and sucked, perfectly content to stay right there for the next hour or so. But Kit was soon squirming on the counter. He lifted his head and saw that she was working her pants down.
She looked up at him. He lifted an eyebrow. “Don’t stop on my account.”
“Wanna give me a couple inches?” she asked, pushing him back with a foot so she could slide her pants down.
“Oh baby, I’ve got more than a couple for you,” he said, unable to resist the juvenile quip.
She rolled her eyes but snorted. “I certainly hope so.”
“Like you don’t remember.”
“It’s been a while.”
She kicked the pants to the floor, and Dillon assumed either she’d taken her panties down at the same time or hadn’t been wearing any. But he couldn’t look away from her to take clothing inventory. Because she was now naked on the counter. He wasn’t sure he’d look away from a naked Kit Derby for anything.
“It hasn’t been that long.” He certainly hadn’t forgotten one damned thing about being with her. The way she looked, and moved, and drove him absolutely fucking wild by refusing to say anything dirty until he’d teased her to the point of begging. He reached for her, fully ready to start the get-her-begging process right that instant.
“Take this dumb thing off,” she told him as he stepped closer, and she tugged on the sleeve of his robe.
He shrugged out of the robe, letting it fall to the floor.
Kit’s eyes raked over him, her breathing getting faster and her throat flushing. Kit was cool and composed almost all the time. And she pulled off seeming cool and composed even when she wasn’t. But her body betrayed her when Dillon was around.
“Come here,” she said softly.
He stepped closer, and she ran her hands up over his chest to his shoulders.
“You knew this was going to happen,” he said.
Kit always tried to rush right to the main event and hated when he made her talk when they had sex. Which he found incredibly ironic. She was the talker. Talking about personal thoughts and feelings was what people paid her for. Hell, she got on his case about not talking enough with patients. And she’d been incredibly bossy the first time they’d had sex. She’d known exactly what she wanted and how to get it. But the times they’d been together since then, she tried to distract him, and she kept her mouth busy doing other things. As much as he’d loved all of that, he’d been very interested in the fact that she wasn’t as verbal. He’d wanted more of that, he wanted to tell her everything that was turning him on, wanted to hear every one of the dirty fantasies she had, how she was feeling, what she wanted him to do and how she wanted him to do it. In detail. And that was when she wanted to stick with the action only. But he never let her get away with keeping quiet. And it pissed her off.
Which made the sex even better.
He knew he shouldn’t think that. Or like it. But damn, he did. Because it was about 60 percent bullshit. Just like the other stuff they fought about and over.
Dillon cared how Kit felt about him, and she cared how he felt about her, so . . . they fought. It was just easier than labeling those intense emotions any other way.
He lifted a hand to her breast, rubbing his thumb over the tip, not quite giving her exactly what she liked. “You knew, didn’t you, Kit?” he asked.
“Why do you always have to run your mouth when we do this?” She dropped her hands to his cock, wrapping her fingers around his length and stroking.
Dillon’s eyes nearly crossed, and she succeeded in derailing every thought from his mind but thrust, hard, now for the moment. He pressed into her grip and didn’t even mind the smug smile that flitted across her sweet lips. But that smile combined with the intense pleasure coming from her fingers around his cock made him squeeze her nipple harder, and she moaned.
This was what he missed with other women. The crazy-sweet-kinda-stupid-super-hot back and forth with him and Kit. The way they jostled for the upper hand—sometimes literally. The way they gave as good as they got, and then some. Kit didn’t just meet him partway on things. She had to outdo him. And that made for some freaking amazing sex.
He pinched her nipple and got a delicious squeeze around his cock.
“Damn, Dillon,” she breathed.
Oh yeah, that was a good start with the talking. But not nearly enough.
“Tell me you knew this was how it was going to end up,” he said, pinching, then letting go and dropping his hand to stroke her hip softly.
She tightened her grip on his cock, and Dillon locked his knees so he wouldn’t go down. “Let’s just fuck,” she said. “We don’t need to discuss every little detail.”
Ah, she’d said his favorite word. She knew he loved it when she said fuck. She was playing dirty.
Just the way he liked it.
He leaned over and sucked her nipple into his mouth. Then let go just as she started to squirm. He blew on the tip, and she moaned. He put his mouth to her ear. “You might know all of my buttons, but remember, Katherine Marie Derby, I know yours, too.” He ran a hand up her thigh, brushing over her clit very lightly. Too lightly. Way too lightly. “And I might be the only person who likes to win as much as you do.”
And the battle was on.
Kit turned her head and captured his lips as she stroked up and down his shaft, squeezing perfectly, using exactly the amount of pressure to make lightning streak up his spine.
Oh yeah, she knew his buttons, all right.
But Kit was going to be the one begging him tonight. Over and over.
“Dillon,” Kit gasped. “I need you.”
She also knew how much he loved when she seemed to turn everything over to him. But he wasn’t buying it. Yet. Her surrender was always sweet, but it was hard-earned.
“Oh, honey, you know better than to rush me,” he chided, running his hand up her inner thigh.
The faster and harder she wanted it, the more he drew things out. Which made her lose her mind. In the best possible way.
“Come on, Dillon,” Kit groaned. “Let’s just do this.”
“We’re going to do this,” he told her gruffly. “But this is the first time we haven’t had a deadline, the risk of people walking in on us, or a reason to get to bed—to sleep—early. Don’t you think for one second that I’m not going to take advantage of all that.”
Kit sighed. It was amazing to her that she could be so exasperated with a guy while holding his cock in her hands.
But she was. Because it was Dillon.
The man loved to play with her. And it definitely got physical sometimes. The sex had happened only a few times. But there had been an obstacle course in sixth grade that had scarred her—literally. She had a thin moon-shaped scar on her left knee from where she’d fallen on the gravel. There had been the decorating committee for Homecoming their freshman year that had scarred Dillon. Also, literally. The scar on his left elbow was wider and longer than hers, but she didn’t think he counted that as a win. That thing had bled like crazy after he’d fallen off the ladder and caught it on a screw on his way down.
But yeah, whether it was streamers or neuroanatomy or sex, Dillon loved to mess with her, to get her to the edge of her control, and then soak it in when she lost it.
Of course, deep down, when it came to losing it during sex, she didn’t exactly mind.
In fact, it wasn’t even that deep down.
But she hated that he knew that he was the best she’d ever had.
And it made her all the more determined to be the best he’d ever had.
Dillon loved to be in charge. But even more, he liked winning. If he won control, wore someone down, made it so she had no choice but to submit, that was his lose-it point. Especially when it was her.
Dillon was a lot of things, but hard to figure out was not one of them.
“So you’re not taking your time here because it’s gotten more difficult to go hard and fast?” she asked, stroking up and down the silky, hot column of steel that she was afraid she might start drooling over if she wasn’t careful. God, the guy was built. It was so unfair.
He paused, as she’d known he would. She liked that she could mess with him a little, too, but he’d also stopped playing with her nipple, which was a very unfortunate side effect.
“And why would it be more difficult?” he asked.
“I heard about the back injury. The crazy guy in the ER in Houston about nine months ago? Thought you were his dead brother come back to life to torture him for sleeping with his brother’s wife. Your wife, I guess.”
The guy had been, apparently, about three hundred pounds, several inches over six feet, on drugs, and super pissed off. He’d picked up Dillon and thrown him across the room. Kit remembered being horrified and worried sick when she’d heard about it. But, in true Dillon Alexander style, he’d ended up with a concussion and a five-day paid vacation from work.
And his back was fine.
“I’m fine,” Dillon said, one eyebrow arched.
Yeah, he was. She’d seen him lifting and bending and throwing things around during the town cleanup after the tornado. She’d seen him restrain someone who outweighed him by at least forty pounds in the Chance ER about a month ago. And he’d played softball all fall with the other guys in the town league. Plus, he’d had absolutely no trouble getting and sustaining an erection. No worry about nerve damage or anything there.
Then, as if to prove his point, he scooped her up and turned, taking the five steps to the kitchen table. And Kit couldn’t help that it made her totally hot. Like kicking-down-a-door-and-throwing-her-over-his-shoulder hot.
“Does this feel like I’m having a difficult time?” he asked, thrusting into her grip as he set her down.
It felt like exactly what she wanted him doing to her, right now. She ran her hand down his length again, and then lower still.
Dillon let out a long hiss. “You’re trying to distract me.”
“Uh . . . duh.”
Dillon stopped again, meeting her gaze, his mouth curling in a way that—though she’d never admit it, of course—made her melt a little.
“Dr. Katherine Derby, did you just say ‘duh’ to me?”
“Yeah, so?”
“And now we’re to ‘Yeah, so?’”
She stroked him again. “Yeah. So?”
“So maybe, just for that, I’m going to give you something you want sooner versus later.”
“Oh?” That was intriguing. She had a list of wants, as a matter of fact. “Maybe I—”
But suddenly she found herself on her back on the tabletop. Dillon had hooked his big hands under her thighs and flipped her backward.
“What are you—”
But that was a dumb question. That he answered without saying a word a second later. Her thighs still in his hands, he opened her legs wide and set about making her just about cry uncle.
Dillon’s good-at-everything absolutely included the things he was doing with his lips and tongue and fingers between her legs.
Kit gripped the edge of the table with her fingers, certain her knuckles were white as she held on. Her neck arched, her eyes closed, and without thinking, she said, “What did I do to deserve this?”
Of course to answer, he had to put his tongue back in his mouth for a bit. Another one of those unfortunate side effects. But it also proved her point that there were better things he could be doing with his mouth than talking when they had sex.
Because when Dillon talked—in that low, husky voice that made her want to climb him like a tree—it made her never want to have clothes on or leave his bed ever again in her life.
He was sweet and sexy and dirty, complimentary and teasing, exasperating and funny, all at the same time. And when he was talking during sex, Kit had a hard time remembering that falling for him was a really bad idea.
“You were cute,” he told her.
Kit thought about those three words far longer than she should have needed to. She finally lifted her head. “What?”
“That whole ‘duh’ thing was cute,” he said with a shrug.
“Cute?”
He nodded. “I know. I was as surprised as you are. But damn, Kit, when you’re cute, I can’t resist you.”
Oh, crap. That seemed way too similar to the thoughts she’d just been having. Not resisting each other was not a good idea.
“Dillon—”
“Stop thinking so hard,” he told her. “There’s nothing to be concerned about here. You’re not cute very often.”
“Oh.” That was true. Cute was definitely not a usual state for her. She swallowed. “But you’re going to keep going down there, right?” she asked.
He gave her a grin that made her regret everything.
And then he lowered his head, and she went right back to thinking he was pretty damned amazing.
And if that didn’t sum up her relationship with Dillon, she didn’t know what did.
It didn’t take long before she was gasping his name, on the verge of a delicious, long-overdue orgasm. She pulled against the edge of the table, pressing more firmly against his mouth. “Yes. Please, Dillon.”
He gripped her butt tighter with one hand, while the other helped out his tongue, and less than a minute later, she shot over the top of the orgasm rainbow—colors and light and glitter, she could have sworn it, floated around her, and everything was happiness and sunshine.
Damn, the guy was good.
She felt him shift back and heard the distinct sound of a condom package tearing. She forced her eyes open, instantly mourning the swirling ribbons of color that disappeared in the full light of her grandmother’s kitchen.
Where she’d just had sex. On the table. Where they ate brunch every other Sunday.
“Oh my God!”
Kit started to sit up, but there was a big, turned-on, determined doctor between her legs.
“Dammit, you already started your list?” he asked.
She had only gotten as far as propping up on her elbows. He was in the way of her sitting up fully. She was in a very exposed and vulnerable position.
But she didn’t feel exposed and vulnerable.
She felt strangely at ease. And . . . horny. Still. On her grandmother’s table.
She frowned. “What list?”
“The list of all the reasons this was a terrible idea. You always start that list about five seconds after an orgasm.”
She couldn’t deny it. “Yeah.”
“And this is why I don’t let you come like that before I’m a lot more involved.”
“You don’t let me come?” she asked.
He nodded, as if that were obvious. “It’s why I’ve never given you an orgasm like that before,” he said.
“You gave me that orgasm?” Kit asked. But yeah, he had. “You sure? You sure I didn’t take it? That I didn’t just use your tongue because it was the closest one that could reach that spot?”
He stood looking at her, a bemused expression on his face. “So I was the closest tongue? Really? That’s what you’re going with here? That any old tongue would have done?”
Kit squelched the feeling that it sounded ridiculous when he said it like that. “Yes,” she said, completely confident. Or faking it like crazy, anyway. “You were here.”
“Uh-huh. You do remember the part about me flipping you on your back, spreading your legs, and completely worshipping your pussy, right?”
Okay, that should not have caused a rush of heat to rip through her and settle low and deep between her legs.
But it so did.
She cleared her throat, then hated that she’d cleared her throat. “I . . . remember.”
“That I started that?” he pressed. “That you didn’t ask me to do it. Or trick me into doing it. Or . . .” He narrowed his eyes. “Wait. Did you trick me into doing that?”
Lord, she really loved when he was a smart-ass like this. Because Dillon was often sarcastic, but not necessarily playful, as he was being now. “What are you talking about?”
“Have you harnessed your cuteness?” he asked. “Have you realized how powerful it is and learned to turn it on and off as needed to get what you want?”
She wanted to laugh. No way had she harnessed her “cuteness.” There wasn’t much there to start with, for one thing. And she didn’t emotionally manipulate people. Not even Dillon.
But she lifted her chin instead of grinning. “Yes. I’ve been in control since you broke down that door and carried me inside.” He’d know she was lying, but no way was she going to admit that she had been, quite simply, overcome by him.
“Ah, you got me to knock the door down, too,” he said, nodding as if it was all becoming clear now. “That does make more sense. That was pretty unusual for me.”
Maybe. But the I’ll-take-care-of-everything, nothing-fazes-me thing was not unusual. Her eyes traveled over his naked body. How had she forgotten he was completely buck naked and in the perfect position to make her all kinds of happy? Oh yeah, they were talking. And as much as she really did like his body, she liked his mouth more. In a nonsexual, he’s-very-funny-and-sweet-sometimes way. Her gaze focused on that mouth again. Well, mostly in a nonsexual way.
“Dillon,” Kit said, lacing exasperation into her voice, “I cannot believe that I’m lying here, completely naked, and you’re standing there, also completely naked, and you’re still talking.”
His eyes tracked over her. Slowly. “Your list isn’t so long that you’re ready to get dressed, then?” he asked.
She did make a list of reasons not to have sex with him ever again whenever they found themselves naked together. He knew it because she’d recited the list to him as she’d dressed the last two times.
But the main thing on that list was that they didn’t like each other. Which was one of the biggest lies she’d ever told. Of course, he knew that. But he never corrected her. It was almost like he was making a bigger point by not even arguing with her about it.
The second thing on the list was that they lived almost a thousand miles apart. And that was no longer an issue.
After that, her reasoning got a little fuzzy.
“My list of reasons why this is a bad idea only has one main thing on it today,” Kit told him.
Dillon lifted an eyebrow.
“You take too damned long.” She reached for him and pulled him in, wrapping her legs around his waist.
Dillon gripped her hips and thrust into her without another word.
Kit sighed as a combination of heaven and hell rippled through her. She lay back, closed her eyes, and waited for the magic.
But nothing happened.
She cracked one eyelid. “You okay, Dr. Alexander?”
He was, quite clearly, gritting his teeth. But he shook his head. He unlocked his jaw and said, “You know what I want to hear.”
Ugh. She really needed to stop having sex with this guy. He wanted her to talk dirty. He always wanted that. Made her do it. He loved to hear it. Just like she loved when he got flirtatious, he loved when she got naughty.
Dillon was the only guy she felt comfortable saying dirty things to.
She had stubbornly refused to analyze that for several years now.
“You really think that you can just sit there all night waiting?” she asked. She tightened her inner muscles around his cock and felt his groan all the way to her bones.
“I think I can hold out longer than you can,” he said, his voice husky.
She actually laughed at that. Which tightened those muscles again and got another groan out of him. “You think that you can stay right there”—she flexed again—“doing nothing until I say all those dirty words you like so much?” Usually he got her talking naughty long before he got inside her.
“Yep.”
Then the bastard reached between them and circled one finger around her clit.
Kit bit back her own moan. Yeah, this game of chicken was on.
She lifted her hand and circled her own nipple with a finger, her eyes on his face. She saw his eyes darken, and she rolled the nipple between her thumb and finger. He pulled out slightly, then eased back in. She felt the pleasure shoot through her, and her toes actually curled a bit.
But then he stopped again.
She tightened around him and felt his fingers dig into her hips slightly, but that was the only reaction. She narrowed her eyes, then licked her finger before returning to her nipple.
He cleared his throat, his eyes locked on what she was doing, but his hips remained motionless. So she reached down and knocked his hand out of the way, replacing his finger with her own on her clit.
She circled and pressed, moaning from the pleasure but also to drive home the point that she was going to be fine here, with or without him.
He had to have felt her muscles pulsing around him as the sensations built.
“Dammit, woman, just say it,” he ground out.
“You mean beg you?” she asked in a sweet tone she knew would make him crazy.
“Yes.”
She circled faster, squeezing her nipple and wiggling against him. With him filling her up and watching her touch herself, Kit suddenly realized that she really didn’t need him to do anything more. She could take control of this situation and make it turn out perfectly. She was going to win this round—
Just like before, his sudden movement surprised her enough that she didn’t register what he was doing until he’d done it.
He’d scooped her up and then pivoted to sit in the kitchen chair at the head of the table. Now she sat in his lap, straddling his thighs, and, oh baby, he was as deep as he could go now.
In this position, he could grip her hips and take a nipple in his mouth—which he did, sucking hard and then biting gently.
Kit gasped, completely forgetting about doing anything to herself. She wanted Dillon to do it. All of it. Now.
“If you’re not going to ask me to fuck you,” he said gruffly against her breast, “how about you fuck me?”
There was no way he didn’t feel how that affected her.
The wave of heat and lust made Kit feel like she was melting into him, and she wanted nothing more than to move. She needed friction and pressure, and she quite frankly didn’t care at all who had the upper hand here.
Kit could just get the balls of her feet on the floor, but Dillon seemed happy to help move her up and down on his lap. He clasped her hips in his big hands, helping lift and lower her, while grinding against her on each thrust. The deep penetration combined with the way her breasts rubbed against his chest, his hands on her, his hot breath against her neck and, yeah, okay, the gruff “Fuck yeah, Kit” and “That’s it, honey” and “God almighty, I love fucking you” definitely worked. Kit felt her climax bearing down, and she picked up the pace. She liked it hard and fast, and she was supposedly in charge here this time. She wasn’t going to make this some long, drawn-out, leisurely stroll toward pleasure. She was going at it full tilt.
She wrapped her arms around Dillon’s neck, put her mouth to his, and kissed him, their tongues stroking like their bodies were, and within minutes those ribbons of color and glitter started floating around her. She moved against him faster, and the colors intensified, and a moment later her world exploded in glitter and happiness and a soul-deep Oh yeah.
Kit sagged against Dillon and delighted in the feel of him taking over completely, thrusting up into her, pressing her down against him as he thundered toward his climax as well. When he shouted out her name, Kit felt the heat and pleasure that had started to die away pulse to life again, and she hugged his neck tightly.
They stayed like that—Dillon’s hands splayed over her back, holding her against his chest, while she clung to him, waiting for everything to fade back to normal.
Eventually, she loosened her hold on him. In this position, he was still deep in her, and she couldn’t help but shift on his lap just a little as she eased back.
He cocked an eyebrow. “Watch the wiggle. Unless you’d like to find yourself on your back on that table again.”
She would love that, in fact. “You’re a sore loser, you know that?”
He squeezed her butt. “If this is what losing feels like, I need to rethink my stance against it.”
“You didn’t get what you wanted, though,” she said, making herself move back and get off his lap.
She missed it within three seconds of standing up.
“I got exactly what I wanted, Kit,” Dillon said. He also stretched to his feet and headed for the bathroom just off the kitchen.
Uh-huh, of course he wouldn’t admit that she’d gotten her way. She pulled her clothes back on, her skin still tingling from having Dillon’s hands all over her.
Well, at least they’d gotten the sex over with and out of the way. Now she could compile her list of why that shouldn’t happen again for a few years, and they could get through the storm and then get the hell out of this close proximity that was too damned tempting and stupid-inducing.
But she only got to number two on her list—if she couldn’t get a grip on her emotions, how could she expect to counsel others about getting their own grips, which came right after number one: every time she had sex with Dillon she fell for him a little further—when he came out of the bathroom, cleaned up and with that stupid robe on again. It really did very little to cover up that big, magnificent body that did such magnificent things to her body.
“So, let’s hear ’em,” he said.
“Hear what?”
“Your reasons that you’re going to give me for remaining fully clothed for the rest of the night.”
She could not tell him the two reasons she’d just come up with.
And then the lights went off.
Kit looked up and sighed. The power had just gone out. Saved by the storm? “Because we’re going to get very cold without clothes on.”
He chuckled. “The last thing I feel when you don’t have clothes on is cold, Kit.”
She was grateful she knew the room so well. She moved toward the stove where the two pots of chili were—had been—simmering. “We should eat before this stuff gets cold,” she said, ignoring the naked comment.
Because . . . yeah. That would be one way to keep warm tonight. But there was also a fireplace in the living room, and that was a lot less dangerous.
She rummaged in the drawer just to the right of the stove and found two flashlights. She turned one on and set the other on the counter for Dillon.
“We should take all of this into the living room,” she said. “We can get a fire going. And we should put on a few more layers.” She shot him a look. “Seriously.”
“You’re right. Don’t want to risk frostbite on anything important.”
She reached for bowls. “Isn’t everything pretty important when it comes to frostbite?” She dished her chili into a bowl and then Dillon’s into another.
The flashlight lit the room enough for her to see him, but she knew she would have felt him moving toward her even without the light.
“You’re right. I want to be sure we’re keeping everything nice and warm on both of us.”
She thrust the bowl of chili and a spoon at him as he got close. She needed some space. She knew who she was—who she wanted to be—but Dillon had a way of breaking down those walls. He shook her composure; he made her question herself. That wasn’t always bad. She had a tendency to be a know-it-all, and he kept her ego in check. Even if it hurt sometimes. But he also had a way of making her feel . . . weak. He could get her to do and say things that she never would otherwise. She became a sassy bitch when he needled her. And she became a quivering mass of needy nerve endings that craved his touch like a . . . She didn’t even know. She just lost herself a little bit when she was with him.
She understood emotions from a very analytical point of view. She knew what lust and love and infatuation could do to a person, and that a lot of it was a true chemical reaction in the brain. But she also knew she did not like having that reaction herself. She liked control, she liked knowing herself, and she did not like the idea of being “crazy” over someone or being uninhibited.
“You should eat,” she said, trying to cover the panic that could very possibly be showing in her eyes. She was glad for the dim lighting.
He took the bowl with a knowing look that she hated. After they’d had sex in the past, she’d left. She’d been able to leave. Now she was stuck, and that meant facing the fact that she wanted him again. Already. And she was very afraid that was never going to go away.
“I’m going to put more clothes on.” Kit set her bowl down with a clatter on the countertop.
“To stay warm, right?” Dillon asked, taking a bite of his chili, watching her closely. Kind of like a wildcat watched its prey.
Kit shook that off. She was projecting. She felt like prey—trapped with no escape—but that didn’t mean Dillon had malicious intentions. But as she moved past him, he caught her upper arm, pulled her around, and kissed her. Deep and hot and sweet.
When he let her go, grinned, and then took a bite of chili as if he hadn’t just rocked her world, Kit realized that he had very malicious intentions. Wicked was, after all, a synonym for malicious.