Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 27657 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 138(@200wpm)___ 111(@250wpm)___ 92(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27657 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 138(@200wpm)___ 111(@250wpm)___ 92(@300wpm)
I groan, putting him on hold and quickly cleaning off my hands and stamping my boots to get rid of the worst of the dust and debris clinging to the soles before I leave the kitchen. I expect Dahlia to be in the living space or even the hall, but there’s no sign of her. What the hell?
“Dahlia!” I shout, but my voice just echoes off the empty walls, unanswered.
Confusion grows in me, followed by a far more unfamiliar emotion that seems to always crop up around her. Concern? I can’t help it. I’m worried when she doesn’t answer me. And I have no right to be worried about anything to do with her. She’s not mine to worry about. Deep down though, I’ve already claimed her. I shove down the unpleasant feeling and storm up the stairs, catching the sound of music floating down.
She’s singing along to a catchy pop song I don’t know, her voice barely audible over the loud music. I’ve still got the guy on hold as I yank open the door to the right, the one I know leads to the bedroom she’s living in while we renovate.
“Don’t disappear on me like that—”
The rest of my words are cut off with a choked noise as my brain catches up to my eyes, and I register what I’m seeing.
This room is clean, so clean it’s clear she spent a hell of a long time ridding it of every single fucking particle of dust. Though it’s still worn down and old, it no longer gives off haunted house vibes. She doesn’t have a bed, just a camping mattress and cushions on the floor made comfy with a plush pillow and two huge blankets. But none of those things are what snags my attention so thoroughly every muscle in my body is pulled taut.
Dahlia’s on her knees on the floor, a suitcase open in front of her, half empty. There’s stacks of folded, organized clothes lined up against the wall. And I’ve fucking managed to walk in at the precise moment she’s unpacking and folding her underwear. Not just underwear. Fuck, the thing in her hands can’t be considered clothing at all. It’s all elastic and lace and ribbon, a deep purple color that I immediately know would look fucking incredible against her pale skin.
My cock twitches in my pants. I can’t help but picture her in it. Dahlia is sweet and innocent, despite how much sass she possesses, but holy shit the image of this deceptively angelic girl wrapped up in the sheer lace of that contraption like a fucking birthday present is pure sin.
Yeah, sinful’s right. Because she’s Harry’s fucking sister, the logical part of my brain reminds me but it’s drowned out by the animalistic, need-driven parts of me that are screaming MINE.
“Oh. Hey, Dylan,” Dahlia says as she turns her head to look at me, shuffling slightly so she can face me fully. That infernal outfit is still clutched in her hands like she doesn’t have a care in the world. I feel feral, as though I’m about to start salivating at the simple vision of her in it. “Are you okay?”
No. I’ve gone half mad.
“Can I…I mean, do you need something?” Dahlia asks, face morphing into what I think is an expression of concern or confusion but only makes me want to taste those pouty lips for myself.
Fuck, I’ve always been good at controlling myself. It’s never been a problem before, given that I rarely actually want anything badly enough for it to be. But this girl…
Do I need something? Absolutely I do.
“You,” I growl, barely catching the way those mossy green eyes of hers widen before I’m on the floor with her, her face in my hands.
Unthinking, I tilt her head back and slam my mouth against hers.
5
DAHLIA
Shock rockets through me.
One minute Dylan is glaring at me from the doorway, looking like he can’t decide whether he wants to slam the door closed and leave or eat me alive to live up to his grizzly bear nickname, and the next…
The next he’s kissing me.
For a brief second, I think I’m dreaming. Maybe I fell asleep face first into my suitcase. I had been up late after all thanks to the hefty dose of jet lag that comes with the eight-hour time difference, and it makes sense that my unconscious mind would dream this up given how hot Dylan is and how he makes me feel all twisted up inside. But no. No dream could even come close to this.
His mouth is warm and insistent against mine. The kiss isn’t soft or hesitant. No. It’s as harsh and all-consuming as the man himself. I gasp into it, lips parting, and he tilts my head up, angling me the way he wants.
I push up on my knees to get closer, flicking my tongue against his bottom lip, needing to taste him. His beard scratches my cheek a little, but I sort of like it. It makes me wonder how it would feel scratching my thighs. It’s just a kiss but he may as well have struck a match and lit me on fire. My body comes alive, warmth covering me before it settles into a tight, flaring coil of need between my legs.