Poison: Devil's Rose MC #4

Chapter 18: Dakota Knight

I look down at his full, beautiful lips. I want him to kiss me. I want him to kiss me so bad. I run my hands from the back of his head, down over his neck, and finally, rest them upon his shoulders. I feel his taut muscles that tense under my light touch. 

Fuck, I just want to kiss him so fucking much. I pull him unbelievably closer. I straddle him boldly, letting his body sit between my spread legs. Antonio slides his hands over my thighs. They run along the sides of my body, sending shivers of pleasure up my spine. 

Soon, he holds the sides of my face, our bodies are so close. We both lean forward, our breaths mixing. His deep brown eyes stare into my gray ones. The ones that once spilled so many tears.

He moves slightly forward, slowly torturing me. He doesn't even know it. I just want him so bad. I want his lips against mine. He brushes his thumbs against my cheeks, a blush spreading across my already pink undertoned skin. 

His hard body feels so good pressed against me. I let out a sigh of relief as his lips caress my jawline. Oh goodness. I can't believe this is happening, and I can't believe it feels so fucking good.

Finally, his lips are millimeters from mine, and I've had enough. With a consenting nod of his head, I yank him towards me, his gorgeous lips slamming into mine. My eyes close at the blissful feeling, my heart full of love and trust. 

There were more than sparks, it was more than fireworks, it was everything. It was like my whole life had led to this moment, and I had found right where I belonged. It was like everything was falling exactly in place. I was supposed to be here all along.

His grip on my face tightens. My hands run back into his hair. Our lips move in sync, overwhelming tingles running through my body as if every touch of his skin ignites something new within me. 

My heart beats a mile a minute, his fingers gradually tangling into my thick hair. He bites my bottom lip, wordlessly asking for permission. Antonio groans as I grant him the access he so desperately wants, his tongue brushing mine sensually. I almost melted.

Needing air we both don't want to take but have to, we back away from one another, our chests heaving at the effort. He tucks a loose strand of my hair behind my ear. His hands move down my body, holding my hips again. He places light kisses along my neck and jaw. My eyes close again while I instinctively lean into his touch. 

His lips land on mine once more, the feeling less feverous and softer than before. He squeezes my hips, making my lips open with a moan. I feel his tongue touch mine. We kiss each other for a few more seconds before having to breathe. For a moment, we just gaze at one another, breaking into smiles.

"That was amazing."

"Yeah, it was."

"We've got to do that again sometime."

"I agree."

"Are you hungry by any chance?"

"I could eat."

"I'll make something."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, sweetheart, you just relax. Watch a show."

How am I supposed to concentrate on anything besides him now?

He traces slow circles on my hip with his thumb, distracting me from being able to make any decision. I didn't know it was supposed to feel like this. I don't exactly know what I mean by 'it,' but there's something about being here with him that feels right. 

He lifts me off of his lap, makes sure that I'm stable on my two feet, and practically struts back into my apartment. He has always been good at that, taking over a space that isn't is but not in an annoying way, but in a way that shows you how comfortable he is. 

It doesn't make any fucking sense when I think about it, but he is the way he is and there's nothing I want to change about him. He's gorgeous.

I watch him from afar, sipping on the last bit of orange juice that he gave me. He digs through my cabinets, pantry, and refrigerator to find the equipment and food he wants to work with. 

I'm a good cook, I know that for sure, but I have never and will never turn down someone who wants to cook for me. Unless they give me bad vibes or whatever. 

I'm safe about it, but free food is free food, especially when someone cooks for you. And who wants to cook for you. Those are two different things. Antonio offered so I figure he wants to cook for me.

Somehow, his phone is already hooked up to the Bluetooth speaker, and Shakira plays in the background as he cooks. My goodness, he knows how to make a girl feel special. I dance my way over to him, swinging my hips without care about technique, and let the Spanish language roll off my tongue. 

I didn't grow up speaking English and Spanish, I only spoke English in my household, but my mother was an immigrant from Mexico, and a lot of the people that lived around me as a child spoke Spanish because we are close to the border.

Anyway, over the years, I picked up the language, and I know that Antonio had to. He was always much better at speaking than I was, but when I decided to get a higher education, I not only took Spanish classes but Italian, Portuguese, and Greek. 

I don't have fluency in those three languages, but I'm good enough to get by, that's all that matters. Can I survive if I was stranded there? Yes? Then I'm good to go.

His eyes follow my hips, his more masculine voice singing along to Si Te Vas. However, even though I was enticing him to dance with me, he remained more focused on cooking us food. Once he is finished less than a minute later, however, his attention immediately turns to me. 

His eyes thrum with lust, his fists clenching as though he is trying to contain himself. Who knew that my speaking in another language would influence him so much? I mean, I'm not hating it, I'm the one that gets to stare at those rippling muscles, but I'm surprised about how easy it is.

He doesn't say one word to me, but I can tell that he wants to. I can tell that he's stopping himself from saying what he probably deems inappropriate. I appreciate it, but I would like to know what he's thinking. 

I think on it for a moment, deciding whether or not I should ask what he's thinking, but if he's holding himself back, I'm sure it's for a good reason.

"Food's ready."

His voice is short, clipped, and restrained.

"Thank you."

Slowly but surely, he softens his delivery and goes back to the more gentle side of himself. He's hot all around though, that I can't deny.

We talk casually while we eat, not diving into heavy topics such as philosophical discussions. One of his large hands rests on my thigh, his fingers ending between my thighs, his thumb patterning slow circles on my skin. 

I glance up at him to see the smirk etched into his expression. He knows exactly what he's doing. Heat pools from between my legs, making me squirm in my seat as I try to get comfortable once again. But he doesn't fucking stop, and it feels so good, I don't want him to.

Antonio's hand gradually climbs higher up my leg, his fingers dipping underneath my shorts, the tips brushing the elastic of my underwear. Abruptly, my knee jerks under the table, and I slam it hard against the wood. 

He bursts into laughter before leaning down to kiss the skin of my knee, sweetly asking if I'm okay. A nasty thought comes to mine, but just as he did, I hold myself back from making it. I don't know if we are quite there yet. 

Do I kind of wish we were? Yes. Should I be thinking like that so early in the game? Probably not. Do I care? No.