“My friends are all going to Sand Dunes to celebrate, but I’m much rather have you in my bed sooner rather than later,” Dakota growls in my ear.
“Sounds good to me,” I breathe out.
“Let’s leave your rental car here, and we’ll pick it up tomorrow.”
“Okay,” I agree.
As soon as Dakota's sleek black Porsche 911 purrs into the driveway of his and Kaleb’s house, my heart hammers like it's trying to break free. I glance at Dakota, his profile lit by the dashboard's soft glow.
We exit the car, and I follow Dakota up the steps, the sound of the ocean in the distance. When he unlocks the front door and we step inside, he immediately leads me through the spacious living room straight to his room.
He turns to me, closes the door behind us, and it's like a switch flips. All those playful, nonchalant vibes evaporate, replaced by an intensity that draws me in. His eyes lock onto mine, and there's no mistaking the raw desire reflected back at me.
"Harmony, I want you so fucking bad." His voice is a husky whisper.
"I need you, Dakota." My response comes out breathy.
His hands frame my face, pulling me in, and finally our lips meet. It's all-consuming, the way his mouth moves against mine with a fervency that's near desperate, as if he's been holding back.
I'm lost in the sensation, my fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer. Our hands roam eagerly; there's a hunger in our touch, an urgency.
"More," I whisper.
Clothes are shed like the final barriers to our connection. Buttons give way under deft fingers, fabric slinks to the floor, and suddenly, the cool air of the room kisses my heated skin, making me gasp.
We fall onto the bed. His body is all hard muscle and warm skin, and mine is curves and sighs, ready to be explored. Each touch, a discovery; each kiss, a conquest.
"God, you're incredible," Dakota breathes out.
I trace the contours of his shoulders, feeling the power beneath his skin.
"Your hands," he murmurs. "They're like magic."
"Magic, huh?" I tease, allowing my fingers to dance across his skin. My touch is light, yet deliberate. "I thought you were the one with all the tricks up your sleeve."
"Maybe," he admits with a wink. "But I'm willing to learn a few new ones from you."
We're slow, unhurried, as if time has no meaning in Dakota's bedroom. There's no rush, no urgency. His fingertips skim over my collarbone, dip into the valley between my breasts, igniting tiny fires wherever they land. I arch into his touch.
"Harmony," he begs in a whisper. The anticipation coils tighter within me.
"Take your time," I whisper back. This isn't just about the rush of pleasure, it's about savoring every second, every sensation that draws us closer together.
"Look at me," he commands softly, and I do. Those hazel eyes lock onto mine, and his latex cover cock enters me in one fluid stroke.
The fullness makes me gasp, and I reach for him.
His sharp intake of breath is the only sound before he starts moving in and out of me, groaning my name like a prayer.
We move together, a symphony of sighs and whispers, giving way to a crescendo of passion. It's a game of give-and-take, an ebb and flow of desire that we ride with the same intensity.
"Harmony, you're incredible," Dakota pants.
Our movements grow more urgent, until the world narrows down to the point of no return.
"Harmony!" Dakota's voice breaks on the edge of his climax, and it's all the spark I need to follow him over, our release a shared quake that rocks us to the core.
Dakota's heartbeat thumps against my ear. We're a tangle of limbs on his unmade bed, the sheets twisted around us.
I look up at him, our noses almost touching, and there's this warmth in his gaze. His fingers trace lazy circles on my back.
"Isn't it just..." I start, but words fail me.
"So much more," Dakota supplies, and it's exactly right. More than lust, more than convenience. There's a depth in the way he looks at me, like he sees past Miss Green Eyes and into the core of who I am—my passion for science, my occasional sarcasm, the part of me that's always chasing after the next big breakthrough.
"Yeah, more," I echo, and the admission feels like stepping out into the unknown. Some things aren't meant to be measured or forecasted. Like the feeling of his arms tight around me, promising silent things that make my heart race faster.
"Scared?" he asks, his thumb brushing my jawline in a gesture so tender it might as well be a kiss.
"Terrified," I confess, because it's the truth.
"Good," he says with a grin. "Means it's real."