Page 32

Dahlia

We were supposed to be packing.

And technically, we were. My suitcase sat half-filled on the bed, flanked by a growing pile of things I might need and an even bigger pile of things Kieran insisted I didn’t.

“Why do you need three sweaters?” he asked, holding one up like it had personally offended him. “We’re going to Greece, not a frozen tundra.”

I snatched it back. “It’s called layering, you prehistoric lint trap. Some of us like options.”

“Options,” he echoed, eyes flicking to the stack of books on the dresser. “Is that what we’re calling dragging your entire library now?”

I stuck my tongue out at him and shoved the sweater into my suitcase. “They’re research materials.”

“You packed a book about poisonous herbs.”

“That’s for morale.”

Kieran chuckled and moved to fold another shirt—badly. I leaned over and redid it before it gave me a nervous breakdown.

He watched me for a second, his smile softening into something gentler. “You’re really doing this.”

I paused. “Yeah. I guess I am.”

“Crossing the sea with a cursed man and his war-criminal brother. Not exactly the European getaway most girls dream of.”

“Speak for yourself,” I said lightly. “I heard curses are the new sexy.”

His smile turned crooked, dangerous in the way that made my stomach do something entirely inappropriate.

“You think I’m sexy?” he asked, voice low and playful.

I bumped him with my hip. “I think you’re full of yourself.”

“And still, you’re packing an entire suitcase just to follow me into an ancient ruin.”

“You’re the one who crawled out of a necklace into my kitchen, remember? I should be charging you rent.”

“You want me to pay in coin or eternal devotion?”

The look he gave me made my heart trip. He reached out, brushing a piece of hair behind my ear with surprising tenderness. His hand lingered at my jaw, and for a moment, the world slowed down.

“I mean it, Flower,” he said, voice quiet. “You don’t have to do this. You don’t owe me any of this.”

“I know,” I whispered. “But I want to. You’re not dragging me. I’m walking beside you, like some kind of warrior queen.”

He kissed me then—gentle, reverent, like I was the only thing keeping him anchored to the world.

And maybe I was.

He pulled away, chuckling. “Okay, we’re seriously gonna have to go back through and pack only essentials, Flower.”

I smiled slow and wide, like a secret. “Well then…” I let my voice drop, just a little husky, just enough to catch him. “Why don’t you teach me what’s essential?”

He paused. Just a beat. Then looked at me like he’d been waiting for that invitation all damn day.

“Oh, I’ll teach you,” he said, walking toward me with that easy, hungry confidence that always made my breath catch. “But you better be ready to learn.”

My heart kicked up. I bit my lip, deliberately, and looked up at him with mock innocence.

He didn’t buy it for a second.

His hand found my knee, then slid up under my dress like it belonged there—which, by now, it absolutely did. I leaned back onto my elbows as he loomed over me, close enough to feel the heat coming off his skin.

"Essentials," he murmured, fingers curling around the hem of my dress. "This? Not one of them."

With a slow, teasing tug, he pulled the dress up and over my head, leaving me bare, flushed, and already aching for his hands.

My breath caught, the cool air ghosting across my skin as his eyes roamed. He made a low sound in the back of his throat—part reverence and part possession.

"Two..." he said, palming my breast, thumb brushing over the peak. My spine arched like it had a mind of its own. "...you. Absolutely essential."

God, I loved him when he got like this—focused, intent, like I was his only mission. He laid me down, his mouth trailing fire from my throat to my belly, lower, lower still, until his breath was warm against the place that throbbed with anticipation.

I moaned when his tongue finally touched me, slow, deliberate, circling like he had all the time in the world to make me lose my mind. I threaded my fingers into his hair, panting, body already trembling.

“Kieran—”

“Shhh.” His voice vibrated against me, wicked and soft. “Just bloom for me, Flower.”

And I did.

It came over me all at once, a rush of white heat, my hips bucking, hands gripping the sheets. The world narrowed to the rhythm of his mouth and the way his fingers coaxed me deeper into it, until I bloomed for him—shameless, loud, unrestrained.

My thighs quivered. My lungs forgot how to work. When I finally opened my eyes, he was crawling back up my body, his mouth wet with me, eyes dark and smug.

“Lesson one complete,” he whispered, brushing a kiss against my cheek, then my lips. “Still think you’re packing essentials?”

I laughed, breathless, pressing my palm to his chest. “If this is what I get for overpacking... I might do it every time.”

He leaned in, teeth grazing my ear. “Careful. I might start charging you for private tutoring.”

I shivered as his breath feathered over my ear, those words coiling down my spine like a promise and a threat. “Private tutoring, huh?” I murmured, fingers dragging along his chest, teasing the hem of his shirt. “Do I get a syllabus, or are you more of a… hands-on instructor?”

He gave me that look—the one that always meant trouble. One brow raised, a lazy smile spreading across his face, slow as honey.

“Oh, Flower.” He leaned closer, his voice rough against my throat. “I believe in experiential learning.”

Then his mouth was on mine again—hungrier this time, deeper, no longer sweet and reverent.

This kiss tasted like something we weren’t going to come back from for hours.

I moaned into him as he shifted over me, his knee pressing between my thighs like he already knew exactly how to undo me all over again.

The friction made my breath hitch. I rocked into him, hips seeking contact, greedy now. My hands slid beneath his shirt, tracing the lines of his stomach, the ridges of muscle tightening beneath my palms.

“You’re wearing entirely too much,” I said, tugging at his shirt. “Highly nonessential.”

He chuckled low in his throat, and I felt it vibrate through me as he sat back just enough to strip it off.

Gods, he was beautiful—scarred, lean, golden in the light like something carved from memory and need.

His hair was a little wild, and his eyes burned with that heat he always tried to hide when we were around other people.

But here—here, in our little chaos of clothes and laughter and want—he didn’t hold anything back.

His gaze dropped as he unbuttoned his pants, letting them slide down slowly, deliberately, revealing the full extent of what he was working with—and exactly what I was about to get reintroduced to.

“Still want that lesson?” he asked, voice rough and laced with amusement.

I reached up and curled my fingers around the back of his neck, pulling him down so our foreheads brushed. “Only if you grade on a curve.”

“Oh, I’ll curve,” he muttered, guiding himself between my thighs, “you’ll be the one begging for extra credit.”

And then he pushed into me, slow and deep, like he meant to carve himself into the walls of my body.

I gasped, my hands fisting in the sheets as the stretch hit me just right—familiar and still dizzying, still overwhelming.

He filled me perfectly, like we’d been made for this exact moment, like we’d done this a hundred times and somehow it still managed to feel new.

Kieran groaned into my mouth as he bottomed out, his body flush against mine. We stayed there, suspended, the heat between us unbearable.

“You okay?” he asked, voice rasped.

“I’m perfect,” I breathed. “Move.”

And gods, did he.

Each thrust was deep and purposeful, dragging pleasure out of me in waves. He kept his mouth on my skin—my neck, my collarbone, the shell of my ear, whispering things that made my core clench around him. Things only I got to hear. Things that belonged to no one else.

“You feel so good, Flower… fuck, you take me so well…”

Every movement wound me tighter. The pressure built, my body already close again, already desperate for that edge.

“Touch yourself,” he said roughly, catching my hand and guiding it down. “I want to see you bloom again.”

I obeyed, fingers slipping through wet heat, circling the spot that made my toes curl. His eyes locked on mine, and gods, the way he watched me—like he was starving and I was the feast—made everything worse. Better.

“Kieran—” I gasped, spiraling, my body tightening like a bowstring about to snap.

“That’s it,” he murmured. “Give it to me. Let go, Flower.”

I shattered—no warning, no mercy. My body arched into him, every muscle clenching as I bloomed around him, again and again, crying out his name as the world fractured into heat and white light and too much.

He groaned, the sound guttural, and then he was coming too, hips stuttering as he spilled into me, his forehead pressed to mine, his breath ragged.

For a long moment, the only sound in the room was our breathing, tangled and uneven.

Then he laughed softly, brushing a kiss against my temple.

When we broke apart, he cleared his throat and looked down at the open suitcase. “Still not bringing three sweaters.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Touch my knitwear and perish.”

Kieran held up his hands in surrender. “Fair enough, Flower.”