Page 148 of Dream House
I’m sure I blush. “Yeah… It’s just—yeah.”
His palm covers my whole cheek, his eyes holding mine. “You’re so damn beautiful.”
Yep, definitely blushing.
I don’t have time to fret about it, though. Because Lark lifts up, presses his lips to mine, and then with one thrilling motion, I’m on my back, his glorious body above me.
He kisses me twice more, easing his length from me as I shiver.
Lark brings his lips to my ear. “Be right back,” he whispers. And then I get to watch him rise and stride across my room to the bathroom.
“Holy Saint Maximus.”
Lark glares playfully at me over his shoulder. And wow. That glare? That shoulder? That perfectly chiseled behind—
Gulp.
“D-Did I just say that outloud?” I stammer.
“You did.” His smirk is positively sinful. Lark steps into the bathroom, leaving the door open and leaving me blushing ten shades of red. “And it’s Saint Paul.”
“Huh?”
Man, I’m so glad he can’t see me right now.
I scramble under the covers because after what we just did—and how deeply I felt—and then blurting out what I just blurted, I feel like I need coverage.
“My middle name.” I hear the squeak of Nanna’s old bathroom faucet and water running. “It’s St. Paul. Not Saint Maximus.”
I knew he came from a big, Catholic family in New Iberia, so I’m not too surprised. “So, your name is Lark Paul Beinvenue?”
“Nope.” The water cuts off. “It’s LarkSt. PaulBienvenue.”
Okay. Surprising. “That’s different.”
I hear his chuckle before the bathroom light switches off and he emerges. I forget everything about saints when he walks back into my room in all his glory.
“So, I like to tease my mom that it’s her fault I’m such a bastard,” Lark says, wearing a wicked grin and, of course, nothing else.
I’m pretty consumed with the nothing else factor, so his words make zero sense. And my brain fails me again with another, “Huh?”
His smile shifts from sinister to amused as he pulls back the covers and climbs in beside me.
When Lark takes me in his arms, I need a minute.
Because,wow.
Has cuddling ever felt this good before? If it did, I’m sure I would have kept doing it. With someone. Right?
Trying to soak in the cuddle and wondering why I’ve lived so long without the cuddle is almost too much for me to process, but one disconnected thought manages to rise to the surface. I draw back to look at Lark.
“Wait. You’re not a bastard,” I say, frowning.
His smile is a wild creature. Like the heritage horses that live in Kisatchie Forest. Miraculous. Beautiful. Real.
And as quickly as I spot it, the joy behind his smile gives ground to something a little sad. Ouch. I don’t like seeing that.
I press my hand to his chest. It’s an unconscious act of comfort, but I can feel the beat of his heart, and, wow, do I like being this close to him. But—
