Page 88 of No Sweeter Poison

Which reminds me; I still have to speak with Dahlia.

With dread, I make my way to her room and pray she’s already asleep. To my dismay and partial relief, the light is still on in her bedroom. When I knock, she calls out, “Come in!”

It’s only a quarter after eleven but her sleep schedule isn’t always the same. She never properly adjusted to the time difference and there are times she’s up all night long or asleep right after dinner.

Tucked into one of the loveseats by the fireplace, she has the television playing a movie in the background while she sketches in her notepad. Marlon Brando is examining a display of oranges while Dahlia sketches the outline of what appears to be a seventeenth century Italian villa.

“The Godfather?”

She smiles without looking up at me. “I’ve really been connecting to it lately.”

I pick up the remote and pause the movie. She lifts her head from her journal as I lower myself to the loveseat across from her. “I want to talk to you about last night.”

“Can I just say apology accepted for almost getting me pregnant and call it a night?” She points to the screen. “This is the part where it finally starts getting good.”

I pick up the remote again and turn the screen off. “Dee.”

She shoves her pencil into her journal with a sigh and closes it, setting it on the coffee table. “Guess not.”

“What happened with Jean Beauchamp, what you saw…I don’t ever want you to be afraid of me. I’ll never raise a hand to you and anyone who does is dead.”

She shifts uncomfortably and wraps her arms around herself.

“I promise, Dahlia. I promise.”

“I believe you,” she whispers.

There doesn’t seem to be anything left to say so I get up to leave but she catches my wrist and pulls me back down. I kneel in front of her and wait for her to say something—maybe tell me how afraid I made her or ask what Lettie and I talked about—but she does neither. The press of her lips against mine momentarily steals my breath away. Alarms sound in the back of my head but I ignore them, focusing instead on the woman in front of me.

Dahlia is so luscious to touch. Every inch of her is soft and yielding, her curves, her breasts, the dip of waist, the shape of her thighs. She’s a pleasure for the hands and I indulge in whatever she grants me access to the moment she climbs into my lap. I let her kiss me and when her tongue runs along the seam of my lips, I open my mouth to her. She deepens the kiss with a hunger I feel in the pit of my stomach and I want her everywhere. Dahlia knows how to use her tongue and when she sucks on my bottom lip, releasing it with a pop, my erection nearly bursts through the seams of my pants.

God she can fucking kiss.

I carry her over to the bed and she’s peeling each layer of clothing off me one by one until there’s a trail behind us. Soon, her satin pajama shorts and camisole join the pile.

I take my time dragging my mouth down the column of her neck and between her breasts but she immediately squirms beneath me.

“No, no, no.” Her fingers tighten in my hair, and she pulls me upward. “Save the foreplay for another time, I’m ready.”

“Wait—”

She reaches out with her right hand for the top drawer of the nightstand. “The condoms are in here.”

She pulls one out and rips the wrapper open with her teeth. I take it from her and roll it on, as desperate to be inside her as she is to have me. She lifts her hips and wraps her legs around my waist and as I’m about to push inside her, I stop.

Lettie’s words come back to me and I can’t help but wonder if she’s right. Are we two consenting adults or does the power imbalance here make that impossible?

Dahlia kisses her way across my shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

“I…” I am going to have the worst blue balls in history after this. “I don’t think we should.”

Her eyes fly open. “What? Why?”

“Because it’s…I’m taking advantage of you.”

“Alex—”

“And you live in my house and rely on me to keep you safe and Lettie’s fucking voice is trapped inside my head.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”