DALTON POV
The evening had been perfect.
Until now.
I can still feel her.
The glide of her soft, damp skin under my fingertips. The velvet weight of her hair between my palms. Her scent—clean, sunflower-sweet, and maddeningly hers—clinging to my lungs like an addiction.
She let me touch her. Trusted me to help her. I massaged her scalp like it was a sacred ritual, and I swear I felt her unravel beneath me. She didn’t hide the way her breath caught.
And feeding her?
Pure, unfiltered bliss.
Watching her take that bite from my hand, lips parting, tongue flicking out to catch the cheese—I felt my control fracture.
I wanted to devour her. Not the pizza.
Her.
Every twitch of her thigh, every flutter of her lashes, every breathy sigh—she was fighting it, but not hard enough.
She wante
