31. Wicked

31

Wicked

All My Nights, Preferably.

I'm pulled from the best sleep I've had in years—maybe ever—by the sound of rustling and a prolonged groan. I crack one eye open, adjusting to the darkness. In the moon-lit room, I can make out Dahlia's form sitting up in bed, and as I raise my head, I find her beautiful face cast in the blue light of her phone.

She's frowning, sliding a thumb across her screen and holding it to her ear. "Hello?"

I shuffle next to her, rising up on an elbow and catching her attention. Even in the muted colors of the night, Dahlia's blue eyes are bright as stars. Her brows are pinched, and she chews on her lip nervously as she studies my face.

Everything okay? I mouth.

She shrugs, eyes going unfocused when she zones back into the conversation. "Hi, Amy. Is everything okay?"

Her leg is bouncing up and down, and my stomach twists in knots as I try to think of ways to quell her anxiety. She's biting her nails while she listens to who I assume is the mother of Lou's friend. I run my hand up and down her thigh, halting her trembling limbs.

She sighs at my touch, and I take it as a sign to sit up and wrap my arm around her shoulder as she leans against me. I can faintly make out the woman's voice while she explains that Lou supposedly had a bad dream and wanted to come home early from her sleepover.

I have no fucking clue what time it is, but it has to be early. Dahlia and I fell asleep sometime just before midnight. Once I was on my knees in the shower with her, my head found its way back between her legs again, and I didn't come up for air until she was coming on my tongue. After that, she had her way with me, mouth like fucking heaven around my cock as water pounded against my chest. I'll never be able to get the way she looked—soft, pink lips, bright eyes, and skin wet and smooth as she sucked the soul from my body—out of my head.

When we finished, I changed the sheets while she got ready for bed, and then we laid together, watching stupid movies and talking about nothing. It felt…easy, like it was always meant to be this way. It felt like something I could do every night for the rest of my life, and even if it became inconsequential—routine—I'd never grow tired of it. I'll never be bored with Dahlia—listening to her speak, watching her laugh. Something about her feels etched into my bones, like I found something I didn't know I was searching my entire life for.

I've always thought Pacific Shores was home to me, but now, I wonder if it's just where I live. Because falling asleep beside her… That was the first time in my life I've felt that soul-deep belonging I think truly bears the meaning of the word. She feels like home.

"I'm so sorry." Dahlia sighs, breaking me from my train of thought. "I'll head over to get her right now." She looks at me then, and I realize the moisture welling up in her eyes as she nods, says goodbye, and ends her call.

"What's going on, Wildflower?"

She raises a shaking hand to her face, wiping away her tears before they have a chance to fall down her cheeks. "It's not a big deal," she says. "I don't know why I'm overreacting. Lou just decided she wanted to come home."

"What time is it?" I ask.

"Just after four." She throws the blankets off her legs and stands out of bed, rummaging around the room rapidly as she searches for clothes. "She had a bad dream, or so she says. She never has bad dreams." Dahlia hops on one foot as she pulls a pair of underwear up her legs. "I shouldn't have let her stay the night somewhere. I should've known she wasn't ready for that." Her voice cracks, and I know she's fighting back tears again. "Or maybe I shouldn't have coddled her so much."

"Baby, don't cry." I don't know what to do, how to help her. "Do you want me to go get her?"

She pauses, almost like she's contemplating it, before shaking her head and grabbing a sweatshirt from her closet. "No. That would just confuse her."

"Do you…Do you want me to leave?" I ask as she pulls her hoodie on. When her head pops out of it, I see devastation on her face, and then she crumbles entirely. Her face falls into her hands, and her shoulders shake with silent tears. I'm jumping out of bed and rounding her room, tugging her against my chest. "Dahlia. Baby," I hush her. "What's going on?"

"This is so stupid," she cries into my neck.

"What's stupid?"

She shakes her head. "I feel horrible."

I'm so fucking confused. I'm sure she's tired—groggy and confused, worried about Lou. It's not an ideal ending to our first night together, but I don't know what's got her in tears or feeling bad about it.

"It's okay, Dal. We'll have more nights together." All my nights, preferably.

She sighs, stepping back from my arms and wiping at her eyes. I watch as her mask falls into place. The vulnerability that she still only gives me glimpses of disappears. "I don't want you to leave," she says firmly. "But I'm not ready for her to see you spending the night here."

"I understand." She moves her head to nod, but I'm quicker. Taking her face between my hands, I add, "But I need you to stop hiding from me. I need you to tell me how you feel right now and let me help you work through it. You're done bottling that shit up."

I prepare myself to watch those walls lock into place, for her to become stubborn and guarded like I'm used to. There is a hardness to her features that makes me believe she's about to do exactly that, but instead, she softens, nuzzling her cheek against my palm. "I…" She takes a breath, and I think she's about to say something, but she must think better of it, because she pulls away. "I've really got to go get her."

"Alright." I swallow, allowing her space to step back and slip on her shoes. "I'm going to stay, though. I'll keep out of the way and make sure she doesn't see me when you get home, but I'd like to stay. I want to be here for you when you get back." She looks up from her feet, and I watch her throat work as she contemplates what I've just said. "Please let me be here for you, Dahlia."

Whatever thread of resolve she was hanging onto seems to snap, because her eyes go soft and misty, her lips tremble, and she gives me a slight nod before slipping out her bedroom. I listen to her descend the stairs and grab her keys, leaving through the front door.

While Dahlia is gone, I sneak downstairs and make her a cup of chamomile tea. On my way back up, I notice that Lou's bed doesn't have any sheets on it. I assume Dahlia was going to wash them while she was away for the night. I find the bundle in the dryer and warm them up then make her bed for her.

I'm just finishing when I hear the front door unlock, followed by the sound of hushed voices. I slip down the hall into Dahlia's bedroom, shutting myself in her bathroom just in case Lou comes in. The voices seem to bypass Dahlia's room, and it's another ten minutes of silence before I hear her door creak open.

"Everett?" she whispers.

I exit the bathroom to find her sitting on her bed, eyes appearing bloodshot, body drooping with exhaustion. "How's she doing?"

"She's fine, I think." Dahlia shrugs. "Embarrassed."

"She has nothing to be embarrassed about."

"I know." She sighs. "I think it was just a bit much for her. She's a homebody. I think being outside her safe space is scary for her. It probably would've been better for her to have a sleepover at her own house first." Dahlia's voice cracks as she adds, "But this isn't her house. I don't even have a home for her."

Her face falls into her hands as a soft sob breaks from her throat.

"Dal," I whisper, sitting down beside her. I don't know what more to do than wrap my arms around her back and pull her into me, allowing her to cry against my chest. "This is her home, both of you. Just because Leo's name is on the deed doesn't mean you don't belong here. It was your grandma's house, and he bought it exactly for this reason, so that her family could continue to make it theirs."

She doesn't respond, but the tears continue to fall. I don't know how to make this better. "She could have friends over here any time. You know they wouldn't care."

She sniffles. "Leo's a celebrity. I can't have random people invading his space like that."

"D-List at best." I snort. "Lou could have friends sleep over. Nobody is going to give a shit."

A small laugh bubbles out of her, and I instantly settle at the sound of it.

"I was so frustrated by her," Dahlia continues. "I just wanted one fucking night to myself. One night without having to worry about her." Her voice breaks again. "I feel so guilty for being upset. A mother shouldn't want space from her own child. I don't want to ever make her an imposition. I know what it's like to feel that way, and I don't ever want to do that to her."

Short, rapid breath filters from her lips, and I know it's because she's trying to stay quiet. She's afraid of her daughter hearing her break down.

"You've never made her feel that way." I press my lips to her head. "You're her safe place. She knows that." I stand from the bed, reaching for the hem of her shirt. She looks up at me with red-rimmed eyes but lifts her arms without hesitation. I pull her hoodie off and toss it in the hamper in the corner of her room before pulling back the sheets. "Get into bed."

I hear the shuffling of blankets as she gets comfortable, and I round the room to the other side, grabbing the tea I made from her dresser.

As I crawl in beside her, I pass her the mug. "Chamomile with honey."

"Everett." She sighs. "Thank you." Taking a sip, she asks, "You made her bed too, didn't you?"

I nod. "You're her safe place, but I want to be yours."

Her hands tremble as she places the tea on her nightstand and turns to face me. "Why?"

Because I love you so much, it fucking hurts.

I open her arms and pull her into me. "Because you deserve it. Because you make me feel safe too."

Her head falls against my chest, her hand over my stomach. I inhale the scent of her coconut body wash and savor the feel of her warmth against me.

"I feel safe with you," she whispers. We lay in comfortable silence for a while longer as I stroke her hair. Only the unsteady rhythm of her breathing lets me know she's still awake. It was just a few weeks ago that she told me she was afraid she couldn't offer me more than sex, but whatever has happened tonight feels like a whole hell of a lot more.

I'm not sure if she realizes that yet, so I decide not to say anything.

"Why do I feel like a bad mom all the time?" she asks, so quiet, I'm not entirely sure she's even addressing me.

"The fact that you even have these kinds of thoughts proves exactly how good of a mother you are," I respond anyway. "You question it because you care, because you've been navigating this alone her whole life, and because you didn't have an example to go off of." I press my lips to her forehead. "You're an incredible mother, Dahlia. Coming from someone who grew up with a great one, I can say that with certainty. Anyone who knows you, who sees you with her, would agree. There's no need to worry your pretty breath with thoughts like that."

She sighs sleepily. "Breath isn't pretty."

I huff a laugh at the random train of thought, hoping it's a sign that what I've just said has gotten through to her.

"Yours is," I continue. "When you moan into my mouth, it tastes pretty. When you breathe against my neck, it feels pretty. When you whimper as I push inside you…" I groan. "Most beautiful fucking sound I've ever heard." She turns her head, nuzzling into my neck, and it's as if I can feel her smile against my skin. "Everything about you is pretty, Wildflower."

"Not everything," she whispers. "Everyone has some ugly in them too."

"Then show me yours." I tuck a piece of hair behind her ear. "I want to see it. I want to see all of you." I know there's nothing about her I'd ever find ugly, even her darkest parts. But as long as she's convinced there are pieces of her that need to be hidden, I'm going to work to convince her to let me see them anyway.

Maybe someday, I'll help her find a way to see beauty in every aspect of who she is.

Dahlia pulls away from my neck and looks up at me. Every conceivable emotion shines in her eyes—fear and sorrow and insecurity, but also gratitude and vulnerability and something that looks a hell of a lot like love.

"Why would you want to see my ugly sides?" she asks.

I smile, running my thumb along the soft skin of her cheek. "Because showing me your ugly and watching me stay is the only way I'm gonna prove to you how real this is."

I watch her search my face the way she always does, looking for the lie. I know it's her defense mechanism, what she trained herself to do because of how much of her life has been spent being lied to and manipulated.

So, I don't just tell her the truth in those words—I let her feel it too. Snaking my fingers around the back of her head, I pull her into me. Her lips land on mine with a soft and delicate caress. She moans, opening for me as my tongue sweeps in to meet hers. I let out a groan at the taste of her, and she matches my sounds as she inches closer to me, hand knotting in my t-shirt.

"Everett," she whimpers, pulling away. It's a smile I see on her face now. "We've got to be quiet, and I can't be quiet when you're doing that to me."

I chuckle, moving down the bed and tugging her against me so we're both laying on our sides, facing each other.

She stares at me for a while, running a finger down my nose and over my lips, studying my face. I wonder if she catalogs me the same way I do her, wanting to engrain every detail of the other until it's tattooed in our minds, almost like we're afraid we'll lose it.

"You're sure you still want real now that you've seen what it looks like?"

"What do you mean?"

"Waking up at four in the morning when my daughter needs something." She laughs sarcastically. "Sex once every three weeks." Swallowing hard, she adds, "Knowing that I'm always going to put her first."

"First of all, Dahlia, I wouldn't want you so much if you didn't put her first. That's one of the things I lo–like most about you. I want what's best for Lou every bit as much as you do, and I hope you know she's my priority too." I watch her eyes gloss over as she nods. "Secondly, I waited six months to have sex with you again. Three weeks is nothing. I'm not in this because I want to fuck you. I'm in this because I want you . Period. Plus, after you walked in on Leo and Darby today, they're definitely going to be owing you one, and I plan on using that to my full advantage." She stifles a giggle, rolling her eyes. "Lastly," I continue, "I let you put a dildo in my mouth tonight. It's going to take a lot more than your daughter needing you to scare me away."

Her jaw drops open, face flooding with heat even in the dark. "Did you not like that? I thought…" She drops her gaze. "I thought you would've been into it."

I give her an easy smile. "Because I'm bi?"

"Yeah," she says quietly. "I thought you'd probably…"

"Sucked a dick before?"

"Yeah." She's so fucking bashful, it's cute.

"I have." I grab her chin and tilt her head upward. "And I was into it." I place my thumb on her full bottom lip, pulling it down as she watches me with wide, sparkling eyes. "But I also like to be in control. It takes a lot of vulnerability for me to be submissive like that. I've never allowed myself to be that way with someone before."

"Oh." Her pretty little mouth pops open, and suddenly, my cock is hard. "So…why did you let me?"

"Because it makes me feel good to see you feel good." My tone is turning rough, and I know we can't fuck again with the house this goddamn full of people. "Because I know that you don't take much for yourself," I continue, reveling in the way the soft skin of her thigh slides between my legs. "Peace. Rest. Pleasure. You do a lot of shit for a lot of other people, and I want you to feel comfortable taking what you need from me. I think you need that power and control sometimes, and I want to give you that. I want you to feel safe taking it."

"I've never thought of it that way before," she breathes. I watch her pupils dilate, and I wonder if she's replaying the night in her head the way I am. If the brush of my thumb against her lips reminds her how it felt in her ass. If she's remembering the way she wrapped her mouth around my cock in the shower, or the way she took it as I pounded into her from behind.

The memories are delicious and enticing, but I summon the will to remain on topic, knowing there are more conversations to be had about how far we'd gone.

"If you decide you didn't like what we did tonight, we don't ever have to do it again. If you decide you want to do more, then we'll try it." I slip my thumb into her mouth, and she wraps her lips around it, licking the pad of my finger. Fuck. "I want to explore with you, Dahlia." My words come out a near growl. "I want you to feel comfortable exploring with me. I want you to show me everything…" I pull my hand away from her mouth and replace it with my lips. "Not just in the bedroom, but in all aspects of your life. I'll be your safe place to land."

"I know," she says quietly, a radiant smile stretching across her face.

I return it, feathering my lips against hers again, kissing her softly. "Go to sleep, Wildflower."

"What about in the morning? Are you going to sneak out before she wakes up?"

I turn on my back, bringing her face to my chest and placing my hand on the top of her head, running my fingers through her hair. "I don't want you to worry about that, okay? I'll take care of everything. Shoulder some of it onto me from now on." Pressing my lips against her temple, I add, "For now, just go to sleep and know I'm right here."

She stills for a moment, as if contemplating whether or not she can trust me. Finally, she silently nods, settling against my body. My entire being comes alive at that knowledge.

I lay in the dark, listening to the sound of her breath long after she falls asleep.