Page 60 of The One Night Dash
Sandra’s laugh bubbles up, nervous, a little breathless. “You can’t just say things like that.”
“Can’t I?” His thumb brushes her lower lip, his grin sinfully smug. “You’re the whipped cream I didn’t know I needed, the drizzle of caramel on top of a life that’s been too bitter.”
She shoves at his chest, but it only makes him laugh harder, the sound warm as melted chocolate. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Maybe.” He catches her hand, pressing a kiss to her palm. “But you make ridiculous taste good.”
I stop,blink at the screen, then groan into my hands. Oh, it’s over the top, all right. Cheesecake-factory-menu levels of over the top.
But I keep typing because, somehow, Emmett’s confidence is getting hotter, and I like it.
Sandra bites her lip,watching him with wide eyes. “You’re comparing me to desserts now?”
He grins, that cocky tilt that makes her knees weak. “Not just desserts.Thedessert. The one everyone waits for, the one worth skipping dinner for—you.”
And then he leans in, whispering against her ear, voice low and certain. “And tonight, Sandra, I’m not leaving until I’ve had seconds.”
I actually snortout loud at that one.
“God, that’s terrible,” I mutter. “Terrible and … kind of perfect.” Because all of my FMC will get to be wanted like that. Over the top, full-course-meal ridiculous.
And without letting myself think too hard about it, I dive back into the sugar storm.
Emmett dragsthe plate across the counter, sliding it between them like it’s the only thing that matters. Two cakes. One fork. His grin says he knows exactly what he’s doing.
“Which one do you want?” Sandra asks, eyeing the strawberry shortcake piled high with whipped cream and the molten chocolate cake already oozing at the edges.
He doesn’t break eye contact as he dips the fork straight into the chocolate, lifts a bite, and holds it in front of her mouth. “Both. Always both.”
Her lips part, and he slides it in slow, watching, like feeding her cake is foreplay. The fudge melts on her tongue, hot and sinful, and she can’t stifle the tiny moan that escapes.
“Jesus, Sandra,” he murmurs, leaning closer. “You sound better than the espresso machine at full steam.”
Before she can reply, he scoops another forkful—this time of shortcake, berries tumbling free, cream smearing across her lower lip as she bites down.
He doesn’t hand her a napkin. He leans in, kissing the cream from her mouth, slow and dirty, his tongue chasing the sweetness. “Messy is better.”
Sandra gasps, and he takes advantage, sliding another bite between her lips, his thumb brushing along her chin where chocolate drips down. Instead of wiping it, he sucks it off his own skin, eyes never leaving hers.
“Emmett …” she breathes, chest heaving.
“Mm.” He kisses her again, chocolate, strawberries, and pure heat mingling on his tongue. “Told you. Both. Always both. And I don’t stop until the plate’s empty.”
The fork clatters forgotten to the counter as his mouth trails down her neck, his lips sticky-sweet, leaving marks only sugar could justify. She’s laughing, breathless, already reaching for another bite herself.
I sit back,horrified and delighted in equal measure, heat creeping up my neck as I reread.
“Oh my God,” I whisper, pressing the heels of my hands to my eyes. “I’m writing dessert porn.”
And yet … my fingers drift back to the keys. Because it’s ridiculous. Over the top. Sticky and sweet.
And somehow, I still love it.
Éclair hangingout of my mouth, I nearly choke when my phone rings. I glance at the screen and freeze—Dash Sterling.
“Oh, for the love of—” I swipe to answer, thumb already going for speaker, and then I realize too late—it’s a video call.
I fumble with the phone but am not quick enough to turn off the camera. His face fills the screen, and at the same time, so does mine.
