Page 35 of Too Hostile

I lick him clean, moaning at the taste of him, memorizing it with each swallow before I stand up and claim him with another heated kiss. “You can, you know,” he says against my lips. “You can have every part of me.”

My heart clenches tightly in my chest as I wrap my arms around him. I don’t know what to say, but Fletcher—being Fletcher—he doesn’t make me say anything. He just kisses me, and then when we separate, he gives me that big beautiful smile.

“Let’s go back to your place. I’m starving. You have to feed me.”

I grin at that and nod. “Okay. I can do that.”

And that’s what I keep telling myself. That I can do this, even if I’m already starting to wonder if I truly can.

FLETCHER

Ifluff the pillow on the couch for the fiftieth time in the last ten minutes and try to force myself to relax. So Ronan is coming over to my place for the first time. That’s totally fine. It’s no big deal.

I jump and nearly fall off the damn couch when there’s a knock at my door, though, so maybe it is a big deal. I don’t know why. Maybe because my mom and siblings break in here often. But I don’t think that’s it.

I try to catch my breath as I walk to the door and open it, grinning immediately when I see Ronan standing there in slacks and a crisp white button-down shirt. “Don’t you ever dress casually?” I tease.

“No,” he says instantly, and I’m starting to not mind that curt answer so much, especially since I’ve also been hearing a lot of yes’s from him lately.

I want to pull him in for a kiss right away, despite the door still being open and him standing out in the hall, but I think about it and realize that’s probably not a great idea in case someone sees.

It’s a big deal for him to come over to my place, and I want to make him comfortable. I motion for him to walk inside, and he does before I close and lock the door behind him. Then I’m on him in a hot second, my arms wrapping around his neck as my lips fuse to his.

But no matter how much I want to get him naked, I want other things too. Like to make him dinner. So I slowly pull out of the kiss, nipping and licking at his lips, and okay—it takes me a bit, but I finally extract myself out of his arms and walk around the counter to the stove. “Make yourself at home.”

I go to stir the sauce I’d been working on before fluffing the pillows, and he looks around the apartment for a minute, a low whistle sounding from him. “This place is really nice.”

He really doesn’t sound like he’s judging me at all, but I still feel a little bit of shame. “My parents pay for it, remember?”

He offers me a soft smile before taking a seat at the counter and watching me carefully. “I actually think it’s really nice that they pay for it after everything you’ve been through.” His smile grows. “It’s very economical.”

I laugh at that, a real feeling of joy because damn, I really was a shithead to him in his class. I can’t believe he didn’t kick me out. I turn my back to him to stir the pasta and sauce and murmur, “Rhett never wanted anything. Bree really didn’t either. I was the only one who didn’t fight Blair on spoiling us.”

I stiffen only momentarily when Ronan slides up behind me, his hand on my shoulder, and then I immediately relax into him. “We all process things differently. There’s nothing wrong with you wanting to be taken care of, Fletcher.”

“I was so tired,” I admit. “So damn tired already.”

“I know, baby,” he says as he wraps his arms around my waist and holds me as I stir the food on the stove. When he nuzzles my neck, I breathe in his expensive, delicious smelling cologne. “This smells incredible,” he rasps.

“I was just thinking something like that.” I put the spoon down and turn around so I’m facing him, still wrapped up in his strong arms. “It’s almost finished.”

“You didn’t have to cook me dinner.”

“I really wanted to,” I say as I lean in and kiss his soft lips. Lips I’m addicted to. Lips I dream about when I’m not with him and lips I can’t seem to stay away from him when I’m with him.

A timer goes off, startling us both, and then we laugh, quickly moving to grab plates and set up at the counter bar, sitting side by side before we dig in. I’ve never cooked anyone dinner before, but I actually like to cook. “This is really good,” he says as he takes another bite of the pasta.

“I’m glad you like it. Self-taught, you know,” I say with a wide grin.

“Your mom didn’t teach you?”

I laugh at that. “God, no. Blair does not cook. She can order dinner with the best of them though.” I smile, thinking about the few times she’s tried to cook over the years, nearly burning the damn house down each time.

“You really love her, don’t you?” he asks, a look on his face I can’t quite decipher. Is it so odd that I love the woman who adopted me? Maybe. It’s not the ending to most of the foster care stories I’ve ever heard.

“Blair is incredible.” I almost say wait until you meet her, but I quickly catch myself and bite my tongue. Summer. This is only for summer.

I try to remind myself that, and then before I can move on to another topic, there’s a loud knock on my door.