He hums and lets out a deep, sensual laugh. “I kinda knew you would. You like to make me want you, like you did with those pictures. Don’t you?”

Guilty.

“Yes.” I whisper, as his fingers slowly trail down my arm, from my shoulder to my wrist. I shiver from the feather light touch.

“You can tease me as much as you want, Kenzi. I love it. Just be sure you’re okay with me taking it.”

“I am.”

This unfamiliar side of him is deeply appealing to me, stirring desires in me that I’ve never felt before. Usually, I pretty much know exactly what Tor will say, and how he’ll act. I know him like I know myself, and it’s comforting and familiar. And while that part of him is still here as a safety net of sorts, this darker, sensual side is pulling me in like a magnet. The tinge of unknown lurking in him is exhilarating.

He leans against the wall next to the front door and tugs on my hand, pulling me to him. He’s watching my eyes and my breathing, gauging my reaction to him, probably expecting me to be nervous but hoping my want for him overrides my anxiety.

It does.

“I’m not sure what smells better…your perfume or dinner.” He murmurs, leaning down to kiss my neck. I wonder if we’re ever going to move past the front door or if we’re going to stay right here. He seems content here and in no rush to go anywhere else, and I’m okay with that, too.

I laugh lightly. “I think it’s definitely dinner. Are you hungry?”

His mouth opens against the hollow of my throat, sucking lightly. My fingers curl around the fabric of his shirt and my eyes flutter closed.

“I’m starving,” he nips at my collarbone. “I’m just not sure what I want to eat first.”

Wetness pools between my thighs as I clutch the roses in one hand and his shirt in the other, swaying into him, seeking out his mouth with mine, craving more. He delivers, his kisses rough and demanding, teasing me to kiss him back with just as much fervor.

“Tor…” I pull away from him after a few heated minutes and try to catch my breath. “I don’t want your dinner to be ruined.”

He lets out a groan but smiles. “You’re right. It smells awesome. Just don’t forget where we were.”

As if.

“That would be impossible.”

After he quickly washes up, he puts the roses in a vase and sets the table while I arrange the food on serving dishes like Aunt Katherine taught me, and I think she would be very proud of my presentation of meat and vegetables.

We slip into comfortable conversation while we eat and chat about our weekend. We laugh at Diogee and Kitten who have perched themselves right next to the table, their big eyes pleading for food, and Tor tells them there is no way in hell he’s letting them have any of the best meal he’s ever eaten because he’s eating every single crumb himself.

And he did.

I half expected him to lick his plate when he was done; he made such a fuss over how perfect the filet was cooked and the flavor of the green beans from the subtle spices I simmered them in. Of course I’m hanging on every compliment, beaming inside. It’s his smile that really does me in, though, because Tor doesn’t often share a smile that lights up his face and reaches his eyes, turning the blackish brown to a light hazelnut. He grins a lot. He smirks a lot. But a real smile that erupts from his soul is a gift, and he’s given me many tonight.

We take Diogee for a walk in the woods behind his house after dinner, holding hands as we walk along the dirt path, working off some of the meal we just ate to make room for dessert.

“Let’s talk,” he says when we return to the house, and he leads me to the couch after he takes the dogs leash off. I follow him with nervous anticipation and sit next to him, turning my body to face him. He rests his hand on my leg and stares at the floor for a moment before looking back at me.

“Today was nice,” He says. “Like, beyond nice.”

“I think so, too.”

I can see him biting the inside of his cheek, something he does when he’s nervous or mad, to stop himself from speaking before he’s ready to.

“I don’t know what to say,” He finally admits quietly.

“Oh.” I meant to just think the word, but it seeped out of my mouth with its tonal mix of part disappointment, part surprise, and part sadness.

“I’m usually good with words, Kenz. But you make me a fuckin’ mess.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.” He recedes back into his quiet mode, staring at the floor.