You're so tempting

Rae’s POV

I woke before the sun fully climbed the sky, soft golden light spilling through the half-open blinds and painting Killian in warm honey.

He was still asleep, one arm thrown over my waist, the other tucked under his pillow, lips slightly parted.

His lashes cast long shadows on his cheeks, and the usual sharp edges of his face were softened in sleep.

He looked almost boyish, innocent, even, if you ignored the dark stubble along his jaw and the tattoos peeking from the sleeve of the T-shirt he’d fallen asleep in.

I couldn’t stop staring.

My fingers moved on their own, tracing the sharp line of his jaw, the curve where it met his ear, the little dent in his chin.

I brushed the pad of my thumb over his bottom lip, plump and soft, and felt my heart do something ridiculous.

God, he was beautiful.

A low, sleepy hum rumbled in his chest. His eyes fluttered open, storm-blue and instantly focused on me.

“Caught you,” he murmured, voice gravel-rough from sleep, lips curving into a lazy smirk.

I yanked my hand back like I’d been burned. “I wasn’t doing anything.”

“Liar.” He rolled onto his side, propped his head on one hand, and used the other to catch my retreating wrist. “You were staring. And touching. Very creepily, I might add.”

I squeaked, trying to roll away, but he was faster, pounced, pinning me gently beneath him, fingers digging into my sides.

I shrieked through helpless laughter as he tickled me mercilessly, ribs, underarms, the sensitive spot just above my hipbone, until I was gasping and wriggling.

“Say it,” he demanded between my giggles, nose brushing mine.

“Fine! Fine! I was staring!” I cried, tears of laughter in my eyes. “You’re too pretty, it’s unfair!”

He stopped instantly, smile softening into something so tender it stole my breath. “And you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever woken up to,” he whispered, then kissed me, slow, deep, lazy morning kisses that tasted like sleep and him and home.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against mine.

“Hi,” he said softly.

“Hi,” I whispered back, suddenly shy.

An hour later, after a shower together that involved far more kissing than actual washing, we were in the kitchen.

He’d insisted on making breakfast again, French toast with fresh berries, crispy bacon, orange juice in chilled glasses.

He set a plate in front of me, then sat so close our thighs pressed under the table.

Halfway through a bite, he spoke casually, “After this, I’m taking you shopping.”

I almost choked on a strawberry. “Shopping? For what? I have clothes.”

He leaned in, brushed a thumb over my bottom lip to catch a bit of powdered sugar, and licked it clean without breaking eye contact.

“I know you have clothes,” he said, voice low and warm. “But I want to see you in things I picked out. Want to spoil you a little. Want to watch you try on pretty dresses and know I’m the one who gets to take them off later.”

My fork clattered to the plate.

He smiled, slow, devastating. “Let me do this for you, baby. Please?”

How do you say no to that?

So two hours later, after I’d changed into a soft white sundress and curled my hair, he was driving us downtown, one hand on the wheel, the other resting possessively on my thigh, thumb stroking in idle circles.

Halfway there, he suddenly pulled into a cute little café with ivy crawling up the walls.

“Stay here,” he said, kissing my knuckles before hopping out.

Five minutes later he returned with two steaming coffees and a paper bag that smelled like heaven,warm croissants, pain au chocolat, tiny fruit tarts.

He handed me the bag like it was the most natural thing in the world.

I stared at him, eyes wide. “You… got me pastries?”

“And coffee with oat milk, two sugars, just how you like it,” he said, like it was nothing.

I felt my eyes sting. No one had ever done something so casually thoughtful.

“Thank you,” I whispered, voice wobbly.

He leaned over the console and kissed me softly. “Anything for you.”

We fed each other in the car, him tearing off pieces of croissant and holding them to my lips, me licking chocolate from his thumb, both of us laughing when crumbs fell everywhere.

By the time we reached the boutique, I was giddy and sticky-fingered and stupidly in love.

The shop was small, exclusive, all soft lighting and champagne-colored walls. A stylist greeted us, took one look at Killian, and immediately understood the assignment.

Within minutes, racks were wheeled out, silk dresses in jewel tones, backless gowns, tiny lace bodysuits, skirts that would make a nun blush.

I disappeared into the biggest dressing room with an armful.

The fourth dress was the one, deep emerald silk, halter neck, back completely open down to the base of my spine, skirt slit high on one thigh. I stepped into it, but the zipper at the side got stuck halfway.

“Killian?” I called, voice small through the curtain.

He slipped in instantly, eyes on my reflection in the mirror (and then they went dark).

The dress hugged every curve, the silk catching the light like liquid. The open back revealed the dimples above my ass, and the slit flashed thigh with every breath.

He didn’t speak for a long second.

Then he stepped behind me, hands settling on my hips.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he breathed against my neck, lips brushing the skin just below my ear. “This dress is dangerous.”

His fingers found the stuck zipper, freed it slowly, deliberately brushing my ribs, the side of my breast, then smoothed the fabric into place. His palms slid up my bare back, thumbs tracing my spine.

I shivered.

He pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the top of my shoulder, then the curve of my neck, then just below my ear.

“You’re so tempting,” he whispered, voice rough with restraint. “I’m two seconds away from locking that door and ruining you in front of this mirror.”