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The moment is eventually shattered by a loud rumble from my stomach. Dom's chest shakes with laughter beneath me.
“Hungry?”
I nod sheepishly against his sweat-slicked skin. “Starving, actually. I was too nervous about our little shopping trip to eat much of a lunch.”
“We should find some dinner then,” Dom says, starting to sit up with me still plastered to his torso. I hum contentedly, though I’m not quite ready to peel myself off him.
“Stay with me tonight?” I ask softly, hating how vulnerable I sound but needing him to know I don't want this to end.
He doesn’t respond immediately. Soon enough, the silence is so agonizing I have to lift my head to read his expression. He gazes down at me, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
“Of course,” he finally replies, and just like that, the knot of anxiety in my stomach unravels to a silken ribbon. One I want to tie around him until we’re tethered to each other forever.
Fucking hell, Shiloh. You need to chill.
22
DOMINIC
The gray afternoonlight dances across Shiloh's face as she meticulously rearranges a group of jack-o'-lanterns for the tenth time in the entrance foyer of Fairchild Manor. Her brow is furrowed so deeply in concentration, I’m concerned she’ll be left with a permanent crevice between her eyes.
I can't help but smirk at her intense focus on such a trivial task–it’s endearing, really, how much she cares about every tiny detail of this overly-theatrical event.
“You know, if you stare at those pumpkins any harder, they might just spontaneously combust,” I tease, placing another cluster of black candles on an ornate side table near the front door.
Shiloh tuts, turning to scowl at me over her shoulder. “Unlikesomepeople, I actually give a damn about making this place look perfect.”
I let a sarcastic chuckle slip, moving closer to adjust one of the pumpkins she's just placed. As expected, she furiously twists it back to the way it was. “Oh, I care about perfection. I just naturally achieve it with far less fuss.”
She swats my hands away from her precise display, huffing in mock indignation though a smirk lifts one side of her smart mouth. “Keep your paws off my impeccably placed decor, Dominic, or I won’t talk to you for the rest of the evening.”
“You say that as if I’m supposed to be deterred,” I mutter, too low for anyone to hear, should they pass by. “I’ve yet to see you drool around a ball-gag, Shy girl.”
As I watch a deep blush creep up Shiloh’s neck, my mind drifts contentedly to the week that’s passed since we went shopping for costumes. Waking up next to Shiloh in the morning is an experience I would sell my soul to relive a million times over. The warmth of her naked body pressed against mine, the soft sound of her breathing in those moments before she’s fully conscious, the way she plants light kisses on any part of my skin she can reach before eventually rolling out of bed–it's all a colossal improvement on my previous habit of picking her lock just to be near her while she slept.
And a much better sight than jerking off beneath her bed frame like a fucking creep.
“Hello? Earth to Dom,” Shiloh's voice shakes me out of my smug musing. “I asked if you could grab more candles from the storage room. Unless you'd rather stand there daydreaming for the rest of the afternoon?”
I roll my eyes with a snort. “Yes, of course, Your Highness. Do you need anything else while I'm at it? Perhaps I could polish your crown or fetch your scepter?”
“I believe you mean my cauldron and witch’s broom!” Shiloh's laughter follows me as I head toward the storage room. While I’m rummaging in one of the many boxes we’ve tucked out of sight, a distinct creak rings out from the floor above my head. I pause, confused as to why anyone would be upstairs right now. But I hear no further movement.
“Fucking old houses,” I mutter to myself. I think I’d knock the whole thing down if the bones of my own home groaned at me periodically throughout the day.
I grab an armful of candles and make my way back to the entrance hall, where Shiloh is now fiddling with a garland of autumn leaves.
“Your offering, my liege,” I say with an exaggerated bow, holding the candles outstretched for her to take.
She quirks an eyebrow at me. “Careful, Dom. People might start to think you're actually enjoying all this.”
“Hell, that would ruin my entire reputation,” I grumble.
Melanie's nasal shout cuts through my enjoyment of Shiloh’s melodic giggle, immediately souring the lighthearted moment. “Okay, everyone! Let's regroup in the ballroom and run through the final checklist.” I’m certain she’s done nothing more thanobserveand offer‘helpful critique’since she got here only an hour ago.
We grudgingly follow her instruction, joining the rest of the committee in the now fully decorated ballroom. The space is truly transformed with cobwebs draped from the crystal chandelier, elaborate masks adorn the walls, and an array of taxidermy critters sit clustered in various corners and on tables. The dead beasts were my idea–one that I suggested would tie into Shiloh’s witchcraft theme while also freaking Melanie the fuck out.
I wish I’d caught her face on camera when she’d first set eyes on one of the stuffed foxes.
