Page 41

Her laugh skittered across my skin. Sparks of light in the gloom that had been this past week.

"Thank you," I managed, kissing the top of her head. "I guess I didn't realize how much I needed that."

The words landed wrong the moment they left my mouth.

I backpedaled immediately.

"Fuck, love. I'm sorry." I rubbed a hand over my face. "We were supposed to be celebrating you tonight and I went and did—" I flung my arm wide. "That."

She held a finger up. "For the record, I also likethat."

"Really?" I couldn't hide my surprise.

She gave a happy wiggle against me. "Absolutely."

My mouth fell open. "Who knew—Emma Sinclair was a certified freak."

"Says the guy who literally blurted, 'I want to own you' to me like three months into our relationship."

I twirled a curl around my finger. "I remember it being closer to four."

"Nope," she said, mouth popping on the 'p'.

"For the record," I mocked her, "I'm going to tell our kids it was four."

She bolted upright. "What?"

"Jesus—" I raised my hands. "I'm joking."

She cut me a glare and settled back.

"I would never tell the kids about this part of us."

"Damien!" She slapped my stomach.

I laughed, watching her curls bounce as she settled back against me. "Sorry, I couldn't help it."

"Bullshit," she grumbled.

"Oh, so you wanna talk about bullshit?" I tilted my head to look at her. "Bullshit is you picking that weird documentary tonight."

A giggle vibrated against my chest.

"The concept was shit from the start. And that intro?"

My stomach growled—hilariously timed, but true. I had been looking forward to that pasta... before the chicken mush incident.

She propped herself on an elbow. "You've got to be kidding me."

"What? It isn't like I can control it."

She rolled her eyes. "That's my Owner. Turned on by chicken mush."

"Excuse me!" I jerked upright. "I was turned on by you. NOT the chicken mush."

She waved me off. "Sure..."

I tugged her close. Her breathing slowed. Mine followed.