Page 112 of Secrets That Bind Us
I grin from ear to ear. “Yeah? The bedrooms are upstairs.”
She puts one hand on the banister, Noah following his big sister up excitedly, and Verity and I trail behind them, still nervous as hell. I want my kids to like the house. I want my kids to not just love me as they’re biologically prone to do, butlikeme. Is that weird? I try to taper my anxiousness as Savannah goes into the room at the end of the hallway, where there’s a corner window and looks around.
“I was hoping you’d like this one.” I rasp. “I know it’s not your painting loft over at the farmhouse, and it’s smaller than what you’re used to, but there’s a lot of natural light in here and-”
“It’s pretty perfect, actually. And it’s warm here. It smells nice. Can you build me a bookshelf?” Her blue eyes sparkle when she sits on the bed and crosses her legs.
“Yeah?” I croak out. Because I may not have been able to build Verity one, but I’ll build one for our daughter.“Yeah, Sunshine, I can build whatever you want me to.”
She nods.“Then, I’ll take this room.”
“My turn!” Noah says excitedly, running from room to room, then dashing back to the first one at the other end of the hallway by the bathroom. “Can I hear people poop through the wall?”
I choke out a laugh. “Oh my God, no, son. I slept in this house during summers and holidays when it was full of people. No poops heard. Maybe the shower, but that’s just the pipes. I can soundproof it, but since we’re moving back to Connecticut late Spring, I don’t think it’ll be too bad.”
“I don’t want another hot-as-testicles summer. Mommy says it’s cool in New Haven ‘cause there’s ice burglars in the ocean” – I don’t correct him–“and they make the wind cool.” His brows furrow a bit together. He throws his arms out, flops on the bed, and grabs the pillow, taking a deep whiff. “I like this one.”
I crack a smile. “Ice burglars, huh?”
“Yup.” He says matter-of-factly.To have the confidence of a six-year-old.
I look behind me at Verity, who’s been awfully quiet. I take her hand and head to our bedroom. “Are you okay?”
She nods and breaks out in a smile so gorgeous it makes my heart stop. “This is the start of forever, right?”
“Yeah, baby. You, me, and them. It’s us.”
Caramel eyes snap to mine, and then she blows out a breath. “Well, I guess it’s time to get back to the property.” I know how much she doesn’t want to do that. “How soon do you think we can move in?”
“Pretty bold of you, Miss Huntington. You should probably take me to dinner first.”
She crinkles her cute nose at me and rolls her eyes. “Puh-lease. Word around town is single dads are filthier than a gamer’s Dorito hand on a kid-free night. I’m just trying to see what that’s all about.”
I gasp in shock and put my hand to my chest. “Who told you?”
She hums before walking away while swaying her hips. Looking over her shoulder, she lifts it and lets it drop. “So are you gonna show me, or keep me waiting?”
Fuck, I love this side of my woman.
“Oh, I’m definitely gonna show you.”
We get back to the property in record time, working together to help both kids with homework before we make dinner. Together. As a family. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.
And it’s started to feel like a dream.
Even when I fuck Verity into oblivion later, it feels like a dark cloud is beginning to shroud us. Like something is attaching itself to the soles of my feet, climbing onto my back, looming in every corner, making every room a bit darker. Every languid thrust into her feels like an electric intensity. Sweat pours out of me, my brain goes foggy, and my ears can barely hear her moans. My eyes blur, but it’s not from the orgasm that comes barreling out of me.
After I clean Verity up from the mess we made, I go to the kitchen and grab us both a water bottle, hearing scratching noises in the wall. I blink, but it’s slow. Uncoordinated. Like my brain and my body are disconnected. Feeling all that too-familiar feeling like I’m being watched. I put the water bottles on the counter by the fridge, following that sound.
Scratch, scratch, scratch.
Like rats searching for something.
Scratch, scratch, scratch.
“Dean?” I look over and put one finger to my lips, the other to my ear.
Scratch, scrrraatch.
