Page 54 of Daddies' Holiday Toy
“Damn. I’m stuffed.”
“You better be,” Jack replies.
Reece’s steps thump against the floor until they fade into the living room.
For a moment, the only sounds around me are Jack flipping the last of the pancakes on the griddle and the faint gurgle of the coffee pot while my fork scrapes against my plate.
“Shit,” Reece calls from the other room.
Jack’s eyes lift up from the stove. “What?”
“We need more firewood,” Reece answers, his voice closer now as the floorboards creak beneath his steps. “Come with me to get more.”
Jack lifts a brow at him when he appears in the archway.
“Why am I being volunteered after making you breakfast?”
Reece fits him with an easy grin.
“You’ve got the best swing out of all of us. Don’t think I forgot our last trip up here. I’m not letting my hands get blistered for no reason again.”
Jack exhales a long-suffering sigh before switching the stove off and setting the spatula down.
He moves around the counter, but as he passes Liam there’s a look exchanged between them that I can’t quite place.
It’s quick, just the briefest narrowing of Jack’s gaze again like before.
It results with a tiny tightening in Liam’s shoulders, making my stomach flip out of fear.
Jack follows Reece toward the door, the sound of their footsteps fading as the door opens and they step out outside.
Just like that, it’s only me and Liam left behind.
15
HOLLY
The sound of the cabin door shutting echoes faintly, a dullthunkthat rattles inside my brain, barely drowned out by the sounds of my blood rushing through my head.
I swallow around the lump forming in my throat and dart my eyes over to where Liam’s still standing.
Of course I’d be left alone with the one person I’m trying to avoid.
That’s just my luck, isn’t it?
My grip tightens on the mug in my hands, the ceramic almost too hot to touch, but at this point I barely feel it.
The tea’s steam curls upward, and for one stupid moment I wish it could work like some kind of smokescreen, blurring me out of sight.
Maybe if I keep my eyes fixed on it, I can pretend I’m not painfully and acutely aware of the fact that there’s no one else here now but us.
Nothing between me and him aside from the table and a couple of feet.
Shit, shit, shit.
The phantom press of my thighs over his lap from last night is still burning into me along with the rough scrape of his hand at my hip while he peeled my sweats off my body.
Even the way his gaze took me in, watching me tease him by rolling my hips while he fought to tuck me in.
