Page 26 of Stuffing My Obsession
Mom lets out an exaggerated sigh and Dad grunts, trying but failing to hide the pride in his eyes. My cheeks heat like the fire’s jumped from the hearth to my skin, and I duck my head, pressing my teeth into my bottom lip to keep from grinning like an idiot.
Even after two years, Myles still knows how to undo me without even trying.
When it’s my turn, I grip the stem of my wineglass, suddenly nervous. “I’m thankful for my new job,” I manage, my voice steadier than I feel. “Being a school counselor…it’s more rewarding than I ever expected. The kids remind me every day why I chose this path.”
Mom beams. Dad pats his chest proudly.
But I don’t want to stop there. My hand drifts unconsciously to my stomach. A secret pulse thrums under my palm. I almost sayit, almost let it slip out into the warm glow of the fire and the laughter.
I’m thankful for the life growing inside me.
The words burn at the back of my throat, desperate, insistent, but I swallow them down. Not now. Not like this.
Myles shifts, his gaze never leaving me. One eyebrow quirks, curious. I squeeze his hand, offering a smile I can’t quite contain. His thumb brushes my knuckles, steady, grounding, and that rare smile spreads across his face, one he only ever gives me.
Heat curls low in my belly, and my heart tightens. He has no idea, but he will. Soon.
Next Thanksgiving, he won’t just be thankful for me.
We’ll both be thankful for our little family.
Later, when the house has gone quiet and my parents are tucked away in the guest room, I’m rinsing dishes at the sink when I feel him at my back. His heat presses into me before he even touches me. Then his arms band around my waist, his mouth at my neck, his growl vibrating against my skin.
“I missed you all damn day.”
My breath catches, dish forgotten in the suds. “Myles,” I say with a laugh. “We’ve been together all day.”
His lips drag lower, teeth scraping lightly at my collarbone, and I shiver in response. “I’ve had to share you with other people all day.”
I smirk, daring, tilting my head to catch his sharp eyes. “Are you…jealous?”
“Careful, little girl,” he says with a warning growl.
Before I can respond, he scoops me up in one smooth, possessive motion. I squeak, wrapping my legs around his waist. He bounces me playfully in his arms then heads down the hall, past our bedroom to the very last door—the one that opens to our secret world.
Our playroom.
The lock clicks open, and he lowers me onto the cool sheets of the custom-built bed. Myles cages me in with his body, his mouth finding mine in a demanding, drugging kiss. His hand fists in my hair, tilting my head back, deepening the kiss until I’m dizzy with his taste.
“You drive me insane, Paris,” he rasps, voice thick with need. “And the only cure I’ve got is owning every inch of you.”
His mouth trails lower, to my throat, my collarbone, the swell of my breast through the thin cotton I changed into earlier. His palm slides down my ribs, deliberate, possessive, pinning me with touch alone.
I arch into him, needy already, but he shakes his head, tutting against my skin. “Not yet. You know better.”
God help me, I do. My whole body burns at his control.
His lips close around a nipple, wet heat soaking through the fabric before he drags the shirt up and over my head in one sharp move. He pins my wrists above me with one hand, the other stroking down my stomach, over my hip, claiming, teasing, promising more.
“Say it.” His voice is gravel and fire.
“Yes, Sir,” I whisper, already trembling.
A wicked smile cuts across his handsome face, and then he lowers his mouth to my neck, trailing kisses to my shoulder and arms. I want more. He knows it, but he’s stalling intentionally because he wants me to beg.
“Myles—” I moan breathlessly, arching impatiently into him.
“Quiet,” he growls, low and dark. “You don’t talk unless I let you. You know the rules in here.”
