Page 95 of Painted Scars
I make no move to give Josh a bone, so to speak. Daddy feeding my pet is a bonding ritual to build trust and affection. Father and son time.
After a minute of concern, my stalker’s soft side gives in, and he curses. “If you’re teasing me, Glitter Bomb, I’ll edge you all night and won’t let you come.”
“Keep it PG around the kid, please,” I scold.
“That’s a good boy,” Daddy tries out the praise. “Look how good the beef tastes. Yummy, isn’t it? One bite at a time, that’s it.”
I pull out my phone and activate the record function, because this deserves to go on record. I bite my lip hard to suppress my laugh and give away that I’m filming this.
The terrier’s head dips and he starts to sample Daddy’s present.
“See? Told you!” I clap and laugh at my stalker.
“I sound like an idiot.” Grumpy Daddy’s helmet swings in my direction. “If you load this to social media or send this to your friends, we’ll have an argument in the bedroom.”
I take the hint and don’t stop filming, because I want to be edged and be Daddy’s good little girl.
I bait Daddy a bit more. “You’ve really got to get into his back massage to stimulate the gastric juices.”
“You’re having me on now, aren’t you?” he growls.
Damn. Fun while it lasted. “Just the juices bit,” I admit.
He surprises me and wriggles his fingers harder, and Josh’s body arches into the motion. “Good pups get back scratches, don’t they?” The dog sways his sides to get more from his personal masseuse. “Yeah, that’s it. Eat it all up.”
Josh slurps up the last morsel and prances off, tail swishing.
My stomach unclenches from all the laughter and buzz of warmth humming in my chest.
I go up and rub Daddy’s chest. “That’s how you do it, Grumpy.”
He wraps an arm around my shoulder. “You listen when I tell you to be a good girl, and PJ3 listens when I tell him to eat. I’m practically a domestic god.”
I snort. “You’ve been appointed into the pantheon. Your godly name is Grumpeous, god of Spoiled Brats. That sounds Greek, right?”
“Good enough.” His palm lands on my ass. “I’m going to punish you for filming that.”
“Hashtag worth it, Daddy.”
He resumes his post at the stove and takes over the stirring.
I move into the lounge to pack a few orders before eating.
“No more orders tonight, Glitter Bomb,” Daddy orders. “It’s a rest day. Play a game with me.”
“Play?” My brows ache suggestively. “What are we talking about? Stalker Hide and Seek? Find your favorite weapon buried in my house?”
Another slap lands on my backside, and I groan at the fire spreading from my backside to the apex between my legs.
“Get your head out of the gutter, you smut fiend.” Damn. His immunity to my jokes is strengthening, and I need to rectify that. “I meant a board game.”
“Hashtag morallygrayvanilla.” I throw him a grin over my shoulder as I open the buffet’s door to reveal a pile of board games. “What’s your poison, Daddy? Monopoly? Scrabble? Exploding Kittens? Strip Poker?”
He comes up and rubs my neck. “If I pick Scrabble against a journalism major, how badly am I going to lose?”
“Bad.” I grin. “You’re in my house, Grumpy Daddy. House rules are in effect.”
It’s only fair I reclaim some ground in the power stakes here.
