Total pages in book: 32
Estimated words: 29429 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 147(@200wpm)___ 118(@250wpm)___ 98(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 29429 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 147(@200wpm)___ 118(@250wpm)___ 98(@300wpm)
Dean sighs, rolling off me, and I panic. I'm scared I've ruined this.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to ruin the mood," I ramble. "And we don't have to cuddle or anything if you don't want to. I just thought after that we could..."
Dean wraps an arm around me, pulling me against his side, and I trail off. Oh...okay. This is nice.
"I have no intention of letting you go." He nips the shell of my ear, molding his body around mine, my back against his chest. His words make it hard to breathe. This feels like something more than just a fuck. Something way, way more. And then he has to remind me of his real personality. "So I'm not going to. Because I make the rules, remember?"
"Dean," I breathe.
"What?"
I can't help but laugh. "You're such an asshole."
"Maybe, but I'm your asshole."
"Is that so?"
"I would never say something I don't mean." He traces a finger down the back of my neck, following the path with his lips. "I don't believe in lying. If someone can't handle the truth, that's their problem."
I snuggle back against him, my thoughts going all liquid and my muscles weak. I'm warm and content, but there's one more thing I have to say before I drift off. "You were right. You did make it good for me."
He hums in agreement. "Like I said, I don't lie. Get some rest, Delia. The night isn't over yet, and you're going to need your strength."
I open my mouth but no words come out. My body is already drifting, sleep coming on quickly.
The last thing I hear is him whispering, "You're mine now, princess."
6
DELIA
I look at the spread of Thanksgiving food I've been working on since the night before and can’t help but grin. Oh, man. I think I've done good. I know I've done good. But I just want to impress Dean so freaking badly that I keep second-guessing myself.
Is the turkey too dry? Are the potatoes too lumpy? No. I'm a professional cook for goodness sake. I can make a Thanksgiving meal.
Dean left early, having to handle yet another issue down at the police station. While putting on his uniform, he explained that the night before Thanksgiving is usually the busiest bar night of the year and that they had quite a few people sobering up in the holding cell he had to deal with. So much for taking the holiday off...but he promised me he’d be home as soon as it was all straightened out.
But I'm beginning to get a little nervous because the turkey has been out for the past half hour, and it's just waiting for him.
And then, just like magic, the door opens. Dean is there in his uniform, his badge gleaming on his chest. God, he looks hot. My entire body tenses at the sight of him, and my core feels suddenly warm and wet.
"Princess?" His brow furrows as he glances around the house.
"In here!" I call, giddy.
"Oh, thank god," he breathes. I watch as his entire body relaxes. "I was afraid you had done something stupid and left."
Does he really think I would leave when he was gone, like a thief in the night? It makes my heart ache to even consider it. "Nope. I'm right here."
"I see that." His mouth twitches.
"I made you dinner. A real, full, traditional Thanksgiving meal just like I promised." I grin, gesturing towards the table. "Come on."
He takes a few steps into the dining room and stops short, looking at the feast laid out. He doesn't say anything, and my smile falters. "Dean?"
"Oh, princess, this looks delicious. But I still don’t get why you would go to all the trouble...?"
I frown, feeling confused. "I wanted to thank you. You've given me so much, and you've treated me like a queen. This is the least I can do."
He turns towards me, and for the first time, I see him really smile. The look on his face is so tender that my heart aches, and I feel a blush creeping into my cheeks. "Thank you.”
A lump forms in my throat, but there’s no time for crying. Not if we want to eat while the food is hot. "Come on, let's eat."
We sit down at the table, and I can't help but notice the way he looks at me. There's something in his eyes, something different than usual. And when he smiles at me, it's a soft, almost wistful expression.
"You're making me nervous," I admit, laughing self-consciously.
"Just thinking about how I don't deserve this or you. But I'm damned glad you're mine, Delia."
His words cause warmth to pool in my belly and a smile to break out across my face. Something flutters in my stomach, and I have the sudden urge to jump on his lap and ride him right here at the table. Instead, I reach across the table, and he takes my hand in his, squeezing tightly.