Page 50 of Daddy Christmas

“What did you order?” I wondered, removing my beanie and mittens.

“Everything,” he joked. “No—a hot chocolate for you, cappuccino for me, and a selection of treats. I thought we could bring the leftovers with us to the hotel later.”

Yum.

I loved treats. Treats were the best.

“It’s like you know me.” I grinned.

He smiled and just watched me.

I grabbed my napkin—fancy linen, of course—and tucked it into my shirt.

That made his smile widen a bit.

When he looked at me that way, I wanted to blurt things out. I wanted to ask him if he was falling for me, like I was for him, and if he believed we might spend the rest of our lives together. Which would be crazy of me. I kept telling myself it was way too soon to think in those terms.

He wordlessly turned his hand on the table, palm up, and I slipped my hand in his.

He brushed his thumb over my skin.

I wanted to say something. I had to say something.

Nerves formed a tight ball in my stomach, and rhyme and reason told me to shut the fuck up. It was an intense attraction, a wild infatuation, a perfect holiday—all of which could absolutely turn into more; I just had to be patient.

He smirked faintly, as if he could read my mind.

I couldn’t fucking help it. I had to. “Daddy? Um…”

He shook his head, all calm and… The affection didn’t leave his eyes, and the tiny smirk slash smile didn’t leave his lips.

“Don’t say anything, baby,” he murmured.

But—!

He knew, didn’t he? I mean, with where we were, the air around us—people came here on dates—new city, Christmas around the corner, how we’d behaved toward each other since our very first dinner together… He had to know.

“But you feel it, don’t you?” I asked quietly, almost pleading with him.

He squeezed my hand and sat forward. “Every second of every day.”

I took a deep breath and let those words settle.

He feels it too.

“But when we exchange those words,” he went on, keeping his voice down, “I don’t ever want them to be taken back.”

I swallowed hard and managed a wobbly smile. He totally felt it—and he wanted us to be patient so we could do this right, so we could last forever.

He leaned forward a bit more and kissed my hand. “I’m not letting you go, Parker. At this point, it’s not possible. You’re mine.”

Fuck, I needed to hump his leg or something. Maybe lick his face. Sit on his lap, squeeze him tightly, and never let go.

“Promise?”

“I promise.” He smiled before shifting his gaze to something behind me. “I believe our sugar coma is here.”

I was ready!

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