Page 108 of Candy & Her Saints

“I don’t know,” I tease, “dank basements are all the rage in high society this summer. Plus, this still beats my meet-cute with Tom. At least you didn’t make me pass out.”

Ghost’s expression darkens, and he growls, deep and furious.

Whoops.

“Not his fault,” I hurry to explain. “He saved my life the next day. So, I think we can call it even.”

Ghost stops growling. He reaches forward to tentatively draw his fingers down my cheek.

My gaze flicks toward the tray. “Are you hungry?”

Ghost doesn’t answer. Instead, he ducks his head, deliberately looking away.

Casually, I draw the tray toward me. “I’m hungry.”

When I reach for the white chocolate muffin, Ghost flinches violently, as if I’m about to be struck. He tilts his head, watching Lincoln with a piercing stare through his hair in case he suddenly decides to storm toward us.

It makes my heart ache.

I take a bite of the muffin. I don’t have to act the groan because the white chocolate is sweet and gooey.

I split the muffin into two.

“This is too much for me. Can you help me?” I hold out one of the halves to Ghost.

My eyes widen, when instead of taking his half, Ghost takes a bite of it from my hand.

He groans louder than me, before hurriedly taking a second bite, which shows me just how hungry he truly is.

He scoots even closer to me, until our legs are touching.

New kink unlocked.

Handfeeding my Omega is making me as wet as hell or perhaps, it’s to do with providing for his needs.

He eats quickly.

I feel hot all over at the feel of his plush lips on my fingers, before his tongue licks out to clean off the crumbs.

He appears so relaxed and happy that suddenly, I want to make him even happier.

It’s addictive.

I get why Alphas want to cherish us Omegas now.

“I have a gift for you.” I hold up the sky blue blanket that matches Ghost’s eyes in one hand. Did Thomas choose this blanket for his bed because it reminded him of Ghost’s eyes? “Thomas says that you’ll be allowed to keep it.”

With a final kiss to the back of my hand, Ghost lifts his head. He stares at the blanket. He doesn’t appear to be able to understand that it’s for him for a long moment.

Then he gleefully snatches it, running his hands over the soft material, before burying his face in it. He wraps it over his shoulders, before rolling around on the floor, wildly purring.

When he looks up at me, he’s grinning as widely as I am.

Ghost hurriedly types, “It smells of my Alpha.”

There’s that possessiveness again: My Alpha.

Ghost holds up his tie between us, and I know what he’s waiting for. I lower my head to sniff it. The scent is faded but still there: sugar cookie martini.

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