Page 59 of Sunshine & Sinful

“I know,” he replies. “Because I’m all in. I’ve been all in. But you didn’t agree to marry me. I don’t know where we stand after I fucked up and then the shit with Anthony.”

“I want to hurt your balls to get you off. What do you think that means?”

Sunshine shrugs. “How should I know?”

“Do you love me?”

On a singular nod, he rubs the center of his chest. “With everything I am.”

“Do I love you?”

“Yes,” he responds without hesitation.

“Then we’re together. You’re mine. I’m yours.”

Sunshine swallows thickly, staring straight ahead like he’s still afraid to look at me. “Sweets,” he croaks, cheeks flushed as unshed tears matte his thick lashes.

Swallowing the sudden lump in my throat, I rub the top of his thigh with my foot. “I’m in no rush to get married, but there’s nobody else but you.” And there never will be. To you, this might be odd, even fucked up, considering I was married to his son. To me, it feels as natural as breathing.

All those years ago, when Dark never returned, Sunshine met me at this very house with the realtor—Sandie—a bubbly, young blonde eager to help me find aplace. We’d visited at least a dozen homes over the course of two weeks. None of them felt right until this one. If you’ve been house shopping before, you know what I mean. It’s a feeling deep in your soul. Something clicks. The moment we walked through the front door onto the hardwood, we looked at each other, and within minutes, without even looking at the upstairs, I put an offer on the house.

Two days later, we were in escrow.

A month later, we moved in with the help of Sunshine. After a long day of carrying furniture and getting most of the boxes inside, we passed out on the couch together—my head on his lap, his fingers combing my hair. It’s been us ever since. This home is our home. Just as this couch is our couch. My pussy is his pussy. My heart is his heart.

It’s that simple.

I’ve never been surer of anything in my life.

Giving him a moment to let my words sink in, I watch him and don’t try to hide it. There’s no need to. The subtle tremble of his bottom lip. The stroke of his beard, out of habit more than necessity. It always looks nice. The quick dash under his eyes to catch any fallen tears and rapid blinks to keep them at bay. A shiver and subsequent goosebumps sprouting across his intricately tattooed pecs and abs. Every second is beautiful.

Out of nowhere, the doorbell rings twice, followed by a double knock.

“I’ll get that.” Without sparing me a glance, Sunshine unfolds himself from the couch and gently returns my legs to the cushions to see who’s at the door. The blinds rattleas it opens, and then it closes without him speaking to a soul.

I lean up on the couch, trying to see what he’s doing or if some marketer left one of those silly fliers on my doorknob.

All I see is his back muscles and the firm globes of his ass in those sweats as he shuts the door and rounds the couch to set whatever he’s holding on the coffee table.

“What the hell is that?” I fling my entire hand at the massive basket of everything imaginable. From expensive self-care products to luxury chocolates, a small bouquet of wildflowers, and a beautiful goth sun catcher. I point to a taxidermy raven and a bundle of bow-wrapped smudge sticks. “Are those what I think they are?” I ask as Sunshine unties the top of the cellophane bag, rolls it down, and plucks a white envelope with my name scrawled on the front from the sea of goodies. He hands it to me and touches the raven.

“It’s real,” he explains, and I shake my head at how on the nose this basket is. Eerily so. Only someone who knows me intimately would know I use these things—someone like Till, who would never buy something so lavish. Someone like Dark, but he’s too angry to put this much effort into a gift. It could be Sunshine, but he looks just as perplexed by the delivery as I am.

Digging through the content, Sunshine takes everything out and lays each piece on the coffee table. “Open the note, Sweets. I don’t have a good feelin’ about this.” He eyes the sealed chocolate bars like they’re poison.

If I wanted to kill someone, which I have, I’d poison the food and make it appear factory-sealed. Hell, I’vedone that before—more times than I can count. That’s one of the perks of owning Dark Delicacies.

Opening the envelope, I’m careful not to touch the seal, just in case it’s been tampered with.

Inside, there’s a small white card. Sliding it free, I flip it open, and the name Penelope leaps from the page, scrawled across the bottom.

“It’s from Dark’s wife,” I announce, rolling my eyes.

Dearest Kali,

Please accept this gift as a peace offering. I’m sorry my jealousy got the better of me and for any pain I may have caused you. I must admit the stalkers were a bit much. In another life, I believe we could’ve been friends. I wish you and Sunshine the happiest life together.

Best wishes,

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