Page 112 of Possession

Later that night…

Hunter sits on the chaise lounge in our living room, reading over the contract for the third time while Deuce sleeps soundly on his chest.

I glance over from the kitchen. “It’s too good to be true, right?”

“No,” he answers plainly.

“Then why are you reading it over and over?”

He smirks. “Because that’s what you do with a contract before you sign it.”

I roll my eyes. “Don’t be a smartass, Middleton.”

His gaze lifts, amusement flickering in his steel-gray eyes. “Maybe you need to learn not to be so suspicious of everything and everybody.”

I scoff. “I get it from you!”

He grins. “Don’t you dare project your paranoia onto me.”

I lower my knife, laughing. “Hunter, you have a security team on me that rivals the damn Secret Service.”

“Which we have plenty of real world evidence to prove that it’s a necessary evil. This is something entirely different. Your talent is obvious and special, and I shouldn’t be the only one to benefit from seeing it.”

Suddenly, I grin. “Are you trying to get some tonight with those flowery words?”

“That’s not what I would say if I were trying to make you spread those thighs for me tonight.”

“Is that right?” I smile. “And what would you say?”

Hunter silently slides my contract carefully back in the envelope and places it on the side table. Next, he lifts a sleeping Deuce in his arms, kisses his belly, and then walks him into the nursery, placing him in his bassinet.

“No snappy comeback?” I chuckle as I get back to chopping the ingredients for my salad.

When Hunter returns, he’s actively rolling up the sleeves of his shirt. “Do you need help with dinner?” he asks.

“No, I’m almost done.”

“Then I’ll watch,” he says in his signature deep baritone voice, and I immediately realize…I didn’t win that one. The flirtation game isn’t over.

When I’m finished chopping my last piece of chicken, I feel the heat of Hunter’s breath behind me the moment I place the knife down on the cutting board.

“As I was saying before, I’m a pretty simple man. I say what I mean, and mean what I say. Therefore, I wouldn’t have to sayanything extra or flowery, as you put it, to get you to spread your legs for me.”

My panties dampen as his lips grow closer to the back of the neck.

“All I’d have to say is spread them, shoulder-width apart, wouldn’t you?”

His hand trails down the side of my neck and travels to my right breast. He gently squeezes my right nipple and whispers against my skin, “spread ‘em”.

Obediently, I spread my legs and my hands grip the edge of the counter.

“Wider,” his voice commands with an edge I haven’t heard in a long time.

I’m wearing a pair of loose workout shorts, which he slowly lowers down my legs, revealing a pair of powder-blue panties with lace trim. He loves this color on me.

“Did you wear these for me?” he growls.

“Maybe,” I flirt.

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