Page 33 of Hush Darling
Peter observed the Lost Boys, and Bayne observed Peter. Always on the outside. Always apart from the rest.
Of all the boys, Cass and Tate were her favorites. They were sweet, helpful, and eager to please. She was learning their personalities quickly. She bet Cass was a cuddler because he liked to touch everything and often put his hands on her shoulders in an open show of affection. She liked how he made her feel at ease.
Tate was the ultimate people-pleaser. The mere thought of disappointing others made him anxious, so he always asked what he could do next.
Nibbs was also helpful but in a much more flirtatious way. He’d reach for a spoon and casually touch her hip or playfully dot flour on her nose. The more she permitted, the further he pressed his luck, once even whipping a tea towel at her behind, but Peter stopped that with a quick reprimand.
“Enough,” Peter said, snatching the towel from Nibbs and tossing it aside.
He stepped behind Wendy, sheltering her body with his. Possessive arms slid beneath hers as he rested his chin on her shoulder in an unmistakable claim. The others instantly backed off.
She could have shouldered him away. She could have purposely given the other men more to do. But there was something pleasant about his territorial claim. No one had ever touched her so possessively, and while she wasn’t sure about her feelings for Peter, she was becoming more certain she wanted a man who would unflinchingly claim her as his own.
Preparing dinner was a bit like playing house. A hierarchy naturally formed, one where Peter played the role of father and Wendy was the mother. The Lost Boys deferred to Peter’s authority as much as they craved her nurturing praise.
That fantasy shattered, however, the moment Peter swept a hand under her shirt to grab a handful of flesh.
“Peter.” She caught his wrist and gave him a warning stare. Surely, he didn’t think to touch her with the Lost Boys present.
Peter met her glare with a grin and stepped forward, pressing the hard bulge of his arousal into her stomach. Her breath caught, and she arched back against the counter. He needed to stop.
“What are you doing?”
He leaned closer. “Whatever I want.”
She looked back at the Lost Boys, who watched them with unblinking eyes. Not a single one looked concerned for her safety. Or—if they were concerned—none appeared willing to interfere because that would mean going against Peter.
She could have pushed him away, but she didn’t. Slow and possessive, he dragged his other hand under her damp hair and caught the back of her neck. Something inside of her caught fire under his possessive hold. The alarming thought that liked being a prisoner, liked knowing that someone else was responsible for whatever happened next, caught her off-guard.
“Peter, the boys are watching.” She could feel their hungry stares egging him on.
“So?”
“So—” The moment she opened her mouth, he closed the distance and sealed his lips to hers. Her resistance softened. Soon enough, she seemed to have no willpower at all.
He lifted her to the cool granite countertop, wedging his hips between her knees. Her legs naturally wrapped around him, her ankles locking at his back as he ground into her. Deep, slow kisses cast a spell as liquid fire burned low in her belly. His hands roamed down her back, trailed up her spine, and tangled in her hair. Only when she felt him loosening his belt did reality set back in.
“Peter.” She nudged him.
The twins were grinning, and Tate was flushed. Cassian’s broad shoulders moved with every heavy breath while Nibbs bit his lip. Bayne was the only one who glared but they all made her uncomfortable.
“Peter, we have to stop.”
“No, we don’t.”
Her face flushed as she clumsily made eye contact with Tate. “Yes, we do.” This time, she shoved him back with more firmness and quickly scooted off the counter, carefully keeping her gaze down until her embarrassment abated. “The soup’s about—Hey!”
The room turned upside down as she was scooped off her feet and thrown over Peter’s shoulder. “The soup can wait.”
He carried her through the house to a room she hadn’t seen yet. A door slammed behind them, and he tossed her onto a plush bed of deep green blankets and soft, velvet pillows. He grabbed her ankle and tugged her to the edge, causing her shirt to rise to her ribs.
“Peter, wait.”
His shirt came off, and he was on top of her once more, kissing her in an attempt to confuse or silence her objections.
“Peter—”
“Shhh.”
