Page 76 of Dreadful

She huffs a laugh, warm against my shoulder. “Maybe we should date first.”

“What do you think we’ve been doing? We’re living together, baby.” I press soft kisses along every inch of exposed skin—the curve of her shoulder, the freckle behind her ear, the pulse jumping slow beneath her jaw.

“It’s not the same thing as living together.” Dry humor dances around the edges of her tone, and I feel the shape of it where her mouth brushes my skin.

I nod. “Then move in with me. After all this.” And it feels right, saying it out loud. Feels like something that’s been sitting in me for weeks, waiting its turn.

She shifts to look at me, moonlight catching one dark eye. “Is this about the warehouse?”

“No.” I shake my head.

“Because your brothers⁠—”

“Are taken care of.” I give her waist a slow squeeze, my thumb dragging over the soft skin below her ribs. “This has nothing to do with that.”

She watches me a second, teeth digging into her bottom lip. “I don’t want to stop seeing them.”

“I never asked you to.”

“How would that even work though? And I have Lola and Beck to consider too.”

“You let me take care of it. All of it, yeah?” I drag my nose along her throat, pressing my mouth to her perfect skin every inch or so, tasting salt and sleep and her.

She accepts my answer with a slow nod and drags her fingers along my scalp with a little more pressure.

Fuck, I like that too.

“Baby.” If it didn’t feel so fucking good, I might slap myself for damn near moaning.

My palm slides higher along her back, finding another stretch of warm skin beneath my shirt where my hand fits perfectly between her shoulder blades, and for a while neither of us says anything.

The ceiling fan hums lazily above us, its blades slicing through the humid night air.

The chaos rattling inside me quiets, folding itself into a soft, dormant calm. I linger in that velvety space between waking and sleep, senses dimming like twilight.

“I love you.”

Three little fucking words shatter the haze, and everything snaps into focus. My muscles tense, ready to bolt, except I’m already tethered by the pull of her confession. I hold my breath, straining to hear what she says next.

“I should’ve told you weeks ago,” she whispers, voice trembling. “You have no idea how sorry I am for what I did. I—” Her breath catches. “I’m sorry, Rafe.”

My heart hammers. “Say the other thing,” I murmur, every unspoken longing lodged in my voice.

She inhales sharply. “I’m in love with you.”

The words sink deep, straight to every greedy part of me that already wanted too fucking much from her. They give it something new to feed on.

Suddenly, her sleeping in my bed isn’t enough.

I want her shit all over my bathroom counter. I want to replace every single one of her pajamas with my shirts. I want to wake up with her cold feet shoved between my legs and go to sleep knowing she’ll still be there in the morning.

I want this so often it stops feeling special.

I want it to become my fucking life—her life mixed in with mine.

I curl my hand around the back of her neck and pull her down until her mouth is hovering over mine. “I know, baby.”

I kiss her, stealing her confession and burying so far deep inside my marrow that it’ll never leave.