Page 119 of Executing Malice

I blink. “What?” Realizing, I chuckle. “If there is a baby, it’s way too small to feel anything.”

His gaze drops to my belly, expression unsure. “What if I’m too rough?”

Oddly touched by his concern, I cup his face and bring his mouth down to mine. “If you stop, you’ll have bigger problems on your hands. Now, fuck me, mister.”

There’s still hesitation in the tightening of his jaw, but it relaxes a fraction with the painfully slow descent of his cock back inside me.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

LEILA

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It amazes me how easily we slip into life together. How it all fits like it was meant to. Each day, I learn a little more about him. About myself. About the life we had before. And each day, I become more convinced that someone took me from him. The alternative is damn near impossible because this man is everything my soul has been searching for, for the last eight years. Leaving him isn’t even an option.

He loves me with a clarity that leaves no room for anything else. He cares for me, spoils me, and listens with calm patience to whatever is on my mind. There’s no judgment, even when what I’m telling him is insane and certifiable. He accepts my dark, twisted side and matches it.

And I think ... no, I know, I love him.

I’m in love with him with such absolute certainty, I can’t even begin to explain.

“What are you so happy about over there?”

I blink out of my thoughts and glance at the man stabbing dozens of tiny holes into a pumpkin with a drill.

My hands are wrist deep in cold gut threads and seeds. The slime clings to my skin as I separate the membrane from our snack.

“I’m just really excited about today.”

It’s not that I’m unsure of my feelings but telling him ... scares me. It prickles the uncertainty I can taste at the back of my throat.

What if it’s too soon?

What if he decides to change his mind and leaves?

What if it changes things for the worse?

I know I’m being crazy and irrational, but everything has been so perfect. So painfully surreal. If telling him I love him, if cutting myself open and spilling my insides into his hands destroys this...

I don’t think I could handle it. Because everything I’m feeling feels so big, so daunting. Losing it would cripple me.

Topless and speckled with pumpkin splatter, Dante raises an eyebrow. “You just want your surprise.”

I won’t deny it. He’s been teasing me for days and now that it’s finally Halloween, yes, I want my damn surprise.

“Maybe.”

He gives a low chuckle and punctures another hole above the neat row he’s creating.

I’m not entirely sure what his plans are, except he insists we need= ten giant pumpkins. He hauled us out to the Karnal Farm to pick the biggest ones he could find. Watching him wade through the field in his combat boots, habitual cargo pants and a gray top, I realized this is the man I want to spend the rest of my life with. A guy who is fierce and protective, dirty and open-minded, but silly and funny, too. What’s more, everything he does is so methodical. So necessary. Like rejecting a pumpkin because the stem was a bit wonky but getting boyishly excited over one that was barely bigger than his palm.

Mr. Karnal watched the entire interaction with a raised eyebrow and amusement that deepened when Dante stuffed a small stack of bills into his hand. Way more than the pumpkins were worth.

Halloween morning, I was awakened by the clang and clatter of baking sheets and pots being moved around. I followed the noise to Dante sitting topless and cross legged in the middle of the kitchen surrounded by a ring of pumpkins.

“Are you summoning a pumpkin demon?” I teased, still half asleep.

What was probably more concerning was the small arsenal of weaponry laid out before him. Everything from a saw to a tiny butter knife, and he was systematically cutting neat circles around the stems and gutting each one into cookie sheets.