Page 35 of Laced With Secrets

His hand found my thigh, warm and possessive. “I’m thorough in whatever I do.”

The weight of his hand on my leg felt grounding. Right. I covered it with my own, threading our fingers together for a moment before releasing his hand to reach for one of the bags of salt and vinegar chips.

The bag crinkled as I opened it, the sharp vinegar scent immediately filling the car. I selected a chip and held it up.

“Here,” I said.

Dominic glanced at it, then at me, his eyebrows rising slightly. A smile tugged at his lips—that private smile that was just for me. “Feeding me? What did I do to deserve this?”

“The baby wants to share,” I said, holding the chip closer to his mouth.

“The baby, hmm?” His eyes gleamed with amusement and something warmer. “Not you?”

“Maybe both of us.” I brushed the chip against his lower lip teasingly. “Now open.”

He did, and I slid the chip between his lips, my fingertips grazing the soft skin. His tongue darted out reflexively, catching the saltand vinegar on my fingers, and the casual intimacy of the touch sent pleasant warmth through me.

His face scrunched up immediately. “Christ, that’s intense.”

“That’s the point.” I ate one myself, savoring the sharp tang, then deliberately licked the residue from my thumb and forefinger before selecting another. “Want more?”

Through the bond, I felt his hunger spike—and not just for the food I offered. His hand on my thigh squeezed gently.

“You’re playing with me,” he observed, though his tone was indulgent.

“Maybe.” I held up the next chip, watching his profile. “You complaining?”

“Never.” He opened his mouth again, keeping his eyes on the road but angling his head slightly toward me.

This time when I fed him, I let my fingers linger against his lips just a moment longer. His tongue deliberately brushed my fingertips as he took the chip, and the touch sent a pleasant flutter through my stomach.

“You’re a fucking tease,” he murmured after swallowing.

“You like it.” I reached for the water bottles we’d picked up, opening his first. I took a quick sip myself, then held the bottle to his lips. “Drink.”

He did, his throat working as he swallowed, his free hand coming up to steady the bottle over mine. Our fingers overlapped, and I felt his contentment through the bond—this simple domesticity, this easy intimacy we’d reclaimed.

When he’d had enough, I capped the bottle and set it aside, then opened my own and took a long drink.

“Better?” I asked.

“Much.” His voice had that low quality that made me smile. “Though I think you’re enjoying making me want more than just those damn chips.”

“I am,” I admitted, offering him another chip. This time when his lips closed around my fingers, he deliberately sucked the salt from my skin, his tongue warm against my fingertips.

Heat coiled in my belly. “Dominic,” I said, though it came out more amused than scolding.

“You started it,” he pointed out reasonably, his thumb stroking over my thigh.

“Learn to control yourself, alpha,” I chastised, but my smile gave me away.

A low sound rumbled from his throat—not quite a growl, not quite laughter, but something primal that danced between the two.

My chest warmed. I liked this. This easy playfulness and comfortable intimacy. It felt right.

I fed him another chip, then ate one myself. We fell into a comfortable rhythm—chip, water, the occasional teasing comment. His hand stayed on my thigh, warm and grounding. The winter afternoon sun slanted through the windshield, and for a few minutes, everything else felt far away.

Millcrest Meadows sat on a quiet street lined with old oak trees, their branches bare for winter. The building itself was newer—maybe twenty years old—but designed to look traditional, with brick facades and white trim that wouldn’t have looked out of place in the Historical District proper.