Page 159 of My Treasured Obsession

I pounded feeble fists against his muscular chest, mock-glaring at him. “I don’t want your pity hugs.”

“What about my kisses?” He planted one on my forehead, my nose, and my cheeks. “You want those?”

Did I ever. I was so weak when it came to Hunter. “Why’d you let Tina touch you?”

It was irrational sinceshetouched him and not the other way around. I just had this inherent need to rib Hunter. The mischievous way he grinned told me he saw right through me.

“Sorry, baby,” he apologized like a good sport. “I told her I wasn’t interested—that I have a girlfriend. She was embarrassed and said she realized exactly who it was, since you were glaring daggers at her. That’s what made me laugh.” His mouth travelled to my ear, murmuring, “You have nothing to worry about. The only woman I want touching me is you.”

The green-eyed monster inside of me quieted down. “Kissing you, too?”

“Mhm.” He nodded. “I’m yours and you’re mine. Remember?”

“How silly of me to forget.” I grabbed his face and pecked his mouth. “We should probably ditch the party and go home. Wash your arm of all the Tina germs.”

“Is that the only reason why you want to go home?” he purred, his voice sending shivers down my spine.

No, it wasn’t. I wanted to fuck him tonight. “Well, we could make a stop at a tattoo parlour. Get that ink we talked about.” I still wanted a snake down my spine to match the snakes on his arm and thigh. “I’m thinking we get you something that says ‘Gabriela’s Pretty Boy’—you know, to make it clear that you belong to me.”

He arched his brow. “And where shall I get this tattoo?”

I batted my lashes coquettishly. “On your dick?”

Another laugh burst out of him. “That might be quite painful, but I’d do it for you, Gabby.”

Of course he would. He’d do anything for me.

“I’m kidding—I mean, about the location,” I swiftly amended. “Anywhere you want will do.”

“Cool. Now enough talk about tattoos.” He walked us backwards, his hands on my hips. “I want to dance with my girl.”

Hunter

There was a sense of déjà vu as I led Gabriela to the middle of the dance floor, an ocean of gyrating bodies surrounding us, reminding me of the first time we did this. Except now we weren’t putting on a show.

This was for us alone.

I spun her around and pulled her back to my front. She gasped under her breath and it quickly morphed into one of the giggles I loved so much. That sound evoked the feeling ofhomeinside of my chest. My arms came around her waist, my hand still holding my drink, and I swayed us to the beat.

Once upon a time, my introverted self would have never willingly inserted myself onto a dance floor, much less partied. But that was then and this was now. Gabriela didn’t outright say it, but the beam on her scarlet lips echoed how proud she was of me. At moments like these, I too was proud of my growth and the work I put in. Gabriela once told me we were all works in progress, and every day was one step closer to your masterpiece. I’d come a long way. I liked this version of myself and I wouldn’t have been able to find it without her.

So much in my life had changed since Gabriela walked into it.

I wouldn’t have it any other way.

“What are you drinking tonight?” She leaned her head against my shoulder, moving her hips sensually to the rhythm.

“Just a soda. Since I’m driving and you don’t kiss boys who drink beer.”

Her smile was laced with nostalgia. “Good call.”

I tightened my arms around her. Our bodies were glued together, yet I wished I could somehow get closer to her. Sink deep into her skin. Anchor myself into her soul. Reside in her heart and never leave that space vacant.

For I had fallen in love with Gabriela Regina Bellafiore.

It didn’t happen instantly, rather in small increments over the span of weeks. I think I fell in love with her smile first—the way she laughed and grinned during our banter. Then her eyes—the way they watched me with soft possession whenever I was doing something mundane like driving, opening her car door, carrying her belongings. Then her voice—the way she sounded when we talked about anything and everything under the sun, especially when we lay together in bed. Then her kindness—the way she always complimented and made me feel so warm, the way she cooked and baked for me, the way she fussed over me to make sure I was okay, the way she always held my hand. And her demeanour—the way she remained positive even during one of the greyest periods of her life and how she never failed to be there for her loved ones.

I wanted to tell her I loved her. I wanted to tell her so bad, but I remained tongue-tied, an invisible force keeping those three monumental words at bay.