Brooke’s POV
After the whole fiasco with the planted bloody shirt, Dean and I spent all morning funning fun with the whipped cream. Around noon, my stomach grumbled a bit. Dean looked at me raising an eyebrow.
“Look,” I teased. “While you are indeed very tasty, I feel like I should eat something other than your dick.”
He let his head fall back on the pillow laughing. “I have the best wife ever! C’mon, let’s go see if Greta saved us any lunch.”
“If she didn’t, I can cook.” I looked at him walking to the door.
“Where do you think your going?” He growled lowly at me.
I spun around and took stance. Who the hell does he think he is to take to me that way? “Try that again.” I coldly replied.
