Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 83718 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83718 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
I kiss him as I start moving again. I rub my tongue over his and tangle my hands in his hair, and I move faster as he swells inside me. When his orgasm hits, he rocks deeper and deeper until his climax barrels through him and he throws his head back and closes his eyes.
After, he gets a washcloth and washes every inch of me, smiling a bit as he takes extra care with my breasts and between my legs. When we finally climb out of the tub, my fingers are shriveled like raisins and the air is frigid. He wraps me in a blanket and leads me to the living room, where the lights of the Christmas tree twinkle in the dark room. When he flicks on the gas fireplace, I see he has another blanket spread out in front of the hearth.
There, he lays me down and kisses me gently, until we’re both spent and falling asleep in front of the flickering fire.
Brayden
The grandfather clock at the front of the house chimes three as I scoop Molly into my arms and carry her to my bed.
She’s so beautiful—nude and flushed from the heat of the fire, her lips still swollen from my kisses. She clings to me in her sleep, only waking as I pull the blankets down and lower her to the mattress.
“Brayden?” Sitting up, she rubs her eyes and looks at the clock. “I should go to my room. I don’t want Noah to see me sleeping in here.”
I frown. “He’s at your mom’s tonight.”
“He’ll be home early.” She lifts her eyes to meet mine, and I see the apology there as clearly as a line drawn in the sand. “I can’t risk it.”
I ignore the pang in my chest and take her hand as she climbs out of my bed. I ignore the voice that says this is the least of the hurt I’ve signed up for, and take her to her room, watch as she pulls on pajamas, then tuck her into her bed and kiss her good night.
Molly
“Mommy, Mommy! Wake up!” Little hands grip my arm and shake me. “Hurry, you’ve gotta wake up or we’ll miss it!”
I squint at the clock on my bedside table through one eye and groan. It’s seven a.m. I didn’t come to bed until after three, and the idea of pulling myself out now makes me want to sob with exhaustion. “Hey, baby.” I pat the mattress beside me. “Why don’t you climb into bed with Mommy and see if you can fall back to sleep?”
“No sleeping, Mommy! You need to wake up. Lilly’s here. She’s going Christmas tree hunting.”
I push myself up, letting my blankets and their delicious warmth fall away as I try to figure out what Lilly and Christmas trees and hunting have to do with me waking up.
I blink at my son, who’s practically bouncing he’s so excited, and then spot Brayden leaning in my bedroom doorway. “Sorry about this,” Brayden says. “The guys told me the plan last night, and I meant to invite you when you got home from work, but it . . . slipped my mind.”
I rub my eyes and look at the clock again to make sure I didn’t read it wrong the first time. No, it really is seven a.m.
Brayden was up as late as I was. How the hell does he look so . . . conscious?
“What’s going on again?” I do my best to infuse my voice with a little enthusiasm for Noah’s sake, but . . . tired. “Lilly’s going hunting?”
Noah climbs on the bed, his eyes alight with excitement. He takes my face in his little hands. “For Christmas trees, Mommy! Brayden says I can come help!”
“If it’s okay with your mom,” Brayden says gently.
“You already have a Christmas tree,” I tell Brayden stupidly. I mean, obviously he knows that, but I’m tired and I’m going to need someone to explain this to me in short sentences. Preferably with caffeine.
“We all go together to pick out the tree for the family cabin every year. This is the first chance we’ve had to do it.”
“Oh. That makes more sense. I guess.” God, I’d kill for a cup of Shay’s coffee right now, and I’m pretty sure I can smell it brewing downstairs.
“You don’t have to come if you need to sleep, but we’d be happy to take Noah along.”
“Please, Mommy?” He takes my hand and squeezes it between both of his, and his unadulterated enthusiasm tugs hard at my heart. This kid is everything. “Please?”
“Of course.” I ruffle his hair with my free hand. Christmas tree hunting.
I always made a big deal of our traditions when we were in New York. We went to the Christmas tree lighting every year and ice skating in Central Park, and Noah has helped me decorate the tree since he was eighteen months old and barely had enough coordination to slide the ornaments onto the branches.