Page 56 of Angel's Share

Aidan woke much the same way as he had a little over a year ago—snuggled to his husband’s side, an arm slung over his big, warm chest, Jamie’s fingers gently carding through his hair. Only today they were in their own bed, in the downstairs primary of their San Francisco home, with the morning sun sneaking in around the edges of the patio door curtains.

With the pitter-patter of feet overhead.

He buried his smile in Jamie’s side, the excess of love, of happiness too overwhelming sometimes. Even after a year of having Izzy and Angel back in their lives, a year of Bev in their lives too. Even after five months with all of them in San Francisco, five months with their daughter in their home.

Jamie continued to run his fingers through his hair, calming him. “Merry Christmas,” he said once Aidan’s breathing had returned to normal. His voice was still rough with sleep; he hadn’t been awake long either.

Lifting his head, Aidan propped his chin on Jamie’s chest. “Merry Christmas to you too.” He kissed the tattoo over Jamie’s heart, still a little red from where Jamie had recently added two dates to the design—their wedding date, and the date Bev’s adoption had been finalized. Two dates that had irrevocably changed both their lives for the better.

A text ping sounded from Jamie’s phone on the bedside table. He reached out a long arm and snagged it off the charger. “It’s Izzy,” he said. “She and Tag will be here in thirty.” It had been love-at-first sight for Izzy and the other assistant coach who had recruited Jamie. She and Tag had married in October and lived not too far away. Close enough that Angel was able to pick Bev up for school every day in the truck that he, Jamie, and Celia—and Tag too—had spent months bringing back to life. “We need them to bring anything?”

Pots and pans clattered overhead.

“Backup breakfast,” Aidan suggested.

Chuckling, Jamie tossed the phone back on the stand and swatted his ass. “The kids wanted to do something nice for us for Christmas morning. And you agreed to it.”

“Yeah, after three of Jax’s Manhattans last night at the party.”

Jamie gave him another swat. “We have to trust them.”

Aidan wasn’t so sure they wouldn’t be cooking second breakfast, but Jamie was right. He’d agreed to this deal and had to live with it. How bad could it turn out?

As if on cue, more clattering echoed from the kitchen upstairs. Aidan buried his face in Jamie’s side again, muffling his laughter. Jamie’s lips tickled his ear. “I couldn’t sleep last night,” he whispered. “So I got up and prepped a quiche. It’s in the garage fridge, ready to be baked.”

Aidan grinned up at him. “Will you marry me?”

He flitted his fingers, the emeralds of his wedding ring sparkling in the morning light. “Already did.”

Aidan laced their fingers together, the aquamarine stones in his band likewise sparkling, almost as bright as Jamie’s eyes. “I’d do it all over again to wind up right here with you. With the family I always wanted.”

“Jesus, Irish.” Jamie hauled him up, crashing their lips together and rolling Aidan onto his back. “The things you say to me.”

Aidan planted a foot in the bed, knee propped between Jamie’s thighs, nudging the backside of his balls, forcing Jamie to rock forward, bringing their stiffening cocks together. “The things you do to me.”

Jamie trailed a line of kisses from his ear, along his jaw, down to the hollow of his throat. “How long do you think we have?”

“Twenty minutes, max, before they set off the fire alarm.”

“I want to suck you off.”

“Not enough time. I want inside you.”

Jamie muffled his groan against Aidan’s pec and rutted against him. Taking that as a yes, Aidan rolled Jamie back under him and slid a hand down his husband’s chest and inside his boxers. Taking him in hand, he stroked his cock, once, twice, then ventured lower, teasing his taint.

Tapped his rim.

Jamie’s back flew off the bed, bowing. “Fuck, Irish,” he gutted out, voice low. “Quit teasing.”

“Maybe I’ll just tease you. Leave it at that.”

Jamie shot a hand down, inside Aidan’s boxers, fingers wrapping around his cock. “Two can play at that game.”

A game Aidan would lose given how turned on he was already. In which case, he might as well lose—or rather, win—the way he really wanted to. “Get the lube,” he said.

As Jamie stretched for the drawer, Aidan wriggled out of his boxers, then rid Jamie of his. He held out his hand, and Jamie squirted a generous amount into his palm and along his two extended fingers, their routine practiced now but no less hot for its efficiency.

How could it not be hot?

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