Page 14 of In Too Deep

We simply exist for a moment until Oliver eventually leans down to rest his head against my sternum, breathing deep. The shift sets off a smaller orgasm, and I sigh into it. The noise of the waves is back, and if it weren’t for the comfortable dig of the counter’s edge into my back, I could almost fall asleep here.

“Hey, are y’all done? Supper’s—”

Oli growls, tucking me into his body as he turns his back on the bathroom door, shielding me on instinct from the intruder. I look over his shoulder and find Spencer frozen in the doorway. His eyes are wide as he takes it all in, and I find that I don’t hate the way his ocean-blue eyes darken as he looks behind us. I wonder if he can see how perfectly I’m taking an alpha knot. It’s been so long that I can’t remember what his felt like.

I should fix that.

My pussy pulses at the thought. Oli groans at the feeling and presses forward subconsciously, fucking his knot a little deeper and making me gasp. Spencer takes that as his cue to turn and leave, and I choose to ignore the slight drop of disappointment in my stomach.

“Should have knocked,” Oliver grumbles.

I swat his shoulder playfully, giggling. “Knothead,” I sigh.

Though that sigh turns into a gasp as Oliver thrusts purposefully, effectively shutting me up with another climax.

“That sound is for me only.” With a purr, he nuzzles my neck again as he gathers me into his arms.

I know I’m forgetting something, but I can’t remember a damn thing around the way his knot moves inside me as he carries me out to the sitting room. He lowers himself onto the couch, settling me in his lap, stroking my hair and kissing me tenderly, all the while thrusting languidly to keep me in a state of bliss, stretching out the moment for a seemingly endless time. At some point, a sundress is slid over my head and down my body, which I’m grateful for as Eli peeks his head in for a moment before muttering something under his breath and leaving.

Thankfully, the orgasm torture ends when Oli’s knot finally deflates and his softened cock slips free from my channel. I get to my feet, my legs shaky but not unusable. Oli finds a towel and wraps it around himself, the air going quiet as he finally shuts off the shower. In the split second he’s gone, I search for panties, but a growl stops me in my tracks.

“We’re late for dinner, princess. We’ve kept Spencer and Eli waiting long enough,” Oli chides.

I stare at him, my mouth slightly open. But he doesn’t give me time to protest as he takes my hand and pulls me out of the bedroom and out into the dining room.

Considering I didn’t havethe exact ingredients that I would have back in Sweden, I think I’ve done a decent job preparing our Christmas Eve meal. Fish, ham, beef, more sides than you could shake a stick at, sauces, and sweets cover the island counter, letting out a mixture of fragrant steam that takes me back home to the common dining room of my family’s compound. It was the only space large enough to fit all of us, the meal laid out just like this on a solid table, ready for everyone to take their portions.

And it’s only slightly cool by the time Tori and Oli are presentable. Well, Tori is presentable. Oli isn’t leaving much to the imagination with the towel slung low across this waist. Spencer and I share a commiserating look, not that we can fault our linemate for taking care of our girl.

Our girl.

It feels weird to even think it, but I don’t know if any other description fits better. I hope we can change that, but I know we have to do this cautiously. Tori is just as likely to bolt as she is to hear us out, especially when it comes to matters of commitment. Hopefully, good food and hotglöggwill go a long way to putting her in a favorable mood.

I ladle the steaming mulled wine into coffee mugs from the pot simmering gently on the stove, carefully bringing them to the dining table as Tori and Oli enter. She has that freshly-fucked glow about her, and once I’m within arm’s reach, I can smell Oli’s bergamot scent mixing with her sweet tea, like a good cup of Earl Gray.

“Merry Christmas,” I say brightly, holding out two of the mugs for them to take.

Oli nods with a smile, taking a sip without hesitation before walking off toward the other bedroom. He claps Spencer on the shoulder as he passes, and I can practically hear him rolling his eyes. Tori accepts her mug with both hands, cradling it gently as she raises it to her face and takes a long inhale.

“I brought the festive spirit from home with us. We can do presents after we eat,” I tell her, turning to hand Spencer a mug.

“But it’s only Christmas Eve,” Tori objects, confused.

“Who has the patience to wait another day? No, back home, we’d open gifts after sunset,” I explain excitedly.

“Then what do you do on Christmas Day?” Spencer asks before taking a sip of his wine.

I shrug. “It varies. But usually, it’s recovering from the hangover for the adults, and playing with toys or out in the snow for the children,” I reply, remembering my own Christmases with my siblings.

Everyone laughs, and Oli rejoins us, this time wearing athletic shorts and a t-shirt, both in festive shades of red and green. He grins at all of us, lifting his mug in a silent toast. We allmove as a unit, gathering plates of food to bring back to the table, and I’m pleased to see Tori taking portions of some of the more traditional dishes. Something about caring for her like this warms my chest and makes my stomach flutter, and not because of the second cup ofglöggI take to go with the meal.

Conversation is light as we eat, sharing holiday memories from our childhoods, even Tori. She doesn’t come from a large family, but she was surrounded by a hockey team full of chosen uncles and their partners, which made their gatherings interesting. Spencer had his mom, and they always took time to do things together. He and Oli share similar woes that hockey training would make the festivities short. But soon enough, the meal is over, and the sun has set. And that means it’s time for presents.

We disperse for a moment, each of us bringing out our gifts to place under the soft gold-and-green lights of the Christmas Palm, and I grin to myself over the wrappings. Spencer’s are all the same paper, in odd shapes, and with copious amounts of tape. Tori’s gifts are in perfect boxes with different paper and coordinating ribbons. And Oli has impeccably fluffed tissue paper sticking out of gift bags. As for me…

“Is that why we needed to bring back spruce twigs? For your Christmas gifts?” Spencer asks with a bemused chuckle.

I grin, not ashamed. “It’s tradition,” I say simply, straightening the smallest of the boxes to sit straighter. Brown paper tied with red twine, and a sprig of pine needles tucked into the crisscross.

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