Page 17 of Dad Bod's Daring December

Edward woke me for two more rounds during the night. The first two on the kitchen table blended together a bit. The last two were slower. He was thorough. With his hands. With his mouth.

God, how I adore him, my rough man. He’s big, bearded, and beautiful. His body thick and strong, his stomach a warm, solid curve that fits against me perfectly. A testament to his love of hearty meals and the life he’s built with his own two hands. I’ve fallen in love with every inch of him, from the broad expanse ofhis chest to the soft resilience of his middle—comforting, real, and utterly Edward.

My gaze wanders to the window. Outside, the world is hushed, blanketed in fresh snow that glistens under the first rays of the morning sun, casting a serene, almost ethereal glow. Edward’s embrace brings a sense of peace—a silent promise of safety that he’s draped over this place, over me. A silent statement: this woman and this house are protected. And it seems to have worked because the Demons MC hasn’t dared to come near.

A contented smile plays on my lips as I think back to last night. Fear gnawed at me at the thought of Edward and me becoming something more, fear that our pasts were too different, that the weight we each carried would be too much for anything solid to grow between us. But grow it has. Because I trust him.

Trust is the soil, and love is the bloom.

I remember Gran’s saying. She read it in a romance book, and it stuck with her. It’s so true. Trust is huge for me, and I trust no one more than Edward.

And when we surrendered to the pull between us… oh, the sparks that flew could’ve lit the darkest night sky. Fireworks, indeed—a kind of brilliance I didn’t expect, something that ignited so naturally between us.

I turn my head to look at him, his features softened in sleep, the lines on his face gentle now, as if all the burdens he carries have momentarily faded. An overwhelming tenderness washes over me. His thick beard adds to his ruggedness, a reminder of the strength and resilience he carries. Yet it contrasts the gentle way he holds me, as if I’m something precious he’s afraid to lose. Thisman, who came into my life like a storm, is now my safe harbor, the place I can finally lower my guard.

“Morning,” Edward murmurs, his voice rough with sleep.

His eyes haven’t opened yet, but a hint of a smile pulls at his full lips. My heartbeat skitters as he instinctively tightens his hold around me, sensing my movements, always so attuned to me.

“Morning,” I whisper, afraid to break the spell of this quiet moment. “It’s Christmas Eve.”

“Best present ever,” he mumbles, his eyes opening to meet mine, a twinkle in their gray depths that makes my lower stomach heat.

They’re clear, regarding me with a reassurance that we’re in this together. No need for further words because we understand each other perfectly. We’ve both fought battles, separately and together, and here we are, basking in a hard-earned moment of tranquility.

The worries that once seemed so big, so insurmountable, shrink in the face of what we’ve found together. Love wasn’t part of my plan when I came to this small town, running from my old life and everything I wanted to leave behind. Neither was Edward. But sometimes, the most unexpected gifts are those that save us, the ones that remind us we’re stronger than the shadows we try to outrun.

“Let’s stay like this for a bit longer,” I suggest, barely daring to breathe as he tightens his hold, his silent agreement wrapping around me like a shield.

Outside, the world continues, snow falling softly, a perfect stillness. But inside, we’ve carved out a space where we canbreathe without fear. Two people, connected by something stronger than circumstance, sharing in the quiet joy of a Christmas Eve morning, twined together as if nothing else matters.

I must fall asleep again because the rich aroma of coffee lures me from erotic dreams of Edward’s mouth and tongue on my body. I push myself upright as he strides into the bedroom. His presence is a jolt of energy, a living spark against the chill of the morning.

In one swift motion, he sweeps me into his arms. His lips find mine with a hunger that reignites the embers of last night’s fire. My toes curl as he deepens the kiss, his hands roaming with a familiar boldness that sets my heart pounding and sends shivers skating across my skin.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” he murmurs against my lips.

“Morning,” I reply, breathless, stroking his thick beard.

His heat seeps through the sheet, his hands gliding, promising a sweet distraction that I’m tempted to give into. But reality tugs at me with the reminder of the day’s duties.

Reluctantly, I pull back, my heart still racing from his touch. “Edward, we have to get up,” I say, even though every fiber of my being screams at me to stay right where I am, wrapped in his warmth. “It’s Christmas Eve. We have so much to do.”

He frowns, but it quickly melts into a genuine smile that steals my breath. Good lord, the man is irresistible at the best of times, but when he smiles…

“Okay. But later, you’re all mine,” he says, his words a silent promise of more to come.

I grin. “Later. Now, go check your cows.”

The evening descends with a hush, snowflakes dusting the windowpanes. Edward cooks dinner, his movements confident and efficient as he navigates the kitchen. His broad shoulders fill the small space, and I can’t help but admire the ease with which he flips the steaks, his hands steady and sure.

“Smells amazing,” I murmur, inhaling deeply.

He glances over his shoulder, his lips twitching into a genuine smile. “Only the best for you,” he replies as if cooking me dinner is the most natural thing in the world.

I’m sitting at the kitchen table, fiddling with a small pair of scissors as I attempt to curl Christmas ribbons for the tree. One by one, the ribbons twist into chaotic spirals, their edges uneven and frayed. They look more like colorful disasters than festive decorations.

“What do you think?” I ask, holding up one of the lopsided creations. I bite my lip, trying to decide if it’s even worth putting on the tree.

---