Page 56 of The Sleight Before Christmas

“Uh, bra,” I order as she shakes her head and walks toward me. “That’s not what you said, Thatch.”

When she again goes to open her door, I shut it with my shoulder, tempted to give in to the half a dozen scenarios I have for her. All in which she begs.

“Brat,” I snap, and her head whips toward me as I issue my warning. “Put on a bra right now, or I’m going to pay you back in a way you won’t like.”

“Bring it on, Handy Man,” she states before playfully shoving me enough to slip out the door.

Eli lies comatose on the couch as Serena sweeps up Ruby’s favorite candy dish, her eyes narrowing on Peyton as he offers his excuses.

“She tried to kiss me, Mommy!” He defends his actions, which were to shove his baby fist into Wretched Gretchen’s mouth when she went in for some affection. This, in turn,leading to several adults leaping from their seats and one shattered candy dish.

“Can’t really blame him,” I utter low, and thanks to my wife’s sonic mother hearing, she catches it, turning to laser my head off.

“Sorry, baby,” I mutter, knowing that if Peyton heard it, I broke our deal not to undermine her. But if Wretched Gretchen tried to kiss me, I’d shove a fist up her ass. Feeling protective over Peyton for the first time in days, I walk over to usher my devil baby away as Ruby eyes the glass Serena is sweeping up.

“I’m so sorry,” I issue to Ruby, knowing it was her mother’s. Her deceased mothers. A memorable keepsake that she can’t get back. Which no ‘I’m sorry’ is going to remedy.

“Can’t deny I’m bummed, kid, but accepted.”

“I’m sorry, Grammy,” Peyton parrots, and it’s obvious he means it. In return, she bends and presses a kiss to his forehead.

“Accepted.”

When Serena’s finished sweeping the glass, I charge Peyton to watch Uncle Eli sleep and tune him into the Grinch. Stalking behind her in the closet, she gapes at me when I close the door behind me.

“What?” She asks. “What did they do now?”

“They? Who is they?”

“The kids,” she exhales.

“What kids?” I ask, fingering the hem of her hoodie.

“Thatch, right now, here? You can’t be serious,” she utters.

I lean in, running my palm up her stomach, molding one of her breasts until she’s pressing into it before massaging the other. “Thirteen and a half years. If you think I’m going to wait that long to touch you again like this, you’ve lost your fucking mind, Brat.”

Her bated exhale is all the fuel I need to clamp her neck between my teeth and flick her flimsy bra to the side. Runningmy finger over her nipple, I suck her neck lightly. Breaths start to pump out of her as she leans into me. The more pliant she becomes, the more I reward her. A system she’s all too aware of.

“Should I fuck you right here?” I taunt, dipping my fingers into her leggings and teasing them over her clit. She instantly starts to buckle as my chuckle fills the dark closet.

“Thatch,” she croaks as I lift her shirt and draw a nipple into my mouth, “oh my God, it’s been so long.”

“That’s right, it has,” I suckle her nipple in a way she’s all too familiar with as I run my fingers over her panties once more. “Should I suck on this pussy tonight and make it remember me?”

“God, yes, please, yes.”

Deciding to play hardball, I drive two fingers into her, and she grips my shoulders and bites my own to stifle her moan. Crazed with the need to take her, and knowing I’ve done what I’ve set out to, I pull away abruptly and click on the light.

Her mouth remains parted as she gapes at me, clothes fucked, eyes wide.

“Thatch, you can’t do that.”

“Remember the night you teased me at your parents?” I lean in. “No bra at the dinner table?”

“You can’t be serious,” she whispers.

“I warned you, baby. I warned you wouldn’t like it—the payback.”

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