Page 101 of Wylder Ranch
My balls tighten with every word she utters. My thumb finds her clit, pressing down in circles, giving her just enough pressure to keep her there but not tip her over.
Her hips grind into my lap, soaking me. I’ve been edging her since we woke up, so my girl is fucking drenched.
Her body’s flushed pink, coated in a sheen of sweat, green eyes glassy and unfocused. And my heart fills. She’s so fucking beautiful like this. That I get to wake up to her every morning has been borne from nothing short of amiracle, but this morning in particular really hits me.
I’m so in love with her.
“Just a little bit longer, baby.” My hands slide up her spine, gripping the back of her neck so I can angle it toward me. I want to watch her fall apart.
Twisting us around so she’s underneath, I slam into her, driving in deeper. Her nails scrape down my back, gripping on until her pleading breathless murmurs sound like my name.
And hearing my name spill from her lips brings me right to the edge.
“Come for me, Haven. Let it go.”
She does, and I follow seconds later with my face buried in her neck. It’s so fucking perfect. I cling to the sensation of being inside her, feeling our heart rates sync and calm with our breathing, until everything goes quiet again.
“Merry Christmas, Alex.”
“Happy Christmas, Haven,” I mutter, pushing myself up so I can kiss her. “And can I add, that as far as Christmases go, we’re already running a one hundred percent improvement rate on any I’ve spent in a long while.”
If it’s possible, the dry snicker she lets out makes it even better. “And we haven’t even done stockings.”
Easing myself out of her, I rush to the bathroom to drop the condom in the bin, then run back. “Okay, so it’s six a.m., we have an hour before Everly wakes up, and then another half before we have to leave for the house.”
“Why are we going so early again?” she asks, stretching her arms above her head.
“Because the staff has Christmas off, and we’re onduty. It’s tradition,” I tell her. It’s actually one of the things I missed most about not spending Christmas at Burlington because it’s the one day of the year that Burlington is quiet. “So how about we do stockings and coffee now, then we get the baby ready?”
Haven nods in agreement, though I’m sure the only word she heard in all that was “stockings” because she’s already pulling her pajamas on before I’ve even got out of bed. “I’ll get the stockings.”
We creep past the nursery where Everly slept and down the stairs, going our separate ways with a “race you back up,” which obviously Haven wins because I have to wait for the coffee machine to turn on. I also demolished a couple of mince pies Mrs. Winston brought around the day before, and brought the rest up for Haven just in case she had changed her opinion from “this is what they must feed to the kids on the naughty list.”
She’s sitting in bed when I get there, cozied up in one of my hoodies, hair scraped up into a messy knot, an eager look on her face. The stockings are laid out on the bed, and it takes all my energy not to think about how much I’ve missed.
More than that, though, because I decide that from today I’m only looking to the future, and that’s what Haven is for me.
Her eyes fall onto the plate of mince pies with ill-concealed disgust. “You’re eating them for breakfast?”
“It’s Christmas. You can eat whatever you want. Try one, you might like it better today.”
Her nose crinkles up. “I don’t think so.”
“More for me then.” I grin, stuffing another in my mouth. “Just wait until the Christmas pudding.”
She lets out a “hmm” while she waits for me to getunder the covers and lays my stocking on my lap. “Okay, you go first.”
“Can’t we go together?”
She shakes her head. “No, you go first.”
“Okay.” I tip it up and out falls an abundance of wrapped gifts.
There’s more in here than just from Haven because James Winters popped by two days ago with a bag of stocking presents from my siblings. I’m not going to bother opening them because I know they’re going to be socks, something smelly in Clemmie’s case, and likely a whoopee cushion from Miles.
Instead, I reach for the small square present neatly wrapped in festive paper and tied with a red bow. Inside is a jewelry box, and insidethatI find something that immediately thickens my throat.
A pair of gold cuff links imprinted with tiny feet.
