Page 26 of Sleighproof

An urge to smile does its best to overpower my frown.

“Yeah, this year celebratingNochebuenawas a little unorthodox, however-”

“The fancy but.”

“However,” she sassily repeats with a smirk, “that’s one of the things I love most about you to this day. You have this amazing ability to adapt to any situation that’s at handandmake the most of it. It’s not only an incredible survival technique, it’s an admirable relationship one. I know no matter what shit storm life drops us into the middle of, we’re gonna get through it. And Iknowwithout any doubt we will because ofyou.Because it’s whatyoudo. It’s whoyouare, Slater.” It’s her turn to offer a small shrug. “I’m just the lucky one who’s learned how to get your six.”

“I’mthe fuckin’ lucky one, Arley Wahl.” The firmness in my tone is nonnegotiable. “Don’t youeverdoubt that.”

“Well,Mr. Lucky,” my wife good naturedly giggles again, “you wanna open your Christmas Eve gift or what?”

I let a crooked smirk find a home in my expression. “If you insist.”

“Sit.” She gestures to our nearby bed. “And close your eyes.”

Following her order is easy.

Not only do I trust my woman – with my fucking life – she’s also far from stealthy.

I know exactly where she is at any given point, especially in our bedroom.

She might as well be wearing fucking tap shoes.

And my two little sleeping cowgirls upstairs aren’t any better.

ThatI am thankful for.

Means I’ll have to worry less about them successfully sneaking out someday.

It takes more time than expected for her to noisily cross over to where I am, and once she’s there, she softly states, “You can open them now.”

Upon doing so, I immediately note her change in height. My eyes drop to the red leather boots with fuzzy white trim that are now on her feet and admire the new noisemakers I haven’t seen before.

That I’m going to enjoy seeing again.

It may be Christmas tomorrow but seeing her in these will make it feel that wayanytimeof the year.

Arley seductively gestures to the ribbon holding her robe closed. “Pull.”

Slowly dragging my gaze upward is followed by giving the strip of fabric a hard tug. One yank has the cloth parting like the red sea, revealing to me a bow-based outfit that would be an exaggeration to call lingerie.

Pretty sure that shit requires more material than I’m looking at.

Pursing my lips on a hungry whimper precedes allowing my eyes to map out the straps thatare masqueradingaround as a bra, and the oversized bows barely covering her deliciously dark nipples. Spotting another bow doing its best to hide her freshly waxed pussy gets me growling and the love of my life snickering.

Her laughter – which is by far even sexier than this shit is – prompts me to tip my head upward.

Find her gaze.

Deliver a long, slow lick to my lips and ask, “All this is for me?”

“Um…” Angel Cake taps her chin in a theatrical fashion. “Let’s double check the tag.” Without waiting for a response, she lets the robe slink to the ground, turns one hundred and eighty degrees in a painstakingly slow motion, and displays to me her backside that has one more tiny bow attached to the top of her thong. “What’s it say?”

The answer lies in the same place it has since we got married.

Rather than rush to respond, I drag my index finger around the music notes that dance along her spine, tracing every individual letter, one by one, as if rebranding them into her beautiful skin. Having my name spelled out on her and hers in the same spot spelled out on mine is enough in itself to get me groaning, while having her wrapped up in ribbons, presenting the reminder to me that she knows I view her as my greatest gift, has my cock commanding I stop fucking around and pull it out and her on top of it already.

I wait until the digit is tracing the thin strip along the length of her ass to state, “All fuckin’ mine, baby.”

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