Total pages in book: 19
Estimated words: 18476 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 92(@200wpm)___ 74(@250wpm)___ 62(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 18476 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 92(@200wpm)___ 74(@250wpm)___ 62(@300wpm)
“I’m not.”
The unreluctant rebuttal catches me off guard. “’Xcuse me?”
“Slater, had you been with us instead of Kolby, a little boy might’ve been harmed more than he already was.”
“Yeah, but-”
“Had you been with us instead of at that mall, a mom…a mom like me would’ve had to spend her holiday frightened and crying and begging for a miracle instead of getting to appreciate the one she received by having you right there at the right time.”
Guilt does it’s best to waiver only to be met by more resistance. “True, but-”
“You were exactly where the angels needed you to be just as you always are.” She sweetly beams, glow successfully lowering my shoulders. “And while I was upset at first, you did what you do best, babe.”
I lift my eyebrows in question.
“Improvise.”
Bewilderment immediately returns.
“You missed making gingerbread houses, so you brought them Lego people tenants.”
The girls were really excited to give them an HGTV worthy walk through of their tiny food properties.
“You missed hauling stuff in the house yet had no issue hauling out the trash. You didn’t get to feed the reindeer with the girls, but you got to take them to say goodnight to all of the animals. And for all the singing and dancing you missed, you put on quite the performance in the truck on the way home.”
An urge to smile does its best to overpower my frown.
“Yeah, this year celebrating Nochebuena was 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 hand and make 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 I know without any doubt we will because of you. Because it’s what you do. It’s who you are, 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’m the fuckin’ lucky one, Arley Wahl.” The firmness in my tone is nonnegotiable. “Don’t you ever doubt 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.
That I 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 way anytime of 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 that are masquerading around 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.