I sigh happily. “So good. Are you?”
“Yes.” He trails kisses across my skin, starting at my temple, and working his way down the side of my face to my jaw and neck.
Unsurprisingly, his sweet, tender kisses make me hard. “I’m going to want to go back to bed instead of cooking,” I say.
“Are you complaining?”
“No. But we have to eat at some point.”
“Fair. We should cook next.”
I whimper.
“And then pass out on the sofa for a couple of hours.”
“And then go back to bed?”
He laughs. “Yes. I’d quite like to tie you up again.”
I shiver with delight. “I’d like that, Daddy.”
“And spank you.”
“Yes, please.”
We lounge in the bath until the water becomes tepid. Damon wraps a towel around himself and then dries me slowly and gently. I snuggle in a towel while he dries himself. We wander to the bedroom to get dressed. Again. I thank past-me for having the forethought to pack two sets of clean clothes.
Damon puts our wet clothes in the washing machine, and adds more laundry to make a full load, before turning it on. It rumbles away while we get organised to cook. We work surprisingly well together in the kitchen. Usually, when someone ‘helps’ me, they get in my way, or they want to do things differently, or both! It’s annoying, but Damon is anything but. We work in synch to make a festive feast fit for a king. Seriously, we end up with far too much food.
I watch as Damon sets the table, pursing my lips.
“What is it, boy?”
“We didn’t get any Christmas crackers.”
He rolls his eyes. “They’re full of plastic rubbish anyway. No one uses the crappy little gifts you get in them. And the jokes are always awful.”
“I bet you wouldn’t wear the paper crown, either.”
He huffs. “No chance.”
I chuckle. “You’re sexy when you have the Christmas grumps.”
He scowls, but there’s no anger behind his expression.
“One year, I made crackers.”
He stares at me. “You made them?”
“Yes! It’s not hard. You can even buy empty toilet rolls in craft shops these days. Of course, the year I made them, I made my parents save them for months beforehand. I chose little gifts that I knew would be appreciated to put in each one, and hand-decorated them, so I knew whose was whose.”
“Wow. But why?”
“Because it was fun? And because I love Christmas.” I beam at him. “Next year, I’ll make you a Christmas cracker you’ll want to pull.”
He drags me to him for a kiss. “I’m looking forward to it.”
I melt against him and return his kiss. “We could also get special place settings.”
