THIRTY-FOUR
HOLLY
Warmth.That’s the first sensation that penetrates my sleep-fogged brain. Delicious, wet warmth between my thighs that has me arching before I’m even fully conscious. My eyes flutter open to the soft morning light filtering through unfamiliar curtains, and I look down to find the source of that exquisite feeling.
Grayson’s dark head moves between my legs, his strong hands gripping my thighs as he works his tongue against me with devastating precision. The bandanna is nowhere in sight, and I can see the scarred side of his face pressed against my inner thigh as he devours me like I’m his last meal.
“Merry Christmas to me,” I gasp, threading my fingers through his hair.
He pauses just long enough to glance up, his gray eyes gleaming with mischief. “I try my best not to engage in the holidays as a soulless function of capitalism. I don’t need a day on the calendar to remind me to give you a gift,” he says, his voice rough with desire, “but I’ll make an exception for this particular tradition.”
Before I can respond, he returns to his task with renewed enthusiasm, and coherent thought becomes impossible. My hipsbuck against his mouth as he slides two fingers inside me, curling them in a way that makes stars explode behind my eyelids.
“Gray—“ My voice breaks as he sucks gently on my clit, and just like that, I’m coming apart, pleasure radiating through my body in waves that leave me trembling.
When I finally float back to earth, Grayson is pressing soft kisses to my inner thighs, looking entirely too pleased with himself. I reach for him, intent on returning the favor, but he catches my hands and kisses my palms.
“Today is all about pleasing you,” he says, his voice still carrying that gravelly morning quality that does things to my insides. “And we don’t have time for more right now anyway. Kai’s already putting breakfast on the table.”
As if on cue, the scent of coffee and cinnamon rolls wafts through the air, making my stomach growl. Grayson laughs, a rare sound that I treasure each time I hear it.
“Go on,” he says, helping me sit up. “I’ll be right behind you.”
I slide out of bed, grabbing the silk robe Kai gifted me last night as an early Christmas present. The material is cool and slippery against my skin, the deep emerald color bringing out the gold undertones in my complexion. I cinch the belt around my waist and pad barefoot toward the kitchen, following the mouthwatering aromas.
The living room stops me in my tracks. The Christmas tree that had been sparsely decorated when I went to bed last night is now covered in the hand-blown glass ornaments I’d admired at the Winter Fair. Delicate spheres in jewel tones catch the morning light, sending rainbow reflections dancing across the walls. I reach out to touch one, a cobalt blue orb with swirls of silver, wondering which of my alphas had gone back to purchase them all when I wasn’t looking.
“You like them?” Noah’s voice comes from behind me, and I turn to find him leaning against the doorframe, watching me with soft eyes.
“They’re beautiful,” I say, unable to keep the wonder from my voice. “When did you?—“
“Secret Santa,” he says with a wink, coming to stand beside me. He’s wearing flannel pajama bottoms and nothing else, his chest bare and inviting. I lean into him, inhaling his clean, pine-needle scent.
“Breakfast is getting cold!” Kai calls from the kitchen. “And I didn’t labor over a hot stove all morning for you to let my cinnamon rolls turn into hockey pucks!”
Noah laughs against my hair. “We better not keep him waiting. He gets cranky when his culinary masterpieces aren’t properly appreciated.”
We make our way to the kitchen, where Kai has transformed the dining table into something from a Norman Rockwell painting. A red tablecloth is adorned with pine boughs and candles, and the place settings are arranged with military precision. Stacks of cinnamon rolls dripping with icing sit in the center, alongside a platter of bacon, a bowl of scrambled eggs, and a pitcher of what looks like mimosas.
“Wow,” I breathe, taking it all in. “Kai, this is amazing.”
He beams at me, flour still dusting his cheek. “Only the best for our first Christmas together.”
Our first Christmas together. The words settle in my chest with unexpected weight. I’ve never had a “together” Christmas before—just formal affairs with my parents where we exchanged practical gifts and ate a traditional dinner before my father retreated to his study and my mother to her sewing room. This feels different. Warmer. Like home.
Grayson appears, freshly showered and dressed in a clean henley and jeans. He takes a seat beside me, his knee pressing against mine under the table in silent acknowledgment.
“Dig in before it gets cold,” Kai urges, already filling his plate.
We eat with the easy companionship that has developed between us over the past weeks. Kai regales us with stories of Christmas disasters from his childhood, while Noah occasionally interjects with dry commentary that makes me laugh. Grayson says little, but his presence is a solid comfort at my side.
When we’ve eaten our fill, Kai jumps up with barely contained excitement. “Present time!”
We migrate to the living room, where wrapped packages are arranged under the tree. I settle on the couch between Noah and Grayson, while Kai takes the floor, sorting through the gifts with childlike enthusiasm.
“Oldest first,” Kai declares, handing a package to Noah.
Rolling his eyes, Noah unwraps a leather-bound journal from Grayson. Next is a vintage medical text from Kai, and a cashmere sweater from me that matches his eyes. His genuine pleasure at each gift makes something warm unfurl in my chest.
