Her lips press into mine, soft and tender and breathy. “I love it so much.”
“I love you.”
“Hmm.” She brushes her smile over mine, the tip of her nose bumping against mine too. “I have something for you too.”
“You know I don’t need a gift,” I say, my arms tightening around her. “I just need to be with you.”
“I know, I know, quality time—whatever,” she teases. “But it’s Christmas.”
“I didn’t want anything.”
“Shut up,” she grumbles. Naked, she slides off my lap and tiptoes around her bedroom. My eyes follow her, seeing the way the top of her tongue sticks out the side of her mouth in thought.
Natalia, reaching up on her toes, plucks a wrapped, rectangular box—somewhat flat—similar to my packaging. I reach for my briefs and shirt while she makes her way back to me. I pull on my underwear and once she sits beside me again, I wrap my shirt around her.
Grinning, she sets the gift on my lap then pushes her arms through the sleeves, buttoning only a middle button.
“Okay, so…” She exhales heavily. “If you hate it, too bad.”
I chuckle and carefully peel the tape off the paper.
“You can rip the paper, Rowan.”
“What if I want to save it?” I say, smiling at my sweetheart. “It’s our first Christmas.”
She snort-laughs. “What? Our first Christmas?”
“Yeah, obviously.”
“Corny,” she mutters, her lips tipped in a small smile. “Oh my god, open it, already.”
I laugh as I rip the rest, careful to leave a corner intact for myself to save later. I set that perfect piece aside on her nightstand and she helps me tear apart the rest like a child on Christmas morning.
“Fucking finally.” She sighs, throwing the candy cane paper to the floor. “Open it already.”
“Okay, okay.” I lift the top of the gift box and unfold the red and green gift paper to unveil the gift. “Oh my god.” I laugh as I pull out the delicate white chefs hat. “Hunger Slayer?”
Natalia laughs. “I thought… I kind of thought we’d be buying each other gag gifts? Well, maybe not gag gifts but ironic gifts? You hate it.”
I open up my new chef’s hat and pull it on the top of my head. “I love it.”
“You look so hot.”
“I’m the Hunger Slayer, sweetheart.” I wink, and she giggles, cheeks turning pink.
“You should only ever wear that for me,” she says. “Here—when you cook for me.”
“When I cook for you?”
“Mhhm.” She nods. “Naked.”
I guffaw. “Will you be baking naked in your apron?”
“No,” she says. “You cook, I watch. It’s modern.”
“Seems unfair,” I tease, kissing down the length of her neck and nipping at the skin.
She moans softly, fingers sifting through my tousled hair, sending the chef’s hat elsewhere. I kiss a path across her clavicle and shoulder.
