He handed her a tiny snow globe with a sleeping dragon curled over a cloud. “You’re all teeth and fire, Daphne.” He pushed a strand of hair over her shoulder. “But there’s something in you that wants quiet. I wish I could give it to you, but for now, this reminded me of it.”
And somewhere between the cheese, the snow globe, his words–the words of someone who saw a lot more than he let on–and the way he looked at her when he thought she wasn’t noticing, she decided she was done with holding back.
As snow began to drift from the sky, light and steady, she murmured, “It’s perfect,” and leaned her head against his shoulder. Her voice was enveloped in a sigh that carried more longing than pleasure, that unnamable ache for something she wished could be real but was out of reach, somehow.
Without a word, Hunter stood, dragged the couch across the room, and positioned it directly in front of the big window. He turned off the house lights so that the Christmas lights were the only glow left in the room, and happy, colored pinpricks flickered across the walls like lazy fireflies. His arms were full of blankets when he returned, and he dropped them in a heap on the couch like it was the most natural thing in the world. No big gesture, no dramatic flair.
Simple care.
That was the thing she realized snuck up on her: the steady way he kept showing up, thoughtful in all the places words couldn’treach. She kept waiting for the moment he’d prove it was all a front, but under the flirtation, the smirks, and the swagger, there was something terrifyingly genuine.
She didn’t say thank you but burrowed into the warm pile and let her body lean into his like it belonged there. He settled beside her, his thigh pressed lightly to hers, and pulled one of the thicker blankets over their laps. His arm stretched across the back of the couch to tuck her into his side. Snow fell in slow spirals beyond the glass as he stroked her arm in a low, absent, back-and-forth motion. It sent goosebumps down to her fingers.
“It’s the night you find in a dream,” he said softly, his voice near her temple. “But better. Because it’s real.”
Christmas music played softly in the background, something old and crooning, with just enough crackle to make it feel like time had paused. The only other sound was the wind, whispering against the windowpanes.
Hunter wasn’t looking at her. His eyes were fixed on the falling flakes outside, lashes tipped in the glow of the Christmas lights. And something about his stillness, the controlled strength written into his profile, made her chest pull tight.
She ached for him.
“You’re making it extremely hard,” he said, a warning that trembled at the edge of surrender.
She smiled. Of course he knew. “I can make it harder.”
The blanket slipped off her lap as she straddled him in one motion. His hands clamped around her hips, not pulling her closer but not letting her go either, possessive but careful. Rainbow light from the tree shimmered across his pale hair, and she ran her hands through it, fingers buried deep, threading through the silk-soft strands like she’d been craving to do for weeks.
What ruined her completely was the look on his face. So focused, so controlled. He hung on a blade’s edge, used every ounce ofrestraint not to devour her. “Daphne,” he growled, half plea, half warning.
“Be quiet for a second,” she whispered.
And then she leaned in.
Finally,finally, her lips met his. He was heady—taste, shape, heat. Kissing him felt like coming home, which made no sense. She’d dreamed about him, yes, and he’d felt real even then, but that had been fantasy. This was flesh. And still, she remembered the smell of him. The feeling of his body. The way he fit against her. She ground against his mouth-watering hard-on, and his answering hiss was a sound she realized she’d been waiting for her entire life.
His hands tightened on her hips and then slid beneath her sweater, fingers grazing the bare skin of her back. It was long, slow, and meant to tease, with just enough nails to make her pussy clench and wetness pool between her thighs. Then his hands moved to her front, his touch a lot more assertive now.
The Christmas playlist shuffled to something light, bouncy, and painfully innocent, absurd against the wet heat simmering between them.
She pulled at the hem of his T-shirt–bless him for always dressing like someone allergic to effort–and pulled it off, fingertips skimming over toned skin and muscle that trembled under her touch. “You shouldn’t be real,” she whispered. Because no one that beautiful, that devastating, should exist outside a dream.
“And yet,” he murmured, “here I am.”
He stood in one motion, lifting her with him like it cost him nothing. She wrapped her legs around his waist, giddy at the ease of it. She was no delicate waif; it would take a whole lot more than a whiff of wind to move her, but he didn’t falter or strain. If anything, he looked like he relished the weight and the luscious curves of her.
He didn’t ask where the bedroom was but carried her straight to the kitchen table, the same one where they’d eaten roasted potatoes and over-salted salmon hours ago, and set her down like something precious. Then he peeled off her sweater in one slow sweep and just... stared. His gaze fixed on her red lace bra with a hunger that curled heat low in her belly.
“I’d tell you my eyes are up here,” she said, dragging a fingernail lightly down his chest. “But I like looking at you looking at me like that.”
His voice was a velvety growl. “I plan on doing a lot more than looking.”
He slid his hands up her arms, fingers gliding from her wrists to her shoulders, then hooked one finger under her bra strap. But before going any further, he paused. Those deep blue eyes met hers, asking. And that last sign or restraint burned through her. She reached behind her and unclasped the bra, letting it fall. It hit the floor with a whisper, swallowed by the hum of the speakers. Then she raised an eyebrow. “Your call.”
His smile was pure demon mischief. “I’ve made my call. And it’s been you since I saw you glaring at me that first day.” He leaned in, lips at her ear. “Now I’m wondering if this table can handle the things I want to do to you.”
“You planning on doing something useful with that mouth other than talk?”
“Oh, sweetheart...”
