She stood next to me last night while James Thornton tried to come at me with a knife. She didn't flinch when Xander broke a man’s wrist. She looked Ryder in the eye—the man she once thought she loved—and decimated him with a few well-chosen words.
She’s stronger than I ever gave her credit for.
"Gabriel?"
Her voice is scratchy, thick with sleep.
I turn.
Blair stands in the archway. She’s wearing one of my button-downs, the hem hitting her mid-thigh. Her hair is a disaster. Her eyes are puffy.
She looks edible.
"What are you doing?" she asks, rubbing her eyes.
"Making breakfast."
She blinks, looking at the stove, then at me. "You sent the staff home?"
"It's Christmas. I don't want strangers in my house today. I just want you."
She walks over. Her movements are a little stiff—her ribs are probably still a little achy—but she wraps her arms around my waist from behind, pressing her cheek against my back.
"You're cooking," she murmurs against my spine. "It smells amazing."
"Brioche French toast," I say, flipping another slice. "And bacon."
She squeezes me. "You're obsessed with me eating."
"I am."
“I’m gonna gain fifty pounds by the time this baby’s born.”
My dick twitches at the mental picture of her with even more curves to run my hands over. “I hope you do.”
I turn in her arms, trapping her against the counter. I look down at her. The bruise on her cheek is faint now, just a shadow. My gaze drops to her mouth, then lower, to where the shirt gaps open.
I can see the curve of her breast.
Lust hits me hard and fast, and my dick goes hard between one breath and the next. It shouldn't be this intense. I’ve had her every night for weeks. I fucked her on this very counter yesterday. But it’s never enough. It’s an addiction that only digs itself deeper into my soul with every hit.
"Merry Christmas, wife."
She smiles, and it lights up the dark corners of my soul. "Merry Christmas."
I kiss her.
She tastes like sleep and mint. I deepen it, my tongue sweeping into her mouth. I gently grind my hips into her, letting her feel exactly what she does to me.
My hand slides down her spine, gripping her ass through the thin fabric of my shirt. I squeeze, pulling her into my body.
She moans, pressing impossibly closer.
"I need you," she breathes against my lips.
"Not until you eat," I say, forcing myself to pull back before I lift her onto the counter and ruin breakfast. "Then presents. Then I’ll take you back to bed."
Her eyes darken, pupils blowing wide. "Promise?"
