“I like the decorations.”
“You look tired,” he says in that deep, raspy rumble that sets me on fire.
“I am.”
His cheek nuzzles the top of my head, his lips kissing my hair. “How does a bubble bath and a foot massage sound?”
Pressing my lips to his, I peer up at him. “Like absolute heaven,” I emphatically reply. “Feed me first.”
His wicked half grin announces the dirty thought his mind immediately jumps to.
“With food,” I clarify. “I want some of those cookies I can smell.”
Tristan takes Fénix when he begins to fuss and shows him how the Santa turns the lights on and off. It’s freaking hilarious to watch as he practically hyperventilates while huffing in rapid succession like the Big Bad Wolf.
“You break that, you’re replacing it,” Constantine says.
Because I can, I practically climb him. He’s wearing the light-blue shirt I love because it brings out the flecks of gold in his midnight eyes. Grabbing under my ass, he hefts me up, and my legs lock around his lean waist.
“I want a proper kiss,” I demand, looping my arms around his neck.
“Bossy,” he replies but gives me what I want and proceeds to curl my damn toes when he kisses me like we’re the only two people in the room.
The guys and I try very hard to keep the PDA G-rated for Fénix’s sake, but we also don’t shy away from being affectionate in front of him. At his age, it really isn’t an issue because he won’t remember anything. But I want him growing upand seeing every day how much his parents love one another. Safe, protected, cherished, happy, and deeply loved. Vital and important things Fénix will always know.
With the impatient exuberance only an infant can have, Fénix kicks and wriggles and vocalizes his displeasure until Tristan sets him on the floor. He immediately takes off like a scurrying cockroach. Not the best analogy, but an accurate one. Constantine deftly snatches him up.
While they play, I get a piggyback ride on Tristan’s back into the kitchen.
“Hey, sexy mama,” Hendrix says when he sees me.
I visually devour his inked bare chest while he stands at the counter island, chopping bell peppers. It’s sexy as fuck to watch him cook shirtless. Food porn, I once told Raquelle. She wholeheartedly agreed.
“Where are the cookies?” As soon as I say it, I instantly spy the covered platter of chocolate chip cookies sitting next to the stove and make grabby hands.
“You’re as bad as T. Those are for after dinner. FYI, as soon as we put it up, our son has been trying to scale the Christmas tree. We need to put a barrier around it.”
Our son. It doesn’t matter who Fénix belongs to biologically, he’sours. And exhausting as it is having a baby while going to school, I want more kids. A house full of little hellions. How often I’m fucked within an inch of my life, I’m surprised I’m not knocked up again.
“We literally just had that same conversation,” Tristan replies.
My butt hits the countertop when he sets me down. He pushes between the vee of my thighs and brushes his nose across mine. He disarms me with sweetness, and I melt under his soft kiss.
Hendrix throws a spring onion at his head. “Don’t fuck on my prep space.”
Tristan scowls at him. “Fénix is in the other room, jackass.”
“Hasn’t stopped you before.” Hendrix reaches across the island and offers me a julienne of pepper before turning back around and dumping the chopped veggies into a large wok. Grabbing the handle, he gives the contents a toss with a flick of his wrist.
I stop the bickering I see coming by popping the other half of my pepper into Tristan’s mouth. “Have you heard from Aleksander today?”
Hendrix grunts his reply, which I take as a no.
“No,” Tristan says as he chews.
I glance out the window where Cocky B and his hens are hunkered down for the night in their coop. The red glow of the heat lamp we installed to keep them warm casts an eerie glow in the darkness, like demon eyes watching from the shadows.
“What’s that frown for?” Tristan asks, rubbing the worry line from my brow.
