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By the time our gingerbread houses are covered in candy, the kids are yawning and rubbing their eyes. I suppose there isn’t enough sugar in the world to keep them awake after so much running around at the Christmas fair and an hour on the ice.

Killian carries James up the stairs, and I help him change into his PJs while Caitlin brushes her teeth. They insist on snuggling up together in Caitlin’s bed while Killian reads to them, and I lie back on James’s bed and let his voice wash over me as he reads a chapter of the reindeer book they’re obsessed with.

I jolt as something brushes my cheek, my eyes flying open.

“Sleepy, love?” Killian whispers, laughing softly as I blink awake.

“Just relaxed,” I counter. “This has been the best day.”

Killian’s answering smile makes my stomach swoop as he offers me a hand and pulls me off the bed. He carries James over and I lift the covers so we can tuck him in. It feels nice not to be the only one kissing their cheeks and wishing them sweet dreams. And it feels really nice when Killian lingers in the doorway before closing it, just smiling at them.

32

Killian

“I can feel you ogling me,” I say, chuckling as I rinse the soap from James’s favorite cereal bowl and set it on the drying rack. I look back over my shoulder at Scarlett, and she doesn’t try to hide it.

“What can I say? You’re nice to look at. And the way you do dishes is hot.”

“I’m doing dishes the same way anyone does dishes.”

“Yeah, but you’re doing them. And that’s hot,” she says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

I shake my head, pulling the plug to drain the sink, and wipe my hands on a towel before turning around and leaning back against the counter. “Doing the dishes is the bare minimum. You’ve got to raise those standards, love.”

She stands up and crosses the small kitchen until she’s standing in front of me, winding her arms around my neck. “Maybe. But my standards could be sky-high, and you’d still shoot right past them to blow my mind every time.”

“You deserve all of it, Scar. All of it and more.”

The weight of her body against mine is a dream, and I can’t stop myself from leaning into her, breathing her in.

I sigh. “You smell like gingerbread. So fucking good.”

“Hmm. I wonder if I taste like it, too.” Scarlett licks her lips, and my mouth waters. I couldn’t bring myself to actually eat any of the gingerbread after spending hours painstakingly putting it together and decorating, but I wouldn’t mind tasting it from her tongue.

I duck my head and claim her lips. Scarlett groans, her tongue meeting mine eagerly. The secondhand taste of ginger and molasses is fucking incredible, but I think that has more to do with the taste of her than anything else. She’s sweeter than any candy; I could gorge myself on her for hours, days, months, and never tire of the taste.

Scarlett runs her cool hands up the inside of my sweater, but they do nothing to calm the fire roaring through me. Quite the opposite, in fact. I nip her lip as I pull back from our kiss and she whimpers. Her pupils are wide, her skin flushed, her hair already mussed … She really is something out of my wildest dreams.

I nudge her toward the door, and she tugs my sweater over my head, then my T-shirt, dropping them unceremoniously in a pile as we push through the kitchen door into the living room. She doesn’t protest as I lift her, gripping her tightly. I have every intention of making it to the stairs and kissing her to keep her quiet until we’re safely behind her bedroom door.

But the couch is right there.

I lay her down and stand back to take her in. She’s lit up, golden in the glow of the Christmas tree lights, her chest rising and falling, looking up at me with an expression that could only be described as desperate. I blow out a long breath, itching to lose myself in her. But we’re not alone in the house.

It feels criminal to turn away from her to pick up the remote and turn on the TV. I don’t pay attention to what’s on, just the sound, adjusting the volume to the one we usually watch TV on when the kids are sleeping.

“Not that I don’t like Christmas movies, but this is what you want to do right now?” Scarlett asks, skeptically.

“Nope. This is background noise.” I turn away from the small-town Christmas movie, my mouth watering at the sight of her. She’s propped herself up on her elbows and taken off her own sweater, leaving her in a thermal tank that hugs her body like a glove. Like I want to.

“You’ve set quite the scene here,” she says as I kneel between her legs, hovering above her. “Very festive.” She taps my head, reminding me that I’m still wearing the stupid hat.

I start to take it off, but Scarlett puts her hand on mine, stilling me.

“I like it. It’s very … Santa Baby,” she murmurs, her eyes glinting. She draws her fingers away from the hat, down my cheek, my throat, my chest, my stomach. I’ve never been as grateful to past-me as I am right now, for changing out of my jeans when I got home. Scarlett slides her hand below the waistband of my sweatpants, and my body falls forward as she brushes my dick through my boxers.

“Christ,” I groan, catching myself before I crush her. I can’t hold myself up and touch her properly at the same time, so I bury my face against her neck, dragging my lips over her sensitive skin as she rubs me through the fabric.