Page 36 of All in for Christmas

His mouth meets my stomach, moves lower in traveling kisses. Tantalizing nibbles. Heat pools in my belly and seeps lower.

My pulse flutters. “ Dean. ”

“Love the thong.” He looks up and slides his hands under my bare butt.

We hear a scuttling sound in the hall.

Henry.

Ahhh! I clamp my knees shut, trapping Dean’s head between them, and Dean wrenches free from their stronghold— yank!

— sending his hair spiking skyward, his eyes wild and wide.

He grabs my sweatshirt off the floor, hurling it on top of me, and I quickly cover my chest, search for my bra.

On the coffee table. There! I snatch it up and shove it into the sweatshirt’s front pouch, scoot into a sitting position.

“Buddy, hey,” Dean says coolly. “What are you doing up?” The child stands between the hall and the fireplace, rubbing his eyes with a fist and holding Nessie by the neck in the other.

“I’m t’irsty,” Henry says like a sleepy little nugget. Dean scrambles to the floor and into his sweatpants, tugging them up over his briefs. “I’ll take him,” he says. “You wait here.”

I giggle at the situation, positioning the sweatshirt around me, stretching it out here and there to cover strategic places. “Maybe I should wait in the bedroom?”

“Ah yeah. Good point!” He winks and scuttles toward Henry. “All right, buddy. Let’s get you a drink from your bathroom cup.” My insides stir at the sight of Dean striding bare-chested across the room. He’s incredibly well built, trim but muscled.

I bury my face in my hands, thinking that was a close call. Things clearly aren’t like they were in the old days—pre-kids. We’ll need to be more careful. I tug on my sweatshirt and pick up our drinks, carrying them down the hall. I pass Henry and Dean in the bathroom on the way.

“I gotta pee!”

Dean pulls a toilet target from the box as I sneak past them, angling my bare backside away from the open door.

I pause and peek into Eleanor’s room, where Scout’s crept up on the bed.

He’s curled himself into a big furry ball and sleeps peacefully at her feet.

I quietly crack open our bedroom door, carrying both glasses of scotch to my bedside table.

The lights are off except the one in our bathroom, which sheds a tempered glow across the carpet and bed.

I creep over to the cinnamon candle on my dresser and strike a match, holding it to the wick.

When Dean returns, I’ve removed my sweatshirt and wait under the covers.

“Sorry about that.” He strips off his clothes in the faint, wavering light, and I get a glimpse of his incredibly fine form.

Hunger stirs inside me, a deep, primitive need.

We might be Mommy and Daddy to Henry and Eleanor.

But between the two of us, we’re still lovers.

We’ve never lost our touch. Thank goodness.

I chuckle at the memory of Dean saying he’d broken the other thong.

“Now. Where were we?” He cradles me in his strong arms, and I scooch into position underneath him, his chest hair teasing my bare skin. The weight of him so solid against me. My excitement builds. I hike up my hips. “Right—here?”

His eyes sparkle sweetly, and he kisses my lips, easing himself lower. Lower. My pulse pounds and my head whirls.

I am so ready.

He reaches down to peel off my thong, and I help him. Working harder. Faster. Pushing, shoving. Tugging. My fingers claw over his, grab the writhing fabric. He grabs too but pulls in the opposite direction.

Wait.

I shake my leg when the thong tightens around my ankle. “Ow.”

It twists harder. “ Ouch! ” I hiss quietly. “ Dean .”

“ Ooh! Sorry! ” he rasps, but still, he yanks.

He tugs harder and my leg shoots skyward, my knee locking and tenting the covers. “Dean!” I dart a glance at the closed bedroom door. “I’m losing circulation.” The darn thing’s like a tourniquet.

“That’s why I ripped the last one,” he grumbles. “Hang on.” He throws back the bedclothes and I huddle my arms across my chilly chest. But the more he seems to pull, the tighter the tourniquet winds. Tighter. Tighter. “Ouch! Ow. Ow-wee .

“Dean.” I clench my teeth. “Stop.”

“Your foot’s turning blue,” he comments.

I sit up and stare at the frilly thong, knotted impossibly around my ankle.

No wonder. You can’t even tell it’s an undergarment anymore.

It looks like one of Missy Peabody’s torture toys.

Okay, I flush that thought from my mind.

I do not need to be thinking about my eccentric “Boss Lady” and her sexual exploits right now.

I need to focus on mine. I open my nightstand drawer and hand Dean the scissors.

“Aha!” he says like he’s done this before.

I cower back on my elbows when he grabs my foot. “Careful.”

Then—with a snip-snap —he frees my leg. Tosses the dastardly thong on the floor. “There goes Tuesday,” he says as we both watch it fall.

I chuckle and collapse against the pillows. “ How did we ever make Henry and Eleanor?”

“Want a refresher course?” he asks, clambering on top of me.

I nod eagerly.

“All right.”

I melt into his kisses, my heart so full.

He pulls the covers over us and takes my breath away.