Page 27 of Daddy's Naughty Orchardist

We end up back in the barn, because of course we do. The loft still holds the blanket we left there weeks ago, and the moment we climb up, Brett pins me with that look. The one that makes my knees weak and my pulse race.

For once, words fail me. Instead, I kiss him. Soft, sure, full of all the things I can't say out loud yet. The kiss tastes like promises and possibilities, like coming home and setting off on an adventure all at once.

When we finally break apart, I see his smile.Tonight feels different from all the nights that came before. Tonight isn't about desperation or need or the urgent pull of new desire. Tonight is about choice—the conscious decision to build a lifetogether, to trust each other with our futures as well as our hearts.

“You’ve been good tonight,” he murmurs, brushing hair from my face. “Running the festival, being sweet to every last person who crossed your path.”

I grin, wickedly. “Even when they asked if we were selling pumpkin spice soap and I reminded him we are an apple orchard, not a pumpkin patch?”

“Even then.” His thumb strokes my cheek. “Which means you deserve a reward.”

I arch a brow. “And if I’d been bad?”

His hand slides down, cupping my backside with deliberate pressure. “Then you’d be over my knee again, learning your lesson.” He gives a light swat, sharp enough to make me gasp, playful enough to make me laugh.

Heat curls low in my belly. “Maybe I like being bad.”

His eyes darken, his smile slow and devastating. “Oh, I know you do. I know exactly how much you like being my naughty good girl.”

The kiss that follows is hot, hungry, edged with all the teasing promise of his words. Clothes scatter, the blanket soft beneath us, the autumn night cool against overheated skin. He takes me slow, steady, drawing out every gasp, every shiver, until I’m unraveling under him, clinging, crying out. He murmurs praise into my ear, calling me his good girl, his strong girl, hismine.

When I finally fall apart, it’s with the sense that I’m not just giving him my body. I’m giving him everything. My orchard. My heart. My future. And when he follows, groaning my name against my neck, I know he’s giving me the same.

Later, as I lay in bed thinking about how happy I am, my phone buzzes on the nightstand. It’s the Naughty Girls’ group chat, and the thread is already blowing up.

Elizabeth: Guess who just got her first shift as a Christmas elf at Santa’s Workshop?!

Christine: …please tell me you mean the mall kind and not an actual workshop?

Faye: With you, I’m never sure.

Karen: Nope. Our Holly. She’s literally dressed in bells and green tights right now. Holly, send a pic.

I snort, covering my mouth so Brett doesn’t stir. A second later, a photo pops up: Holly, grinning ear to ear, cheeks flushed pink, peppermint mocha in hand, glitter all over her hair. And yes, wearing a jingle-belled hat.

Holly: Don’t laugh! This place is magical. Plus… my new boss is ridiculously hot. Like “Santa turned into Christian Grey” hot.

Christine: Tell me more.

Holly: No. Stop. I can’t. He’s way too serious. But also… kind of growly. Like a grumpy Daddy type?

Faye: Girl. You better unwrap THAT present.

I shake my head, biting back a laugh as more messages flood in. Brett stirs behind me, murmuring, “What’s so funny, little girl?” His voice is rough with sleep, warm against my skin.

“Nothing,” I whisper, tucking my phone away and rolling into his arms. “Just… Christmas magic on the horizon.”

And as I drift to sleep, I can’t help but smile. Because if I know Holly… Santa’s Workshop is about to get a whole lot naughtier.