Page 11 of Hampton Holiday Collective
“No, no, no, no,no!” Wyatt screams, kicking his legs as he works himself into a tizzy.
“Hey,” I soothe, squeezing him tighter. One of the benefits of having a kid who acts just like me is knowing exactly what he needs when he’s unraveling.
“Talk to me, little man.” I run my hand up and down his back as I sit on the couch with him in my lap. His body goes lax a few seconds later. “Which one is the green one?”
“Da one with da heart. Da one with da Max!”
I hold back my chuckle as realization dawns.
“You’re the green one? You mean the Grinch?”
“Da Gwinch!” he screams in confirmation.
Laughter erupts in the room, but Wyatt isn’t trying to be funny. I shoot a warning glare at my other children. Wesley goes quiet right away, but Winnie keeps snickering under her breath.
“Tell ya what,” I proffer, turning back to my little devil. “I’ll let you watch a whole movie about the Grinch tomorrow if you promise to stop jumping off the couch.”
“But I’m in da pa-wade!”
How’s the saying go? You can’t negotiate with terrorists? The same could be said for ornery toddlers.
Rising to my feet, I change tactics.
“That’s where you’re wrong, kiddo. You can’t be in da pa-wade because you’re about to be in da tub. Bath time for all the little Haases!”
Wyatt protests, Wesley grumbles, and Winnie gleefully skips ahead since she’ll shower on her own in her en suite bathroom.
“Angel—I’m sticking these stinkers in the tub, then I’ll be back out to do the dishes,” I call out to my wife as we head to the bathroom, but I can’t quite make out her response from the kitchen.
Wyatt eventually gives up his fight and clings to my neck like a monkey, which is an exponentially easier way to carry him than when he’s imitating a wet noodle in hopes of breaking free.
Maddie makes her way into the living room just as we’re heading down the hall, yawning again, eyeing the couch, and snatching up Dempsey’s hand to pull him along with her.
“Don’t go running up to your wing while I’m putting the kids to bed,” I call back my brother. “I still need help carrying up all the boxes from the basement tonight.”
Chapter 9
Daphne
Ifeelhispresencewithout having to peek over my shoulder to confirm he’s there. The expectation of his touch doesn’t dilute the thrill that tingles through me when Fielding sidles up behind me at the sink and grips my hips with both hands.
“I told you I’d be back to do the dishes,” he whispers, not-so-subtly grinding his dick into my ass as his fingers tease along the waistband of my leggings.
I dry my hands on a towel, then wrap my arms around his neck. Leaning back into him, I savor the rare quiet moment.
“I don’t mind,” I insist, playing with the hair at his nape. “I can finish these so you can play with the kids and your brother.”
He nips at my ear, the sting of his teeth on my flesh making my nipples harden. “The kids are fine. There’s only one person I want to play with right now.”
His fingers venture into the waistband of my pants, but I catch him, gripping his wrist tightly before he gets carried away. Spinning in his arms, I stare up and attempt to glare.
He locks me in his gaze, those lagoon-blue eyes boring into my soul and making all sorts of promises to my body as we silently regard each other. I shake my head slowly, biting back a grin.
“Angel,” he murmurs, grasping my face in his hands and tilting it up, then angling in to steal a kiss. “Don’t deny me. It’s Thanksgiving. I’m just trying to show my wife how much I love and appreciate her,” he teases against my lips before deepening the kiss.
I’m lost to his touch, if only for a moment. It’s just enough time for him to bend low, grab the backs of my thighs, and hoist me onto the countertop.
“Fielding,” I try to scold through my laughter.