Page 24 of Hampton Holiday Collective
Fourth Wheel and Dempsey attended the Thanksgiving pageant at Matteo and Wyatt’s preschool last month, and already, she looked like she was about to pop. Although I didn’t say a word about her rotundness, she was quick to reprimand me anyway. I kept a straight face for all of three minutes as she lectured me about how her body was not meant for twins before lamenting that she still had the entire third trimester to go. I can only imagine how miserable she must be now.
Maybe we can be grouchy together this holiday season.
“They’re not coming until Christmas day, probably around dinnertime, so the bathroom’s available if you want to let the kids play in the jacuzzi or use the sauna or anything.”
“Got it,” I grunt, hauling more than my fair share of bags up the snow-covered path. “Let’s get this shit in the house so I can finally defrost.”“Fire’s already going, and Tori has wassel on the stove. Let’s get you warmed up and find some of that holiday spirit.”
Chapter 19
Cory
Pricklystubbleticklingmyneck is the first sensation to register as I yawn awake.
A large, warm hand dipping into the front of my buffalo plaid pajama pants, teasing at the waistband, comes next.
It’s dark, and based on the lack of movement and general commotion, it’s still early. Jake typically gets up before the rest of us at home—getting in his workout, packing lunches, and showering so he’s ready for the day before I even roll out of bed at seven.
He presses a slow, wet kiss to the side of my neck before sucking until I moan.
“Happy birthday, baby.”
His tongue travels up my throat and over my Adam’s apple as his hand locks tight around my morning wood. Upwelling arousal courses through me as he peppers kisses along my jaw, then finally claims my mouth.
His minty breath and the familiar smell of his body wash are intoxicating—he obviously didn’t forgo his morning routine just because we’re at the cabin. I kiss him back lazily, my mind reluctant to fully wake up from this delicious dream. Just when I think I’ve figured out his rhythm, he pulls his hand away, spits, and goes back to stroking my dick, but this time with more fervor.
Another moan almost escapes my lips, but he swallows it up, teasing my tongue with his. Of their own accord, my hips match his rhythm, the haze between sleep and consciousness making every sensation all the more sensual.
He grips me tight, jerking me the way only he can, until I’m a panting, needy mess in his hands. I hiss when he runs his thumb over the slit of my cock, gathering the drop of precum and massaging it into the head. Even after all these years, I’m a sucker for everything he does. He knows exactly what I like.
A soft knock on our closed bedroom door jettisons me back to reality.
“Mierda,” I curse as the door cracks open and light streams into the room.
“Papi said a bad word,” Stella yawns sleepily as she shuffles in.
Rhett and Tori remodeled the basement several years ago, turning the open-floor concept downstairs into two separate bedrooms, plus a game room. The kids’ room has two sets of bunk beds. Stella can’t wait to be big enough to claim a top bunk.
I softly groan at the intrusion—I knew it was too good to last. Jake chuckles against my lips before giving me a quick peck. Then he deftly removes his hand from my pants, sits up, and locks eyes with me as he pops the thumb that was just grazing the head of my cock into his mouth.
“Stella? Get me!” Matty cries from the other room. He doesn’t give his sister time to answer before he’s kicking the wall that separates our room from theirs.
“It’s almost Christmas! It’s almost Christmas! Somebody get meout!”
“Relax over there, rowdy boy!” Jake calls out, shifting to the end of the mattress and subtly adjusting himself through his gray sweatpants before rising.
Matteo’s bed is affixed with a bed rail that keeps him from rolling out and also keeps him from escaping the confines of the space—which is necessary, based on past experiences. Just another one of the many ways our kids are polar opposites. Raising our second born has been nothing like parenting Stella. Jake isn’t joking when he calls him rowdy boy.
Stella skips over to wrap her arms around my neck. “Happy birthday, Papi. Can I take Matty upstairs?”
“Yes,” Jake answers before adding, “but don’t try to trick Uncle Rhett into giving you sugar this early. I’ll be right up to make breakfast.”
Stella scurries out of the room, and the sound of Matty’s feet hitting the floor echoes in the hall a moment later. He doesn’t bother coming in to say good morning—the boy loves his breakfast, almost as much as he loves his morning shows. The sound of little footsteps racing up the stairs gives us another private but all too brief moment alone.
I rake my eyes up and down Jake’s impossibly perfect frame—the bulk of his tatted biceps, the cut of his solid eight-pack, the curls of his perfectly trimmed happy trail—and soak him in as he stretches his arms overhead with a yawn. When I move to sit up, he turns and pushes me down, bending low and kissing me deep.
He pulls away quickly, leaving me breathless with want as my cock twitches.
“Youstay in bed, birthday boy. I’ll get them going on breakfast, then bring down your coffee.”