Page 16 of Mountain Man's Holiday Bell

Her fingers worked her slick flesh, her rhythm faltering as her breath hitched. A second, sharper gasp was torn from her, and I felt her clench around me, the sensation pulling my own release from me in a hot, blinding rush. I spilled my seed into her, my own groan muffled against her skin as she collapsed onto my chest.

I held her there, our hearts hammering a frantic, synchronized beat against each other. We were both breathless, slick with sweat, and utterly spent. For a long moment, there was only the sound of our ragged breathing.

And then we heard it. The unmistakable thunder of small feet running in the living room below, followed by Wilder’s excited whoop and Winnie’s higher-pitched squeal.

Paige lifted her head, her eyes sparkling with a mix of sated bliss and maternal urgency. “They’re up.”

I brushed a damp strand of hair from her forehead. “They’re up.”

We untangled ourselves and pulled on our robes, the soft terrycloth a stark contrast to the heat of our skin. As we tied the sashes, Paige looked over at me, her smile so full of love it almost hurt to see it.

“This is going to be the perfect Christmas,” she whispered.

I pulled her into my arms and kissed her temple, breathing in the scent of us, of her, of home. “They all are,” I said, meaning it with every fiber of my being.

Hand in hand, we walked out of our sanctuary and into the joyful chaos of our family, ready to watch our kids’ faces light up with magic.