A soft sob hitched in my throat. I held on tighter and pressed deeper.

“Jesus, my girl, so fuckin’ sweet,” he murmured against my hair.

Another hitch and I tilted my head back, his came up, and I pulled an arm from around him, lifted it, curled my hand around his neck, and pulled his mouth down to mine.

Then I kissed him as hard as I could, trying to show him how much his words meant to me.

I was guessing this worked when he tore his lips from mine and muttered, “Maybe I don’t love you. Maybe I just love your mouth.”

I grinned up at him.

“And your cunt,” he went on.

My grin got bigger.

“And your cupcakes,” he added.

I started giggling and he smiled.

Then he whispered, “No, it’s just you.”

I stopped giggling, stared into his quicksilver eyes then dipped my chin and did another face-plant in his chest.

He held me close, arm around me, hand at my head becoming fingers sifting through my hair.

After a while, I sighed, lifted a hand to my face, swiped away the wet, and muttered, “Let me go, baby. I gotta feed my man.”

His hand stopped sifting through my hair and both arms wrapped around me tight.

Then he let me go.

I moved away and got down to the business of feeding my man.

* * *

I sucked back the dregs of the hot cocoa and then moved on my hands and knees across the floor, dragging boxes with me to arrange the newly wrapped presents under the tree. Then I cleaned up paper scraps, put away scissors and tape, bunched up and folded bags and tucked them away, and stowed the rolls of Christmas wrap, ribbons, and bows in the hall closet.

Through this, Brock lay on his back on the couch, head to a pile of toss pillows, one hand behind his head, one resting on his abs, eyes on a game on television.

I approached the back of the couch, put my ass to it, turned, whipped my legs over while straightening, and, at the last minute, announced, “Incoming.” Then I dropped full body on his.

He grunted and his body jerked on impact then his arms wrapped around me.

“Jesus, babe,” he muttered, humor in his tone, that sweet hum filling the air.

I slid off, my back to the couch, my front pressed to his side. I rested a cheek to his chest, arm around his abs, and settled in.

Brock moved a hand back to his abs but his other arm stayed curved around my waist, hand at my hip.

I watched football I didn’t give a shit about but I did it contentedly because it was late, I was tired, my mind needed to shut down, and the beautiful man who loved me who I loved back was stretched out beside me.