Page 4 of A Very Armitage Christmas
I couldn’t care, though, because when I pushed the cloth aside, there was Nate’s long, slender back, shining with sweat and silky-smooth. I settled my head next to his, chin hooked over his shoulder, letting out a groan of satisfaction as my chest pressed against his bare skin.
“I love you,” I whispered against his ear. “Love you so fucking much.”
He tightened his muscles even more around my knot. It made me flinch and groan, so much fucking pleasure that it turned into almost-discomfort.
“Yeah,” Nate breathed out.
My eyes popped open. Yeah? Yeah, like he loved me too and only had one syllable’s worth of talking in him after getting completely fucked? Or did he just mean that…yeah, I loved him, and he knew it?
The mate bond gave me a fuzzy sense of happiness and satisfaction, which helped. But I wondered if he really needed me the way I needed him.
Probably not. I needed him a whole hell of a lot, after all. Hard to believe he’d be able to love me as much as I loved him.
And that was okay. Especially when he squirmed around under me, getting comfy in the pillows, making those happy little Nate sounds that meant I’d given him exactly what he wanted.
Maybe I couldn’t afford to buy him the extravagant Christmas of his dreams, but at least I could do the physical labor. And then fuck him into oblivion after.
Trying not to jostle him too much where we were still tied together, I fumbled around and grabbed the edge of the blanket, hauling it over both of us and rolling a little to the side so I could lie down without crushing him.
That earned me a sleepy little, “Mmm, Ian,” and a duck of the head to kiss the hand I had wrapped over his chest.
Okay. I could live with that.
I’d started to drift off myself, a smile on my face and my knot still solidly wedged inside my mate’s well-fucked body, and what the hell could be better than that, anyway…
“Nate! Nate, get the fuck out here! I need to talk to you!”
My eyes popped open, and Nate stiffened out of his relaxation.
Arik. Oh, Jesus. If our brother-in-law needed Nate urgently in the middle of the evening, that only meant one thing: he’d fucked up something magic, and he hoped Nate could help him fix it before Matt caught on.
Well, fuck.
Chapter 2
Arik
The cold didn’t bother me, even with my breath pluming the frigid air, but waiting on Nate to move his lazy ass definitely, definitely did.
Especially when I wasn’t sure what might be coming out of the forest at any moment. And Matthew had a pack council meeting, but that wouldn’t last forever…for once, I hoped they droned on and on for another hour or two. If Nate and I could sort this out before Matthew stepped outside and noticed something was up, that’d make my life so, so much easier.
I glanced up at the moon. Yep, still just a sliver hanging high in the sky, with wisps of cloud starting to obscure what little light it gave. Still the perfect phase for necromancy, which flourished in the death of the old moon and the rebirth of the new, a magical tipping point for the delicate work of crossing the line between life, death, and undeath.
A line I hadn’t meant to cross tonight. I mean, it was December twenty-third. I wasn’t much for the family holiday bullshit, but even I wouldn’t be crass enough to purposely raise the undead two days before Christmas, not when Nate had gotten so fucking excited about the idea of decorating and cooking and making it athing. I meant to make hiding upstairs mythingas much as possible, and if anyone suggested I sing, there might be blood.
But I could do my small part for goodwill for all men and not bring rotting bodies up to the surface to join the party.
At least, no rotting bodies had been my plan.
Fuck, what was Nate doing in there? I could smell him, and I knew he was home.
I sniffed again, and my nose wrinkled in disgust.
Ugh. Ian was there too. And they were…
“Nate!” I shouted again. “Get Ian’s cock out of you before I come in there with a pair of pliers!”
I barely caught the sounds of Ian’s outrage through the walls, and in spite of how time was ticking, I laughed. Needling Ian never got old. Inspiration struck.
