Page 29 of Christmas With The Kings
The first thing I noticed when I woke was the weight of the Reaper draped over me. His arm was slung across my waist, one muscular thigh tangled possessively over both of mine, and his breath ghosted against the back of my neck. I didn’t dare move. Not because I couldn’t, he’d shift with me, always attuned. It was more that I didn’t want to.
He was warm, like a furnace, and I was tucked into him like something fragile and precious. It wasn’t only his body wrapped around me, though that was nice. It was more the feeling of being kept by a man who loved and wanted me in all ways.
The room still smelled of pine and cinnamon, clove and orange peel. The scents had seeped into the linens, intous. I closed my eyes, letting it sink in a little deeper. I wanted to hold on to this. Press it like a flower into the pages of my memory and never let it fade.
From the soft glow of the fairy lights woven around the room to the thoughtfulness tucked into every moment he planned—the robe, the spa, the baking,him—the entire day had felt like a love letter.
And the intimacy…God, the intimacy.
We’d been close before in this way. Anytime I spent time with one of my Kings I felt connected. Claimed in all the best ways. But last night had been different. It was seeing that part of him I knew existed, but he’d been holding back from me.
Probably out of fear of my response, which was valid. But relationships were two-way streets. I had to bend too. So as he let go and leaned into the moment, I followed his lead.
I would follow him anywhere.
Last night had been sacred. Especially as he choked me via the collar. I smiled and tucked the memory away. It was special, so I held it in my heart and let it grow. The collar still circled my throat. I reached up, fingers brushing the smooth leather and the cool metal charm nestled at the center. I thought it would be heavier. More like a weight, a warning.
But it didn’t. It was like a tie—gentle, grounding me to my King. A silent vow. One I knew was about marking his territory as much as it was his declaration that he wasn’t going anywhere.
That no matter what ghosts I still fought, no matter what darkness still clawed at the edges of my thoughts, he was here. And he was mine. And holy hell, what apossessiveReaper he’d been last night.
I shivered at the memory, a wicked smile curling my lips as I tucked myself tighter beneath his arm. The ache between my thighs was a sweet, pulsing reminder. My entire body tingled from the intensity of his touch. Last night was beautiful, from the edge of his command to the tenderness of his aftercare. I’d never felt more claimed. More seen.
I was starting to drift off again, eyes heavy, heart full, when the door creaked open.
“Alright, wake up, Reaper. It’s my turn.”
Nik’s smooth, perfect voice broke the silence. I peeked from under the blanket, blinking at him as he leaned in the doorway, arms crossed over his broad chest. His dark curls were still damp from a shower, and he was dressed like he’d recently stepped off the pages of a winter catalog—jeans, henley, thick knit cardigan open over his shoulders.
I squealed before I could stop myself, wiggling beneath Alek’s weight.
“Don’t act like you weren’t expecting me,” Nik said, his eyes sparkling with wicked glee.
Oh, I was expecting him, but I didn’t know I was going to be this damn giddy about it.
Alek groaned beside me, the sound low and grumbly in his chest, vibrating against my back like a warning growl. His arm cinched tighter around my waist, anchoring me to him like I might float away if he let go.
“Bugger off, Crow,” he muttered into my hair, sleep-thick and petulant.
I couldn’t help the little giggle that slipped out. How very British of him. And of course he wasn’t going to give me up without a fight. The Reaper never surrendered anything easily—not even morning cuddles.
But the Crow wasn’t one to be ignored either. The click of his boots against the hardwood grew louder as he stepped further into the room. And then—whoosh—the covers were yanked back with a flourish, exposing Alek’s bare back to the chilly air.
“Time’s up, brother,” Nik announced, his voice smooth as sin and twice as smug. “Get your possessive ass out of my way.”
Alek let out the most dramatic sigh I’d ever heard. He balled his fists and lightly pounded the mattress beside me in protest—afull toddler tantrum, I thought, stifling another laugh. Still, he didn’t argue. With one last tight, languid slow squeeze that was full of promise, he nuzzled my neck.
“Love you,” I whispered, as he finally rolled out of bed and disappeared into the bathroom, muttering something about how sharing sucked ass.
I turned, already smiling. My baby-faced King stood at the foot of the bed now, hands in his pockets, one brow raised like he was evaluating something he very much approved of.
His presence filled the room in a completely different way than Alek’s did. Alek was the storm. He could be overwhelming, always brought the fire, and was protective as hell. But Nik…he stilled my world. He was gravity. All sharp eyes and warm hands. His power was quiet.
And right now, all of that weight was focused solely on me. My heart gave a little flip. He stepped closer, the early morning light glinting off the cuff of his bracelet. The one I’d given him at the summer house.
His gaze dragged lazily down the length of me. That little smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. It always made me feel like he knewexactlywhat he wanted to do to me and exactly how long he was going to make me wait for it.
“Good morning, malyshka,” he murmured, his voice low and intimate.
