Page 22 of Christmas With The Kings
“I think I do. And again, I’m sorry I didn’t acknowledge all you’ve done before. Say you forgive this old man and will let me make it up to you?”
“Yes. Absolutely. Make it all up.” She threw her arms around me and kissed me deeply.
Fuck, she was too good at being a distraction. I needed to get my ass back in control here for fuck’s sake. I swatted her ass, delighting in the hiss that left her mouth. My boy must have placed one strategic swat on her sit spots because that was where my hand landed.
“You’ve got five minutes. Meet me in the kitchen. And bring that sass with you.”
Kinsley
My heart filled with so much joy. The door closed with a soft click, and I stood there. For the first time in weeks, the silence wasn’t empty or cold. A sense of wonder and anticipation filled the air. My gaze flicked to the bed.
The soft little Christmas outfit he’d laid out was draped lovingly across the bed. Emerald green velvet and cream. It was super cute, but an idea popped into my head, and now nothing would do but to execute it—in the most devastating way.
I didn’t bother with the dress. Too much fabric, too little time. The frilly apron was cute enough on its own, especially if I paired it with the candy cane thigh-highs. Because really…why wouldn’t I? I disrobed and yanked them up my legs.
The Reaper wanted a baking lesson? He was going to get one alright. One filled with all the sass he said to bring and a side heaping of distraction. I reworked my hair, piling it on top of my head with my candy-cane hair clip. I gave myself a once-over in the mirror and grinned.
All the special touches he’d gone to called my name in the sweetest way. From the mistletoe by the door to all the twinkling lights. It was like the set of a Christmas movie. I sank down onto the edge of the bed and pressed my hand to my chest, right where the ache started. It wasn’t a bad kind of ache. Just…a feeling that expanded minute by minute. It was beautiful.
When I’d left the main house this morning, I had no idea this was on the menu. Alek hadn’t said a word about being home. Marcus had played it cool. But now that I thought about it, he tried to drop a few vague hintslike breadcrumbs. I’d been too reflective over my morning spanking and cuddle to follow.
I figured I’d get a spa day. Maybe dinner later with Isabella, where I would probably have to explain my mood change. I’d cross that bridge when I got to it. Some things, she and I were still navigating. My dynamic and love for all things kink was top of that list. But this had never crossed my mind.
A full-blown romantic Christmas cottage hideaway? My heart soared. He heard me after all. And not only that, but he acted. I couldn’t stop the smile that spread across my lips, wide and slow. It took over my whole face, and I curled my toes against the rug.
“God, I love him,” I whispered into the empty room.
And I did. Every piece of me that had ever been shattered, bent, or burned somehow knew it belonged to him. To them. But right now, it was all Alek’s. My Viking King. My Reaper.
I stood up, letting my fingers trail across the curve of the bed as I made my way toward the door. My reflection in the full-length mirror caught me off guard. Apron tied in a perfect bow at my lower back, the top barely containing the girls. Thigh-high socks holding on for dear life. Messy bun up top.
“Damn, I’d fuck me,” I muttered with a grin, giving myself a wink. “Now let’s go bake some chaos.”
With one last glance around the cozy bedroom, and with a fluttering heart that refused to settle, I stepped into the hallway and walked toward the kitchen. I padded in and stopped dead.
Alek stood at the counter in a white T-shirt, sleeves rolled to the biceps, apron already tied around his waist, looking like the world’s sexiest domestic god. His back was to me, and his hair was damp. I’d noticed it earlier and smiled. He’d showered before I got here.
I bit back laughter as he tilted his head and brought the glass measuring cup up to check the level. He hadn’t seen me yet. I knew without having to be told his tongue would be peeking out the side of his mouth as he focused on the task. It always did.
But I was on borrowed time. I had two seconds at most to catch him off guard before his nose kicked in gear and caught a hint of my body spray.
“Morning, chef,” I sang, sauntering in. I grabbed a wooden spoon and twirled it in one hand like a baton. “Hope you’re ready for a lesson in greatness.”
He turned. And froze. His jaw dropped. His gaze swept down my body once, slow and heavy, then shot right back up to my face like he was tryingreally hard to be a gentleman. Too bad I knew better.
“Is that…” His voice came out strangled. “All you’re wearing?”
I smiled sweetly. “Apron, socks and a smile. What else do I need?”
He looked like he was about to combust.
“Kinsley.”
“Aleksandr.”
“Fuck, kitten.” He set the cup down, and his eyes did that slow crawl again.
“I offered earlier. You turned me down.”
