Page 30 of Decking the Halls
“You said I was too much,” I remind him. “I didn’t fit your future.” Wren’s hand slides up my spine, reminding me that I have someone on my side. “Well, I fitWren’sfuture just fine.”
“Her future?” Nick scoffs. “She doesn’t have one. She’s a mechanic with no direction and a record.”
I look at Wren. She only shrugs. “Bar fight a few years ago. Nick likes to throw a coat of black paint on it.”
“This is insane,” Nick continues. “You’re throwing yourself at her because I hurt you. I get it. But this needs to stop.”
“No,” I retort. “What needs to stop is you acting like you still get a say in my life.”
“When you come to your senses—”
“If she wants to leave, she knows where the door is,” Wren interrupts. “But right now, she’s busy. Christmas Eve and all.”
“Doing what?” Nick demands.
Wren grins. Too bad her brother can’t see it. Eh, maybe it’s for the best. He might punch her in the teeth. “Making things sparkle. Starting with my place.”
Nick makes a disgusted sound before hanging up.
“‘Decorating’?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.
“Mm-hmm. Going to drape you over every surface like tinsel.” Wren’s grin is pure sin as she pushes me back against the pillows. “Starting now.”
She makes good on her promise to keep me in bed all day. Barring that, she’s always with me in the shower. In the kitchen. In the living room, where we can’t keep our hands off each other while watching TV and drinking hot cocoa. Do I think I’m going to end up draped over the back of her couch, gazing into the thrifted mirror on the wall as she makes love to my pussy, whichhas barely gotten two hours of reprieve in the past twenty-four hours? Hell, no. Do I love it? Hell, yes.
Her gaze in the reflection is molten lava, destroying my preconception of my own self. She’s daring me to face the truth.Look at yourself. Look how good you are with me.
By the time we make it to the kitchen for actual food, it’s past evening, and I can barely stand without remembering every place she’s touched me.
“Need to keep your strength up,” she says, feeding me bites of scrambled eggs with a wicked little smile. “Long evening of decorating ahead.”
“We don’t have any actual decorations,” I point out, still hoarse from a lack of sleep.
“Don’t need them.” She hooks a finger in my neckline, tugging me closer. “Got everything I want right here.” She pulls me onto her lap, the plate forgotten. “Though,” she murmurs against my ear, “weshouldprobably get a tree. Make it official.”
“Make what official?”
“Our first Christmas.” She presses a soft kiss just below my jaw. “First of many.”
“Wren…”
“Too much?”
I think about it—the chaos, and how quickly everything’s happened. Rationally, yes, it’s too much. But emotionally? The world’s already crazy around us. What’s left feels like the only freedom we’re allowed. It’s control in a hectic life.
“No,” I admit. “Not too much. Just enough.”
Her smile could light a city block. “Good. Get dressed. We’re going tree shopping.”
“Together? In public? After last night?”
“Especiallyafter last night.” Her eyes gleam with mischief. “I want everyone to see us together. They’ve gotta know that I’m not hiding this—or you.”
An hour later, we’re at the same tree lot where this all started. The gossip mill’s clearly been churning—heads turn as soon as we walk in. Even Mrs. Henderson, local rumor queen, freezes mid-sentence and clutches pearls.
“Ignore them,” Wren says, pulling me closer.
“Hard to ignore when they’re practically livestreaming with their eyes.”
