Page 80 of Tangled In Tinsel & Knots
Kane produces a red fabric tree skirt from a closet, thick and soft, and we crouch together to spread it around the base, shoulders bumping, knees brushing. Every small touch feels intentional now. Every glance lingers a second too long.
Finally, we step back in a line, shoulder to shoulder, facing the tree.
Outside, the world beyond the glass is falling snow growing heavier. Inside, it’s just us and the soft glow of lamps and the sharp scent of pine.
“Oh, wow,” I breathe. “That’s… that’s absolutely spectacular.”
“Moment of truth,” Noel says, moving to the wall.
He flips a switch.
The tree explodes into light. White bulbs wink to life between branches, catching on tinsel, bouncing off glass ornaments and foil-wrapped chocolates. The wooden star glows softly at the top, haloed by tiny points of light.
It’s… perfect. Warm and wild and a bit over the top.Theirs.And somehow, looking at it, it feels a little likeminetoo.
We drift toward the couches without anyone having to say it. Kane and Chris take the bigger sofa, spreading out like they own it. Noel and I drop onto the smaller one. Before I can overthink it, his arm slides around my shoulders, firm and easy, pulling me in against his side like I belong there.
The worst part? I do. My body just slots in, my head finding the space beneath his jaw as if it’s done this a hundred times.
Across the room, Kane sprawls back, his ankle hooked over one knee, gaze flicking from the tree to me and back again, like he’s not sure which he likes looking at more. Chris leans forward, forearms on his thighs, eyes on the lights but attention clearly notonthe lights, if the way it keeps drifting to me is any indication.
“I feel like this might be our best Christmas yet,” Chris says eventually. “Like we’re finally… I don’t know. Complete.” His gaze lifts to mine and holds. “Like a real family.”
Something in my chest squeezes. Hard. It feels like an invitation.
I don’t say anything because I don’t trust my voice not to crack, but part of me desperately wants it to be real. Wants to believe I deserve this happiness, this warmth, these men who look at me like I’m something precious.
Chris heads into the kitchen and returns with bowls of the baked apples that are soft and caramelized, swimming in custard that’s rich and vanilla scented and still warm. He hands them out, and we eat in comfortable silence, just the crackling of the fire Kane started and the soft Christmas music still playing.
The apples are incredible. “I absolutely love this,” I say finally, setting my empty bowl on the coffee table. “I’m not sure how I got so lucky to experience this. To be here with you three.”
“It’s simple,” Noel says, his deep voice rumbling through his chest where I’m leaning against him. “You’re ours. We’re yours. You just need to accept that truth as we slowly convince you.”
“We’re patient when it matters,” Chris adds, his grin softer than usual.
I glance around at these three dangerous Alphas who hunt criminals for a living, who could probably break someone in half without trying, who’ve somehow made space for me in their lives, their home, their pack.
It’s too good. Too perfect. Too much like every fantasy I’ve had but never believed could be real.
And in my experience, when something seems too good to be true, it usually is. Something always goes wrong. Someone always leaves. Happiness like this doesn’t last.
But sitting here, full of apples and warmth and belonging, surrounded by the smell of cinnamon and pine and them, watching the tree lights twinkle while it snows outside and the fire crackles, maybe I can let myself hope.
Just for today.
13
CHRIS
Hannah has been holed up in that room for the last hour, planning the town celebrations for her event, and I’m down here trying to give her space when every instinct I have is screaming at me to go check on her.
This is fucking torture.
Kane and Noel are out running errands, picking up supplies, checking in with a contact about an upcoming target. We agreed one of us would always be around her, especially after what happened the other night when she climbed into Kane’s bed thinking it was Noel’s. Her pre-heat is making her needy. The memory makes me grin despite the ache in my cock. Wish it had been my bed she’d stumbled into, my cock she’d ridden until she screamed.
But knowing she came apart on Kane while moaning Noel’s name? That’s its own brand of torture and the hottest thing I’ve ever heard about.
Since kissing her as Santa, she’s fucking haunted me. Can’t sleep properly or focus on anything but the phantom taste ofher mouth, the way she pressed against me, soft and warm and perfect.
